Xue Laohu strode into his bedroom, his steps heavy with exhaustion. The lingering heat on his skin made him feel feverish, his body still flushed from the sight of Li Zhameng. He barely had the patience to wait.
"Prepare an ice bath," he called to the maid standing by the door. His voice was sharp, laced with urgency.
The maid bowed and hurried off, returning shortly after with a wooden tub filled to the brim with water freshly drawn from the river. The surface shimmered with tiny ripples as chunks of ice bobbed in the frigid bath. Steam rose faintly from his skin as he stood over it, hesitating. The contrast was almost unbearable.
With a deep breath, he dipped a foot in—only to recoil immediately. "Tch—!" He hissed, stumbling back a step. "Damn it, that's cold."
His face burned with frustration, the heat refusing to dissipate despite the open air against his bare skin. He let out a groan, raking a hand through his damp hair. He hated cold baths. Despised them, really. But some sacrifices needed to be made.
Bracing himself, he clenched his jaw and forced his body into the water. The chill hit him like a blade, slicing through his skin and sending violent shivers up his spine. His teeth clattered, his muscles seized, and for a moment, he swore he'd rather burn up than endure this. He hugged his arms to his chest in a futile attempt to preserve some warmth, but the ice-cold water swallowed every trace of heat, pulling it from him like a leech.
Minutes passed, each second more agonizing than the last. When he finally emerged from the bath, his fingers were pruned, his skin pale and covered in goosebumps. He grabbed a towel and patted himself dry with brisk, frustrated movements.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" he muttered, his voice thick with irritation. Even now, something felt… off.
He threw on a fresh set of robes, the fabric soft but offering little warmth against his chilled skin. Sitting at the edge of his bed, his gaze drifted toward his open closet. In the corner, a neat stack of clean handkerchiefs sat, untouched. He stared at them for a long moment before exhaling sharply.
Dragging a hand down his face, he let out a quiet, bitter laugh. Then, suddenly, as if acting on impulse, he pushed himself up and strode to the closet, grabbing a handful of the neatly folded cloths. Without another thought, he collapsed into bed, burying himself under layer upon layer of bedding.
Xue Tuzi had long since fallen asleep, nestled comfortably in Shudu's arms. The demon, eyes half-lidded in drowsy contentment, tightened his grip around the beauty's waist before allowing sleep to claim him. Between them, Jiao Jiao lay curled in a tiny ball, basking in their combined warmth. His soft, inaudible snores matched the gentle rise and fall of his small belly as he slept without a care in the world.
Meanwhile, across their bedroom, Li Zhameng lay wide awake, trapped in a restless torment.
No matter how many times he shut his eyes, sleep refused to come. His heart ached with an unbearable weight—his Shizun's recent behavior had been so distant, so unlike before. A heavy sigh left his lips as he turned onto his side, staring at the stars filtering through the thin paper windows.
"Mother always said that if there's something on your mind, it's best to say it out loud."
He sat up suddenly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Then I'll just tell Shizun how I feel," he murmured with newfound resolve.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet touched the cool wooden floor, sending a shiver up his spine. He ignored it and rose, slipping on a robe before quietly making his way out. The halls were eerily silent, save for the occasional creak of the old floorboards beneath his steps.
As he neared his Shizun's bedroom, he heard a noise. A low, guttural grunt. His breath hitched. His fingers, poised midair, as he hesitated.
Another sound followed, this time more erratic—shuffling, something hitting against something else with force. His stomach twisted at the unsettling noises. Biting his lip, curiosity gnawed at him until he could no longer resist. Slowly, carefully, he pressed his fingers against the door and cracked it open just a sliver.
What he saw made his soul nearly leave his body. His Shizun was barbarically pounding a pillow fully erected thrusting relentlessly.
Li Zhameng's mouth fell open as he watched, his Shizun grunted, his movements frenzied, pouncing on the poor makeshift target as though possessed. The thrusts of his beating were continuous, his expression one of sheer madness.
Li Zhameng's gaze drifted downward, his eyes grew misty, his face grew warm as he saw his Shizun fully erect, stroking himself again and again, until he released a sticky creamy residue that smeared onto the pillows. Li Zhameng's face erupted into flames. His breath caught in his throat. His vision swam and with that he turned to leave.
