Chapter Ten

Lin Jingxuan didn't know how he got back to the inn.

The wind at the alley entrance dispersed the lingering scent of their union on her body, but it couldn't dispel the bewildered expression on Su Wan'er's face when she last turned back. Those eyes looked at him—or rather, at the "Lady Frost" she saw—with gratitude, curiosity, and a subtle, inexplicable doubt. When she asked about the name "Lin Jingxuan," her tone was so natural, as if she were asking someone who should still be alive, as if the swordsman named Lin Jingxuan should still be alive and well somewhere in this world, wielding his sword and living a life of chivalry and vengeance.

But he was right there, standing in front of her, yet he dared not recognize her.

He glanced down at his hands—fair and slender, with pink fingertips, rounded nails, no calluses on the base of his thumb, and no sword marks on his palms. These were the hands that had just used the knife to cut Su Wan'er's ropes, and whose fingertips had even touched hers when they handed her the communication jade talisman. Did she feel a sense of familiarity? Did she think that the outline of a certain joint in these hands resembled someone else? He dared not think about it.

The inn's staircase was narrow and steep, the wooden steps creaking under his feet. He gripped the handrail and climbed step by step, each step heavy, as if confirming that there was still something to step on, still a path to walk. But his chest felt empty. The warm energy from absorbing Han Kui's essence still lingered in his meridians, and the warmth that had been stretched in his dantian hadn't completely dissipated, yet these tangible physical sensations seemed detached from him, as if they were happening to someone else. He reached the guest room door and pushed it open. The door wasn't locked; it creaked open, and moonlight streamed in through the window, falling on the disheveled bedding and the embroidered shoe he had kicked off. He remembered what he had done on this bed a few hours earlier. He had used this woman's body to masturbate to orgasm, and then used this body to straddle Han Kui's waist.

The door closed behind him. He didn't go in; he just stood behind the door, motionless. The moonlight cast his shadow on the wooden floor, long and thin, the outline of his skirt resembling a drooping flower in the shadow. His shoulders began to tremble, first slightly, then more and more violently, his whole body shaking violently in the shadow of the door. Then he slowly slid down, leaning against the door, his hands covering half his face, tears seeping through his fingers, running down the back of his pale hands and into his sleeves.

His master had told him when he was very young—a sword cultivator's will is like a sword, unyielding and unbreakable. He could die, he could be defeated, but he must never surrender. But what was he now? He wasn't dead, nor was he defeated; he was crushed, bent bit by bit, bent to the point that even he himself couldn't recognize whether the soul inside this body was still Lin Jingxuan. He killed Han Kui; he should feel he had won, but he didn't feel like a victor at all. The look in Han Kui's eyes before he died—that fear, astonishment, and another kind of conquered pleasure—was almost exactly the same as the look in his eyes when he ejaculated. He hated Han Kui, but he had also become like Han Kui.

In the darkness, the nine-tailed fox remained silent for a long time. Her human skin clung quietly to every inch of his skin, without contraction, friction, or any unnecessary movement. She could sense the emotional fluctuations of his consciousness—fluctuations no less intense than the fear of being hunted, no less excruciating than the pain of being struck through the chest by Yin Wujiu's palm. But this time there were no blades, no blood, only a gray, viscous substance spreading from within, like a silent avalanche, burying layer upon layer the things deep within him that sustained his life.

She watched him cry in the darkness, without teasing or mockery. Then she suddenly sighed softly, almost silently. The breath blew from the depths of her consciousness, brushing over the surface of his consciousness, carrying a temperature he had never felt before—not the flippant and teasing of toying with his prey, nor the languid satisfaction after an orgasm, but a deeper, more profound stillness.

"Let me do it," she said.

Then Lin Jingxuan felt his body begin to move.

It wasn't him moving, it was her. She regained control of her body—this time the movement was extremely gentle, unlike before when she forcefully snatched the reins from his hands, but rather like one person taking a heavy load from another's hands, the movement natural and silent. He felt his limbs were no longer under his control, but at the same time, the muscles that had been tense all night finally relaxed, as if someone had gently draped a coat over his trembling shoulders.

