Chapter 517: The Cautious Path, That Slippery Dog!
[Ding! Detected Destined Heroine Yang Qiuchan's favorability +10, plundering +30,000 Destiny Points!]
[Ding! Detected Destined Heroine Yang Qiuchan's favorability +10, plundering +30,000 Destiny Points!]
[Ding! Detected Destined Heroine Yang Qiuchan's favorability +10, plundering +30,000 Destiny Points!]
[Ding! Detected Destined Heroine Yang Qiuchan's total favorability has reached 85. Awarding bonus plunder of +30,000 Destiny Points!]
[Ding! Child of Destiny Wu Ming's emotional line has been significantly affected, plundering +100,000 Destiny Points!]
…
At this moment, Yang Qiuchan was completely moved. Her beautiful eyes, like pools of still autumn water, gazed foolishly at Shen Anyu. She was utterly speechless, the shock and overwhelming emotion leaving no room for her to even consider blaming him for his sudden, rash initiative. The gentle pressure of his lips against her eyelid lingered, a warmth that seemed to seep directly into her soul, melting away the icy despair that had encased her heart for so long. For the first time since the accident, she felt something other than pain and self-loathing; it was a dizzying, terrifying, yet intoxicating flutter of hope.
Watching the favorability points soar in the system notifications, Shen Anyu maintained a facade of deep, spontaneous affection. His expression was a masterpiece of tender concern, his eyes holding hers with a sincerity that could melt glaciers. Inwardly, however, a cold, calculating satisfaction coursed through him. This was going even better than planned.
If Yang Qiuchan were still the reigning campus belle, the untouchable goddess pursued by a legion of admirers, a simple gesture like this would never have been enough. Conquering her then would have been a far more difficult game. After all, Yang Qiuchan wasn't like Zhou Luyao, whose desires were transparent and easily satisfied with wealth. Yang Qiuchan was indifferent to fame and fortune, a woman of principle and quiet strength.
Countless scions of wealthy families had tried to win her over, parading their sports cars and limitless credit cards before her, only to be met with a polite but impenetrable wall of ice. She had never given any of them the time of day, her heart seemingly immune to such shallow displays.
But the Yang Qiuchan before him now was not that untouchable goddess. She was a woman at the absolute nadir of her existence. Severely scalded, her once-flawless face now a canvas of painful scars, her psychological defenses had been eroded to almost nothing. In this desolate state of utter vulnerability, the tender affection from a handsome man—a man who didn't recoil from her disfigurement, who looked at her with something other than pity—was a devastatingly potent weapon. The intimate act of him kissing her scarred eyes wasn't just a kiss; it was an act of profound acceptance that shattered the last of her crumbling walls. The breach was absolute. She fell, hopelessly and completely.
As for whether Shen Anyu himself felt any psychological revulsion due to Yang Qiuchan's current disfigured state? Or was he gritting his teeth and forcing himself to go through with it for the sake of his mission?
To think so would be to fundamentally misunderstand the man known as Young Master Shen. Such mundane limitations were for lesser men.
Young Master Shen had just used his Extraordinary Hypnosis on the most convenient target available: himself.
With a simple exertion of his will, he had hypnotized his own mind. In his perception, the woman before him was not the scarred and withdrawn victim of a terrible accident. Instead, he saw the radiant campus belle she once was—her skin flawless and luminous, her posture elegant, her every movement a portrait of grace. This mental overlay ensured his performance was not merely an act. The deep, affectionate gaze he directed at her was genuine, because in his reality, he was gazing upon perfection. Without this little trick, even with his peerless acting skills, maintaining such a consistent, unwavering look of adoration might have been a challenge.
Besides, it was only a temporary state of affairs. He knew with certainty that Yang Qiuchan would eventually be cured, her former beauty fully restored, perhaps even enhanced. She was, and would be again, a true enchantress.
Of course, he couldn't possibly suggest a cure now. To produce a miraculous remedy at this exact moment would raise a thousand red flags. Yang Qiuchan, no matter how emotionally compromised, would surely become suspicious. That would be detrimental to his ultimate goal of a complete and total conquest. Shen Anyu already had a meticulous plan in place for that part of the script.
