Chapter Seven

The Soul Emperor returned to his body.

He sat motionless on the cold floor of the Soul Clan's secret chamber, his back against the stone wall, staring up at the dim ceiling. He had been sitting there for three whole hours. He didn't want to move, didn't want to think, didn't want to remember, didn't want to face anything. He just wanted to sit like this, until the end of time, until this body turned to dust, until there was no one left in this world called the Soul Emperor.

But time won't stop just because he wants it to.

His body still remembered, remembered everything from that eighth reincarnation. Those images seemed etched deep within his soul; no matter how hard he tried to forget, they would quietly surface in the still of the night, carrying that woman's voice, scent, and warmth, replaying in his mind again and again.

Ya Fei.

The woman who appeared by Xiao Yan's side when he was at his weakest, the woman who accompanied him through his growth with her alluring eyes and seductive words, the woman who, despite being absent from all the battles, held a place in Xiao Yan's heart. She didn't have Xiao Xun'er's noble status, Cai Lin's formidable strength, Xiao Yi Xian's tragic beauty, Nalan Yanran's youthful entanglements, Yun Yun's forbidden master-disciple relationship, or Zi Yan's mysterious nobility.

But she possessed something no one else had—she was the first woman Xiao Yan encountered, the first woman to make him feel the charm of a mature woman. Before that naive young man understood love, Ya Fei was like a ripe fruit, hanging within his reach, exuding an alluring fragrance.

And the Soul Emperor entered this woman's body.

Even now, when he thinks back on it, he still feels a deep-seated despair.

That despair wasn't because Ya Fei's body wasn't good enough; quite the opposite—Ya Fei's body was the most irresistible of the eight bodies he'd experienced. Xiao Xun'er's body was gentle, Cai Lin's was passionate, Xiao Yi Xian's was sensitive, Nalan Yanran's was innocent, Yun Yun's was composed, and Zi Yan's was mysterious. Each of them had their own unique characteristics, and each brought him different pleasures and moments of utter depravity.

But Ya Fei is different.

Ya Fei's body was born to be alluring.

Every inch of her skin was like a meticulously tuned musical instrument, capable of producing the most moving notes with the slightest touch. Every movement she made carried a natural rhythm; even a casual flick of her hair or a lick of her lips could send shivers down one's spine. Her voice was even more captivating, low and husky, like a kitten gently scratching at your heart with its paws—itchy and tingling, utterly irresistible.

An ordinary man, faced with such a body, probably wouldn't last even the time it takes for an incense stick to burn. But Xiao Yan—the boy who grew up under Ya Fei's teasing—had virtually no resistance to this body.

The Soul Emperor remembered that when he found himself inside Ya Fei's body, the first thing he did was frantically try to escape. He tried every method he knew—soul shocks, energy bursts, self-harm—but nothing worked. Ya Fei's body was like an elaborately designed trap, holding him firmly within it.

Even more deadly was that the imprints of the seven women within his soul, upon entering Ya Fei's body, seemed to find some kind of resonance, beginning to resonate wildly. Xiao Xun'er's gentleness, Cai Lin's pride, Xiao Yi Xian's kindness, Nalan Yanran's reserve, Yun Yun's composure, and Zi Yan's mystery—seven different qualities were perfectly fused together in Ya Fei's body, which was born to be alluring, forming an unprecedented and irresistible attraction.

That wasn't Ya Fei's personal charm; it was a chemical reaction produced by the soul imprints of seven women within her body. That charm was so powerful that even the Soul Emperor himself felt a pang of unease—when he saw that alluring face in the mirror, he found himself unable to look away.

Ya Fei was beautiful to begin with, but when seven souls who deeply loved Xiao Yan took up residence in her body, that beauty was amplified infinitely, turning into a poison that made people willingly succumb.

As for Xiao Yan, the boy who grew up under Ya Fei's teasing, he surrendered without even struggling when faced with such poison.

The Soul Emperor closed his eyes, and those images surged up uncontrollably once again.

He saw himself—no, he saw Ya Fei—in the inner room of the Mittel Auction House, leaning against a soft couch, one leg slightly bent, a section of her snow-white thigh revealed by the slit in her long white dress. In her hand she held a glass of red wine, gently swirling it, the wine leaving dark red streaks on the glass, like some kind of silent invitation.

He saw Xiao Yan standing at the door. That boy—no, he was no longer a boy. He was a young man in his early twenties, still bearing traces of youthful naiveté, but his brows already held the sharpness and confidence of a strong man. He stood at the door, looking at Ya Fei on the soft couch, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.

"Sister Yafei, is there something you need?"

His voice was relatively calm, but Soul Emperor could detect a subtle undercurrent beneath that calm. He could feel Xiao Yan's gaze sweeping over him—pausing for a moment on his face, a moment on his chest, and then lingering a moment longer on the exposed part of his thigh.