She stood up, pushed open the door, and stepped into the night.

The night market in Luoxia Town was even more bustling than during the day. Lanterns along the street lit up one after another, their warm yellow light illuminating the cobblestone path as smooth as jade. A vendor selling wontons set up his stall on a street corner, the steam rising into a puff of white mist in the night, carrying the aroma of dried shrimp and lard that wafted across half the street. An old man selling lanterns sat by the roadside, deftly bending and twisting bamboo strips in his hands, shaping lotus lanterns that drew gasps of amazement from several children. A sugar figurine maker was creating a sugar painting on the spot, the hot syrup outlining a phoenix with outstretched wings on a stone slab, eliciting applause from the children.

The nine-tailed fox spirit strolled leisurely through the crowds at the night market. Her gait had regained the composure of a beautiful woman browsing the streets—unhurried, stopping and starting. Passing a jewelry stall, she would bend down, pick up a hairpin, and compare it to her hair, examining it in the bronze mirror from left to right. If she wasn't satisfied, she would put it back and choose another. Her movements were natural and elegant, indistinguishable from the other women strolling around. Occasionally, a passerby would glance at this beautiful woman in her peach-colored dress, but only find her attractive before looking away.

“Look at this.” She picked up a silver hairpin. The head of the hairpin was a tiny nine-tailed fox, made of silver wire. The tail was only as thin as a matchstick, yet each hair was distinct, and even the curve of the downy hair at the tip was lifelike. She inserted the hairpin into her hair and looked at herself in the stall owner’s bronze mirror. “This lady has excellent taste. This hairpin is a one-of-a-kind piece that my master crafted for a whole month. It’s the only one of its kind in the entire city,” the stall owner said quickly.

The nine-tailed fox paid the money, inserted the hairpin into her hair, and continued walking. She didn't say much to Lin Jingxuan, only occasionally sharing trivial matters in her mind, her tone calm and casual, as if chatting with an old friend. "That wonton stall over there smells good, I'll go have a bowl later." "That child's sugar figurine melted, and he's crying so sadly." "Look at that old locust tree over there, its canopy is huge, it must be at least three hundred years old."

Lin Jingxuan didn't speak, but he didn't shut himself off either. He huddled in the corner deep within the human skin, listening to her rambling on about these trivial matters, to the noisy voices around him and the distant hawkers' cries, to the soft rustling of his skirt brushing against the bluestone pavement. His tears had dried sometime during the night, and the gray mass in his chest hadn't completely dissipated, but its edges seemed to have stopped spreading, like a downpour finally turning into a drizzle.

She walked up to the wonton stall and ordered a bowl of shrimp wontons. The stall owner deftly brought over a steaming bowl. She sat on a small wooden stool, blew on the steam, and scooped up a wonton with a spoon, putting it in her mouth. The wonton wrapper was so thin it was translucent, and the shrimp filling inside was tender and bouncy. The broth was made from bone stock simmered all day, with a small spoonful of fried garlic oil and a handful of chopped scallions—it was so delicious it made you want to swallow your tongue. As she ate, her eyes would squint slightly, the corners of her mouth would naturally turn up, and she would radiate a pure, undisguised sense of satisfaction.

"Delicious." She scooped up another wonton, blew on it to cool it down, and took a small bite. The sweetness of the shrimp exploded on her tongue, and she shook her head happily. The new silver fox hairpin in her hair glittered in the lantern light.

Lin Jingxuan watched all this, a strange feeling welling up inside him. He knew who this woman was, and what she had done to him before. She was a fox spirit; she had toyed with him, exploited him, and driven him to collapse and fall into depravity time and time again. But now, she sat quietly at a night market stall eating wontons, the plain white spoon tilting slightly between her fingers, a small piece of bright green scallion clinging to the corner of her mouth—she looked… she really did look like a wife.