Striking while the iron was hot, Shen Anyu murmured a few more subtle, affectionate words. He avoided any grand, sweeping confession of love; he knew she wouldn't believe it, and it would only seem cheap. Instead, he offered quiet words of comfort and admiration, his tone a warm, soothing balm on her raw nerves. It was enough. The simple, gentle words moved Yang Qiuchan to tears, which now flowed freely down her cheeks.
…
Meanwhile, back at Yang's Hotpot Restaurant.
Zhou Luyao stared at the bubbling cauldron of crimson broth before her. Thinly-sliced meat and potatoes danced in the roiling liquid, releasing fragrant clouds of steam, but she made no move to eat. Her chopsticks lay untouched as she waited for Shen Anyu to return.
"What is taking so long~" she whined under her breath, a pout forming on her perfect lips.
She was growing impatient. Naturally, her irritation wasn't directed at Shen Anyu—that would be unthinkable. Instead, she harbored a growing resentment towards Yang's Hotpot Restaurant and, by extension, Yang Qiuchan. Their beautiful, perfect date had been violently disrupted, and she herself had been mere inches from disaster.
A cold dread washed over Zhou Luyao as she imagined it. What if that boiling oil had hit her? If her beautiful, cold, and elegant face ended up a mangled mess of scars like Yang Qiuchan's… she knew, with absolute certainty, that she wouldn't be able to go on living. And more importantly, Shen Anyu would surely cast her aside. A damaged product was a worthless product.
Then, the memory of what had actually happened flooded back, chasing away the fear and replacing it with a warm, sweet thrill. The image of Shen Anyu stepping forward without a moment's hesitation, positioning his body in front of hers as a shield, was burned into her mind. In that chaotic instant, the world had narrowed to the solid, reassuring presence of his back. That single, heart-stopping moment of protection felt more profound, more moving, than the day he had presented her with the keys to a Rolls-Royce Phantom.
Zhou Luyao cupped her pretty face in her hands, resting her elbows on the table. A dreamy, sweet smile bloomed across her features, her eyes distant and soft.
Seeing such a stunning beauty dining alone, it was inevitable that several men would try their luck. One after another, they swaggered over to her table, armed with what they thought were charming smiles, and attempted to strike up a conversation.
However, Zhou Luyao offered each of them nothing more than a glacial glance, her gaze sweeping over them as if they were vermin. For each, she had only a single, ice-cold word: "Scram."
She was now completely, utterly enamored with her life as Shen Anyu's canary. Every single aspect of her existence was now one of unimaginable luxury and satisfaction. How could these pathetic, ordinary men possibly compare to him? They were nothing.
Zhou Luyao, however, remained blissfully unaware that each of these hopeful suitors was quietly intercepted moments after she dismissed them. As they walked away, they were flanked by a pair of unassuming men who politely but firmly escorted them away from the premises. They wouldn't be killed, of course—that would be messy. They were merely taken for a thorough "inspection," to ensure they weren't anything more than they appeared, and more specifically, to verify they had no connection whatsoever to a certain troublesome individual.
'Wu Ming, that reborn, low-key Child of Destiny, truly has the patience of a saint. He knows I'm right here, making a move on his precious goddess Yang Qiuchan, yet he hasn't made a single move…'
Standing in the quiet backyard of the restaurant, Shen Anyu's Divine Sense unfurled like an invisible net, blanketing an area several miles in every direction. He could feel the pulse of the city, the thoughts of the people, the flow of energy. He narrowed his eyes, a flicker of grudging respect mixing with his annoyance.
This time, he had truly met his match in the game of patience. Wu Ming was more resilient than an old tortoise hiding in its shell. There had been absolutely no disruptive action, no panicked attempts to intervene. Wu Ming's entire strategy was centered on lying low and remaining steady.
'Forget it. If I can't bait him out now, I'll just wait. Once my cultivation and strength reach a higher level, I'll find his little Portable Immortal Mansion and crack that turtle shell open myself.'