The once-empty space was now bustling with activity—disciples hurried back and forth, hanging banners and lanterns, while others busied themselves with meal preparations. The scent of roasted meats and fragrant spices filled the air, blending with the sweet aroma of freshly brewed tea.
Without hesitation, Li Zhameng and Xue Tuzi joined in, their hands moving swiftly as they helped set up for the night's grand feast.
The scent of freshly brewed tea filled the dimly lit study, curling in delicate wisps of steam that danced in the air. Xue Laohu sat across from Sect Leader Mao, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his porcelain cup as he gazed into its surface. His own reflection wavered in the dark liquid before he cast a sidelong glance at Sect Leader Mao.
The old lord was already lifting his cup, his whiskered face scrunching slightly as he blew on the steaming tea—once, twice, thrice.
Xue Laohu's lips twitched. Three seconds, he counted in his head.
Right on cue—
"Agh!" Sect Leader Mao yelped, jerking back as his tongue burned a vivid red. He frantically waved his hand near his mouth, his large frame trembling with indignation. "Who in heavens keeps making this tea so scalding hot?!" he barked, glaring at the innocent cup as if it had personally betrayed him.
Xue Laohu's lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. It was a scene he had witnessed countless times—one that never failed to amuse him.
Picking up his cup with deliberate grace, he finally spoke. "Tell me, Sect Leader Mao," he began, lifting his tea to his lips and taking a slow, unscathed sip, "about this Celestial Compass…"
Sect Leader Mao, still grumbling under his breath, begrudgingly turned his attention back to the conversation. "The Celestial Compass is a precious artifact," he said, rubbing his sore tongue as he spoke. "It is said to guide its wielder toward their ultimate destiny. Its power is far too great to be left in the hands of either a human or a demon." His expression grew serious. "I'd like you to retrieve it. Bring it to Mount Dingbu so we may have it permanently sealed."
Xue Laohu gave a slow nod, placing his cup back onto the table. "As you wish, Sect Leader Mao. My disciples and I will handle it." He reached for his fan, flicking it open with an effortless grace. "Do you know where it is?"
Sect Leader Mao exhaled, his fingers tapping against his knee. "Reports claim an individual in the western village was seen wielding it. Its magic is said to be unparalleled—even the finest martial artists in the region cannot compare."
As he spoke, he lifted his teacup once more, this time taking a cautious, deliberate sip. His whiskers twitched as the warmth spread through his belly, no longer the fiery inferno that had scorched his tongue moments before.
Just then, a loud gurgle erupted from his stomach, the deep rumble filling the quiet study.
Xue Laohu's phoenix eyes flickered with amusement. He pressed his fan to his lips, feigning polite indifference.
Sect Leader Mao groaned, rubbing his belly with a mournful look. "The Mistress has me fasting," he muttered, eyes flicking to the now-empty cup as if hoping for another distraction from his hunger.
Xue Laohu closed his fan with a sharp snap. "Ah, but surely Sect Leader Mao will join us for dinner," he said lightly, standing from his seat. His tone was cheerful, but the glint in his eyes was unmistakably mischievous.
"I mustn't enrage her," Sect Leader Mao sighed, his expression one of a man torn between survival and gluttony. Another low growl echoed from his stomach.
Xue Laohu chuckled, stepping closer. "Come," he said, grasping Sect Leader Mao's arm and pulling him up. "I won't utter a word."
Sect Leader Mao hesitated, but the momentary war within him ended as his hunger won out. He allowed himself to be led out of the study, his strides growing quicker as the tantalizing scent of roasted meats and steamed buns drifted in from the courtyard.
The sun had long since set, leaving the world bathed in the cool embrace of twilight. The sky stretched above them, speckled with faint, flickering stars, while the lanterns in the main courtyard casted a warm, golden glow.
Sect Leader Mao's ears twitched. Something felt… off. The main hall ahead was uncharacteristically dark, the usual chatter of disciples absent.
Xue Laohu strode ahead, his pace unhurried as he reached the doors, he pushed the doors open, and in an instant, the hall burst to life. Lanterns flared, casting a warm golden glow as a chorus of voices erupted in unison—"Happy Birthday, Sect Leader Mao!"