Utterly Ravaged
Fake.
It was all fake.
Kexi lay on his back on the bed, the brocade quilt long since crumpled into a ball and kicked into a corner, his back sunk into the soft mattress.
It all felt like some kind of unbearably sensual dream.
Christopher.
That bastard had said someone wanted him dead.
But now? No one wanted him dead.
His senior and junior sisters fussed over him, and his master had pinned him to the bed and nestled close against him. How was this a death trap?
This was clearly a haven of tenderness, a beauty's snare.
Right.
That had to be it.
That bastard Christopher must have wanted him to lose himself in this haven of tenderness, surrounded by his senior sisters' concern and melted by his master's warmth.
To make him so content in this fake xianxia world that he lost himself completely, forgot who he was, forgot that he still had companions to find, and forgot that he still had to escape this damned script.
He wasn't from this world.
He was Kexi, not some junior brother of the Mystic Sect, not some wayward disciple who lusted after his master. He was a victim Christopher had dragged into the script.
Yangyang's tears were written into the script, Qiuyuan's warmth was written into the script. It was all fake, fake, fake.
He repeated those words over and over in his mind, as though reciting a protective charm, trying to build a dam with them.
But Qiuyuan's fingertip slid across his collarbone, leaving a cool trail, and a crack appeared in that dam.
No.
He had to resist.
He couldn't give in.
Kexi clenched his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead as beads of sweat the size of beans rolled down his temples.
He summoned every last bit of willpower he had and gathered all his strength into his right arm, the veins throbbing beneath his skin.
Then he thrust out that sweat-drenched hand, its veins bulging.
Fingers spread, trembling and struggling, he reached with all his might over the edge of the bed, toward the door, toward freedom, toward escape from this tender trap.
His hand trembled in the air, his fingertips just an inch from the bed's wooden frame.
Then a cool hand reached around from behind and caught his wrist with unerring precision.
Kexi's eyes widened in shock.
Qiuyuan's fingers slipped between his, threading one by one through his sweat-soaked fingers.
Then she tightened her grip, interlocking their fingers, and pulled his hand back from the edge of the bed, inch by inch.
"Trying to run?" Her voice sounded behind his ear, carrying a hint of a lazy smile, her breath brushing against his ear. "Did I give you permission to run?"
Kexi bit down on the pillow, his eyes brimming with tears of humiliation and unwillingness.
No!!
He wouldn't give in.
No matter what Qiuyuan did, no matter how she teased him or touched him.
He wouldn't give in.
As long as he held true to himself, as long as he didn't open the floodgates, he hadn't lost.
This was his final line of defense, his last shred of dignity as a victim.
The seconds ticked by.
In the end, he had overestimated himself.
He lost, utterly and completely, so badly he didn't even have his underwear left.
Qiuyuan looked down at Kexi, who had buried his face in the pillow and was playing dead, and slowly exhaled.
The deep red glow in the depths of her pupils began to flicker and gradually fade, revealing the cool, aloof eyes beneath.
Then Qiuyuan froze.
Her fingers were still clasped around Kexi's, their fingers interlocked and palms pressed together.
Her other hand was still on his shoulder.
Her robes hung open, and her long hair lay disheveled across them both, tangled with Kexi's dark hair until it was impossible to tell whose was whose.
Her pupils contracted sharply to their limit.
Her eyes had only just cleared, but first they went blank, and then that blankness was filled with overwhelming panic.
All color drained from her face in an instant, leaving it as pale as paper.
What had she done?
What had she done to him?
"No."
Her lips moved, her voice as hoarse as though someone had seized her by the throat.
This wasn't her.
This wasn't something Qiuyuan would do.
She was the master of the Mystic Sect, a sword immortal who had lived for hundreds of years, an otherworldly expert as cool as frost and pure as jade.
She couldn't possibly have.
How could she have,
It had to be her inner demon. Her inner demon had controlled her. Her inner demon had done it, not her, not her-
But she knew.
Deep down, she knew better than anyone.
Her inner demon had merely given her a push.
Her inner demon had merely brought out the thoughts she had hidden in the deepest recesses of her heart, thoughts she had kept hidden for hundreds of years, too afraid to let them see the light, and laid them out in the sun.
She slowly lowered her head and looked at her trembling hands.
That hand had just been holding his, their fingers interlocked.
She remembered the feel of it-scorching hot, urgent, full of vibrant life.
She remembered it all.
It wasn't her inner demon that remembered. It was her.
Could she really be a slut, just as her inner demon had said...?
The thought was like a poisoned dagger, driven viciously into her heart, its blade twisting inside.
Her Dao heart, her hundreds of years of cultivation, her good name, her dignity as a master-all of it had been torn to shreds by her own hands in a single night.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, an almost resolute calm appearing on her deathly pale face.
She bent down and picked up her sword from the floor.
Kexi lay on the bed, aching all over, his consciousness still floating in a haze.
He had entered full sage mode, the gears in his head as though someone had poured a bucket of paste over them, unable to turn at all.
Then he heard the scrape of metal-crisp and cold, carrying a chill that ran down his spine.
He turned his head and saw Qiuyuan walking toward him with her sword in hand, its tip glinting coldly.
Her face was expressionless, but her eyes were red.
The hand holding her sword was trembling, but the tip remained steadily aimed at him, at his throat.
Kexi's pupils widened abruptly. His sage mode ended in 0.01 seconds, and his adrenaline skyrocketed.
He abruptly rolled over and sat up, his back striking the carved wooden rail at the head of the bed with a dull thud.
Wait.
Seriously?
Was she going to kill him?
Qiuyuan was going to kill him?
She'd just been holding his hand and nestling close to him, and now that she'd had her fun, she was going to kill him?
She was killing him after getting her fill?
Pull out-whatever it was-and have no mercy?
She couldn't do this to him!
This was a honey trap!
This was a xianxia honey trap!
"M-m-master..." His voice shook like a fallen leaf in the autumn wind, his lips quivering so badly that he couldn't get a complete word out.
Qiuyuan stood before the bed, sword in hand, its tip three inches from his throat.
If she pushed it forward just a little more, that coldly gleaming blade would pierce his skin, sever his windpipe, and send his blood splashing across the bed, the brocade quilt, and her paper-pale face.
Her wrist was trembling.
The sword tip quivered slightly in the air. Across the three-inch gap, she pushed it forward half an inch.
Then drew it back.
She pushed it forward another half inch.
Then drew it back again.
She couldn't bring herself to do it!!
Kexi huddled against the head of the bed, staring fixedly at the sword tip wavering three inches from his throat, holding his breath.
He was afraid that even a breath might blow the trembling sword tip forward and drive it through his throat.
Silence.
Deathly silence.
The only sounds in the room were the faint hum of the sword tip quivering in the air and Qiuyuan's breathing, growing more ragged and more out of control.
After a long stalemate.
She spoke.
Her voice was ice-cold, without a trace of warmth.
"Get out."
Kexi froze.
Qiuyuan abruptly turned around, her back to him.
The hand holding her sword hung at her side, its knuckles white, her entire arm trembling violently.
From behind, she still looked as cool and aloof as ever.
"Get down the mountain. Never-come back."