Ya Fei—no, it was the Soul Emperor, using Ya Fei's body—slowly sat up, placing the wine cup in her hand on the low table beside her with a crisp sound. She raised her head, looking at Xiao Yan with her peach blossom eyes that seemed to hold spring water, a charming smile slowly curving her lips.

"Can't I contact you if there's nothing wrong?"

Her voice was low, with a hint of languor and coquettishness, like a feather gently brushing against Xiao Yan's heart.

The Soul Emperor's reason screamed, cried out, and desperately tried to regain control of his body. But he couldn't. Because the soul imprints of those seven women understood this body better than he did, and knew better than he how to use it to seduce the man before him. They were like seven experienced dancers, gracefully manipulating Ya Fei's body, performing a perfect, dazzling dance.

As for the Soul Emperor, he could only watch helplessly as the dance led Xiao Yan into the trap, like an audience member trapped in a private box.

Xiao Yan walked in.

The door closed behind him.

Ya Fei stood up, barefoot, and walked step by step towards Xiao Yan on the soft carpet. Her steps were slow and elegant, her waist swaying gently with each step, like a beautiful serpent swimming in water. She reached Xiao Yan and looked up at him—this boy who was once half a head shorter than her was now a full head taller.

She reached out and gently touched Xiao Yan's chest with her fingertips.

"You've grown up."

Her voice carried a hint of emotion, a hint of relief, and a perfectly balanced, irresistible ambiguity.

Xiao Yan did not answer. He simply looked down at the woman in front of him, whom he could no longer understand, and at her smiling peach blossom eyes. Something inside him was crumbling little by little.

"Sister Yafei, you..."

"lie."

Ya Fei's fingers moved from Xiao Yan's chest to his lips, gently silencing him before he could speak. Her fingertips were slightly cool, carrying a faint fragrance, as they lightly caressed Xiao Yan's lips.

"Don't speak."

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

At that moment, the Soul Emperor's soul let out a desperate cry. But he sensed that beyond the cry, something else was quietly growing—the jubilation of the seven women's soul imprints, their joy and satisfaction at finally being able to touch their lovers again.

That wasn't his feeling, but he could sense it. The feeling was so intense, so real, so irresistible, like being swept along by a massive wave, drifting helplessly in an unknown direction.

Xiao Yan's hands gripped her waist. Those boyish hands already possessed the strength and warmth of a grown man, and through the thin fabric, they felt like two red-hot irons, leaving burning marks on Ya Fei's waist. The Soul Emperor could feel Xiao Yan's breathing quicken, his heartbeat accelerate, and the primal, masculine desire deep within him being awakened.

"Sister Ya Fei, do you know what you're doing?" Xiao Yan's voice was hoarse and restrained. His forehead was pressed against Ya Fei's forehead, and his breath was hot and rapid on her face.

Ya Fei—who was controlled by the Soul Emperor and seven women—chuckled softly.

"Of course I know."

Her fingers traced a path down Xiao Yan's chest, across his abdominal muscles, and stopped at his waist. Her fingertips gently hooked onto his sash and gave it a slight tug.

"I am perfectly sober."

At that moment, the Soul Emperor's sanity completely shattered. He finally understood a cruel truth—he could never resist this curse. Because the curse wasn't simply about turning him into a woman's body; it was about forcing him to constantly experience the process of "falling in love with Xiao Yan." In each reincarnation, he would relive the feeling of loving that boy within that woman's body.

And that feeling can accumulate.

The first time, he felt Xiao Yan's love and tenderness within Xiao Xun'er's body. The second time, he felt Xiao Yan's domineering and possessive nature within Cai Lin's body. The third time, he felt Xiao Yan's innocence and protectiveness within Xiao Yi Xian's body. The fourth time, he felt Xiao Yan's resentment and longing within Nalan Yanran's body. The fifth time, he felt Xiao Yan's awe and infatuation within Yun Yun's body. The sixth time, he felt Xiao Yan's pity and doting within Zi Yan's body. The seventh time, he felt it within Ya Fei's body—

He sensed Xiao Yan's desires and his descent into depravity.

That feeling was different from the previous six times. The relationship between Ya Fei and Xiao Yan was not love, not kinship, not friendship, but something more complex, more ambiguous, and more irresistible. It was a game between adult men and women, a tacit flirtation, a subtle probing, which ultimately evolved into a natural and inevitable fall into depravity.

Within Ya Fei's body, the Soul Emperor experienced the feeling of being consumed by desire. It was a pure, undisguised, and guiltless desire. Ya Fei didn't need to worry about her family like Xiao Xun'er, her race like Cai Lin, her poisonous body like Little Fairy Doctor, her reputation like Nalan Yanran, the taboo between master and disciple like Yun Yun, or the loss of control over her bloodline like Zi Yan.

All she needs to do is enjoy herself.

Enjoy the boy's body, enjoy his warmth, enjoy the pleasure brought by each of his thrusts, enjoy the trembling and panting as he releases himself inside her during his orgasm.

And the Soul Emperor was completely overwhelmed by that enjoyment.