As the thought crossed his mind, Shen Anyu's gaze shifted back to the painfully shy Yang Qiuchan. He recalibrated his expression, infusing it with an air of sincere apology.
"Qiuchan," he began, his voice soft, "I couldn't help myself just now. I overstepped, and I offended you. I'm very sorry. You… you won't blame me, will you?"
Yang Qiuchan's face turned a shade of deep crimson, the blush stark against both her pale skin and her scarred cheek. She stammered, unable to meet his eyes.
"No… I don't blame you. Th-thank you."
"Ah? Why are you thanking me?" Shen Anyu asked, feigning innocent confusion.
"The shirt… it's been dry-cleaned. I'll go get it," she blurted out, feeling her cheeks burn with a heat that had nothing to do with her injuries. She turned and practically scurried away, desperate for a moment to compose herself.
When she returned and handed the neatly folded white shirt to Shen Anyu, her head was bowed, her gaze fixed firmly on the ground. She didn't dare look at him.
Shen Anyu accepted the shirt but said nothing more. He understood that Yang Qiuchan was in an extremely sensitive state. Pushing too hard or being too eager now would likely backfire, undoing all his progress. He would complete his conquest—and cure her scalds—during their next encounter.
"I'm going to eat hotpot now, Qiuchan. It was a pleasure meeting you," Shen Anyu chuckled, his voice light and warm. He gave her an elegant, casual wave of his hand and turned, leaving the backyard without a backward glance.
It was a long time after he was gone that Yang Qiuchan finally dared to look up. She stared at the empty doorway through which he had departed and murmured to the empty air:
"It was a pleasure meeting you too."
A fragile sense of joy and sweetness bloomed in her heart, a warmth that seemed to dissipate much of the gloom that had suffocated her for weeks.
However, as her hand subconsciously rose to trace the rough, raised texture of the scar on her cheek, Yang Qiuchan's lips pressed into a thin line. The brief moment of light faded, and the familiar feeling of downcast despair began to creep back in.
'That girl waiting for him outside is very beautiful. She must be his girlfriend,' she thought, her heart sinking. 'Yes, a person as good as him—so excellent, handsome, gentle, and kind—of course many girls must like him.'
'Unfortunately, in my current state, I'm not worthy of him. Otherwise… otherwise, I would pursue him too.'
And at that very moment, far away.
In a strange, pocket dimension, wisps of dreamlike, ethereal white mist rose from the ground, cloaking the landscape in an otherworldly haze that made it resemble a fairyland.
The area was not vast, perhaps a hundred miles in radius, but it was a perfect, self-contained world. It held rolling green mountains and pristine, verdant lakes. Between them lay large, meticulously cultivated fields planted with various exotic and potent spiritual herbs.
One field was filled with the greenish-blue Azure Origin Grass. Its leaves shone like polished green emeralds, exuding a delicate and translucent luster. The dewdrops clinging to them were not mere water; like perfect pearls, each one radiated a faint, internal glow.
"This Azure Origin Grass is a good thing. The dewdrops are imbued with its essence. The medicinal properties are mild, but long-term consumption can prolong life and strengthen one's Physique."
Wu Ming, wearing a simple straw hat, moved through the fields with the practiced ease of an old farmer. A contented smile touched his lips as he carefully used a jade tool to collect the crystal-clear dewdrops, funneling them into a gourd tied at his waist.
After finishing his work, he returned to a simple wooden house built by the shore of the lake. Inside, he glanced at the date on a calendar, then at a framed photograph on the desk next to it. The photo showed a beautiful girl with a radiant, carefree smile. Seeing her face, Wu Ming's hands clenched into tight fists, his jaw hardening as he gritted his teeth.
"Before my rebirth, it was at this exact time that Shen Anyu went to Yang's Hotpot Restaurant. He used his flowery words and charming tricks to deceive Qiuchan, making her fall for him. In reality, that bastard is nothing but a philandering scumbag, but Qiuchan still fell hopelessly in love with him."
"Shen Anyu is definitely prepared. He most likely discovered Qiuchan's special Physique long ago…"
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