His heart demon surged up again.
His cheeks flushed crimson, and his mind went blank.
Before he could react, that kiss had already ended.
And he was drawn into those broad, powerful arms, so warm, so reassuring.
It was intoxicating, as though this really were his father.
For a moment, he recalled those long-buried memories again, remembering his master's solid, sturdy body in the visions of his heart demon.
His skin trembled all the more.
The icy pools in his eyes became spring waters, spring waters that kept rippling.
Fang Yang held Ye Qinghong, looking at his disciple in this state. How could he fail to understand what was on his mind?
What an ill-fated bond!
How deeply restrained this affection was, how fiercely it burned-and it had arisen in his eldest disciple, the coldest of them all.
He could almost imagine how Ye Qinghong must have tossed and turned every night.
Remembering what his eldest disciple had just said, he could not help sighing.
His gaze grew resolute, as though he had made the most difficult of decisions.
He gently released Ye Qinghong.
His eyes were cold and deep, his handsome face full of dominance,
and his python-patterned robe billowed around him.
"Good disciple, kneel! Kneel right before your master's legs!"
His decisive words rang out with the weight of metal striking stone, echoing through the night.
Ye Qinghong shuddered all over, gripping his sword hilt tightly.
He looked at his master in shame and indignation.
Ordinarily, if the fiend had said this, he would have thought it meant nothing more than kneeling.
But after experiencing those countless heart demons, and that kiss,
he felt that the relationship between master and disciple was no longer pure.
This command to kneel actually carried a hint of humiliation.
It forced him