So… should he agree?
The image was too vivid—almost dangerous to even picture. And Wei Qing couldn't shake the feeling that the moment he nodded, something catastrophic would inevitably follow.
Seeing him hesitate for far too long, Jingliu spoke again.
"There's no one else here." Her gaze swept the quiet courtyard. "Between you and me, there's no need for hollow formalities. Dan Feng said: returning a peach for a plum is how relationships endure."
Wei Qing could practically see Dan Feng on the sidelines, fan in hand, wearing that smug little grin that said: Told you this would work.
"It's not that I don't want to…" Wei Qing chose his words carefully. "It's just—this feels like too much trouble for you. And it's really not a big deal."
"It isn't trouble." Jingliu seemed a touch lighter now that he hadn't refused outright. "And you also said it's not a big deal. It'll be quick."
As she spoke, her eyes shifted toward the house, already scanning for a washbasin.
"Wait—wait, wait!" Wei Qing hurried to block her. "Even if we're doing this, shouldn't we… prepare first? You can't just—in the courtyard—like that!"
He truly could not imagine it: broad daylight, his own home, Jingliu washing his feet in the courtyard. Even with the gate shut, it was still too explosive.
Jingliu paused, then nodded, perfectly reasonable.
"You're right. We'll go inside?"
Wei Qing stared at her—at that matter-of-fact expression, the faint hint of eagerness—and felt his temples start throbbing.
At this point, she'd already taken it this far. If he refused now, it would look less like "politeness" and more like he had something deeply wrong with him.
He inhaled slowly, feeling as if he'd been strapped to a star skiff with the throttle welded wide open.
"…Fine." The word came out like he'd bitten it off. "Then… I'll trouble you."
Jingliu didn't seem to notice his internal war. Once she had a yes, she turned and walked into the house—her steps, if anything, a shade lighter than usual.
Inside, the furnishings were plain. Wei Qing pointed toward a wooden basin in the corner and towels on a rack.
Jingliu picked up the basin and went to the water jar. Even pouring water, her movements were clean and efficient—so focused that she didn't look like someone preparing foot-wash water, but like someone wiping down her beloved sword.
Hot water filled the basin, thin steam rising in pale ribbons.
She tested the temperature, found it acceptable, then carried it over to the low couch Wei Qing usually sat on and set it down neatly.
Then she looked up at him—wordlessly instructing him to sit.
Wei Qing shuffled over and sat with stiff, reluctant precision.
He felt like a criminal awaiting sentencing.
Jingliu crouched before him.
From this angle, Wei Qing could clearly see her lowered lashes, the straight bridge of her nose. She reached out—completely natural—and removed his shoes and socks.
The water temperature was perfect.
But Wei Qing's muscles were so tightly wound he couldn't feel even a hint of relaxation.
Now came the critical step.
He held his breath as Jingliu rolled up her sleeves, revealing a pale forearm. Then those hands—hands made to hold a blade, hands that had corrected his swordwork countless times—slowly dipped into the water and gently closed around his ankle.
Her fingertips were faintly cool.
The moment they touched his skin, Wei Qing jerked so hard he nearly kicked the basin over.
Jingliu froze and looked up. "Too hot?"
"Cough." Wei Qing's voice came out dry. "No. The temperature's perfect."
Jingliu nodded, lowered her gaze again, and began to wash.
She was clearly inexperienced—clumsy, even—nothing like Wei Qing's technique with pressure points and fatigue relief.
She simply scrubbed with her palm, fingers brushing across the arch and ankle. Every small motion carried an oddly solemn seriousness, like she was executing a task of great importance.
Wei Qing lowered his head, staring at the crown of her snow-white hair.
Feeling those lightly callused hands—soft despite the wear—move over his skin.
It wasn't really a massage. More like a rough imitation.
And yet the sensation carried a strange, complicated weight.
Jingliu was fully absorbed. She washed carefully—instep to ankle, even between the toes—steady pressure, methodical, thorough.
Her focused profile and slightly pressed lips made her look less like she was washing someone's feet and more like Yingxing in the Artisanship Commission, hammering steel into a blade.
Time stretched thin.
The room was silent, filled only with soft water sounds and the faintest trace of breath.
At last, Jingliu stopped.
She took a cloth towel and rested Wei Qing's foot on her knee, carefully blotting away the droplets.
The posture pulled them uncomfortably close; Wei Qing could even see the tiny tremble of her lashes when she looked down.
He was just beginning to think it was finally over—
When Jingliu reached into her robe and produced a small white porcelain jar.
"That's…?" Wei Qing stared at it.
"An alchemical salve from the Alchemy Commission. It loosens the tendons and unblocks the channels." Jingliu opened the lid; a clean, bitter herbal scent spread through the air. "You often seem fatigued. This may help."
Before Wei Qing could protest, she scooped out a little, warmed it in her palm, then took hold of his ankle again.
The salve was warm.
Her touch was still unskilled, but earnest—pressing and kneading carefully as the medicine melted into his skin.
And then—
"Wei Qing! Wei Qing! I've got something urgent—eh?"
The courtyard gate pushed open without so much as a knock, followed by a bright, lively voice.
Baiheng bounced in, tail swishing cheerfully.
She was clearly intending to cut straight across the courtyard and into the house—
—but the instant she reached the doorway, she slammed to a stop.
The smile on her face froze solid.
Her fox eyes widened until they were practically round.
What… was she seeing?
Her usually cool-as-moon, sword-dominant, enemy-terrifying best friend Jingliu…
was crouched in front of Wei Qing's couch…
holding—
holding Wei Qing's foot.
And not only holding it—she was very seriously working the salve into it, pressing again and again with focused diligence.
The air carried the faint, bitter scent of Alchemy Commission medicine.
The shock of the scene was so immense that even Baiheng—who had seen more than her fair share of absurdity—blue-screened on the spot.
Her mind went blank.
And the room, once filled only with water and breath, suddenly held a single, impossible question:
"What are you two… doing?!"
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 90)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 95)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 80)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter70)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter70)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter50)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter60)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 20
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 20
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