He didn't remember how that night ended. He only remembered that when the morning sun shone through the curtains into the room the next morning, he was lying on the messy bed, his whole body sore and limp like a lump of mud, unable to even move a finger. Xiao Yan was lying beside him, one arm still wrapped around his waist, fast asleep.

The Soul Emperor—with the last vestige of his reason, in that body steeped in desire, looked at the young face beside him.

He suddenly realized that he no longer hated that face.

It's not that complicated feeling of "I want to kill you but I don't hate you," but a genuine, heartfelt lack of hatred. It's like iron that has been hammered too many times, losing its original shape and never returning to its original form.

He lay inside Ya Fei's body for a long time, so long that the morning light turned into midday sunlight, so long that Xiao Yan woke up, kissed his shoulder, got dressed, and left. He didn't move, just stared at the ceiling, his eyes vacant, lost in thought.

Then, his soul finally left Ya Fei's body.

The Soul Emperor suddenly snapped out of his reverie.

He found himself still in the Soul Clan's secret chamber, his back against the cold stone wall, his forehead covered in cold sweat. He gasped for breath, like a drowning man finally surfacing. He looked down at his hands—his own hands, long and strong, with calluses from years of wielding weapons at the base.

But these hands felt increasingly unfamiliar to him.

He slowly stood up and walked to the bronze mirror in the corner of the secret room, looking at the cold, stern man in the mirror. He stared for a long time, then slowly reached out and touched his cheek. The touch felt very unfamiliar to him—the man's skin was too rough, the pores too large, the stubble prickly, lacking the delicate, smooth feel of a woman's skin.

He suddenly felt a little uncomfortable.

The thought made him abruptly pull his hand back, as if he had been burned.

No, that's not right. He's always been a man. He's possessed this body for three thousand years. This is his true body, this is what the Soul Emperor should look like. He shouldn't be uncomfortable; he couldn't possibly be uncomfortable—

But his hands were still trembling slightly.

He found that when he walked, he would still unconsciously hunch his shoulders and take lighter steps. When he stood, he would unconsciously shift his weight onto one leg and turn slightly to the side. When he spoke, he would unconsciously soften his voice and add a slight upward inflection at the end.

He had already adopted those women's habits back into his own body.

He had been a woman eight times. Eight times. Each time, he had lived in that woman's body for a considerable period of time, and each time, he had been embraced, possessed, and conquered by the same man within that woman's body. The accumulation of eight times was enough to etch some behaviors that originally belonged to women into the depths of his soul, making them as natural as breathing.

He stood before the bronze mirror, looking at the still cold and aloof face of the man reflected in it, only to find that he could no longer take it for granted that this was himself, just as he had before.

"Heh..." He let out a low, self-deprecating chuckle. "What... have I become?"

He pondered a question—he had transmigrated eight times, entering the bodies of eight different women and having relations with Xiao Yan eight times. According to the timeline, all those women had given themselves willingly; Xiao Yan was unaware that his soul resided within their bodies. In Xiao Yan's memory, he had simply followed fate's arrangement, encountering those women and experiencing what was destined to happen with them.

This is probably the only consolation.

He didn't have to face Xiao Yan's gaze after learning the truth. He didn't have to face the unbearable questioning and scrutiny. He didn't have to admit to Xiao Yan that he was the one who had been conquered by him eight times.

But he still felt unwilling to give up.

Three thousand years of arduous cultivation ultimately resulted in nothing more than being conquered eight times by his nemesis. The curse of lust for beauty transformed him from a powerful and influential figure into a monstrous, androgynous monster. He tried every method, yet he could not escape the curse, and only sank deeper into it.

His gaze fell on his hands, those long, powerful hands that had slain countless people. He suddenly wondered—what if these hands no longer held weapons, but instead caressed someone's cheek? What if these arms no longer formed hand seals, but instead embraced someone? What if this chest no longer shielded him from enemy attacks, but instead rested against that person's chest?

He was startled by these thoughts and shook his head violently.

No. No. He can't think like that. He is the Soul Emperor, the patriarch of the Soul Clan, a half-emperor, he is—

He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, telling himself—it's all over. He had already gone through eight reincarnations, entering the bodies of eight women, but there was no longer a woman by Xiao Yan's side with whom he had ever had a relationship.

This time, it's really over.

He could finally return to a normal life, continue being the patriarch of his Soul Clan, and continue plotting his path to domination. Although his soul bore the imprints of eight women, and although his behavior had become somewhat strange, he remained the Soul Emperor, still standing at the pinnacle of the Dou Qi Continent.

He can survive.

He can forget all of that.

He can...

He remained silent for a long time before finally letting out a soft sigh.

The sigh echoed in the secret room, like a long, mournful cry containing countless complex emotions.

Unbeknownst to him, in the deepest recesses of his unseen soul, the pink mark was glowing faintly, like a pair of smiling eyes quietly watching him.

The curse of lust for beauty continues.