He had seen ordinary couples strolling through the night market. Back in the small town at the foot of the Azure Sky Sword Sect, in the evenings, married senior brothers would often bring their wives to the market. The two would walk one after the other, the wife picking out jewelry and fabrics in front, the husband following behind carrying the bags. Occasionally, the wife would turn around and smile at her husband, who would nod sheepishly. He had seen this from afar back then, thinking it was something from another world, unrelated to sword cultivators, and unrelated to him. But now, what lingered in his mind was the glimpse of his wrist as his right hand, holding a spoon to drink soup, slipped slightly down from his sleeve, revealing a thin silver chain wrapped around it. It was something the Nine-Tailed Fox had casually bought when she passed by a jewelry stall—a silver chain as thin as a hair, with a small moon pendant hanging from it, cool and swaying on her wrist. She hadn't asked him when she bought it, nor had she said anything after wearing it. But now, that little crescent moon was gently swaying with her movements as she drank soup, tapping against her wrist bone again and again, like a gentle, unassuming companionship.

“In the past, I lived for over a thousand years, turning the cultivation world upside down. I lived a carefree life and never knew what it meant to be tired. But after a while, I got bored—all the men I seduced died one by one, they were all the same.” She gently stirred the soup in her bowl with a spoon. “But my husband is different.”

Lin Jingxuan moved slightly in the darkness, but did not speak.

"After meeting you, my lord, I suddenly felt like I didn't have to wander around anymore. Before, I might have had fun, but I never tied myself to anyone. Now that I have you by my side—even though I'm the one wrapping you in my skin—I feel like I have someone to talk to when I walk, someone to feed me when I eat, and someone to tremble with me during orgasms. It's quite nice." She paused, seemingly choosing her words carefully. "My lord, don't be fooled by my seemingly mundane activities. I do have feelings. Love is love, and hate is hate. I love you because you feel comfortable inside me, and our destinies are compatible. Moreover, you are clearly weak, yet you have a larger list of enemies than I do. You have a very strong personality, but you know when to close your eyes and enjoy yourself. I like all of these things, I love them all."

She didn't look up as she spoke, focusing intently on the last wonton in her bowl, her tone flat and even, as if stating a simple fact. But she spoke with utmost seriousness, so serious that it didn't seem like a joke—every word seemed to have been carefully crafted before uttering, without any unnecessary embellishment or flippant endings, only a frank and almost naive sincerity.

Love is love, and hate is hate. She loves her husband because of these and these reasons. This is the Daoist companionship of the demon race—at least, it's her Daoist companionship as a fox demon.

Lin Jingxuan remained silent for a long time. The steam from the wonton stall blurred her face, but he didn't need to look to know what expression she wore. He recalled his master's words, and his own past imagination of the concept of "Daoist partner"—he thought Daoist partners were respectful and courteous, fought side by side, and shared a knowing smile while facing each other under the moon. He thought becoming Daoist partners meant a gentleman's friendship, as pure as water, as steadfast as a mountain; it meant gentle warmth and restraint like a spring breeze, mutual respect and protection, doing the right thing at the right time, rather than being forced into bed and drained of every last drop.

“I don’t understand.” He finally spoke, his voice hoarse and weary. “Your so-called love is just about doing… that kind of thing? True love should be gentle, restrained, and polite. It has to be something both parties agree on. Not like you doing it anytime, anywhere—” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

"Oh?" She put down her spoon and wiped her mouth with a handkerchief. "Does my husband think that loving someone means you have to suppress your feelings and not touch them? You righteous cultivators must have it really tough. I'm a demon, and demons don't care about such things. I love you, my husband, and I'll touch you whenever I want. Just now, when I saw you standing at the alley entrance crying so pitifully, I was clearly helping you the whole time—helping you save people, helping you digest spiritual energy—and you haven't even thanked me yet. I love you, my husband, and I want to give you the best of everything."

"Your 'best' is—"

“It’s just to make my husband comfortable,” she said matter-of-factly, then stood up, placed a few copper coins on the stall owner’s table, and turned to walk back into the crowd at the night market. Her peach blossom eyes were slightly upturned, and her gaze carried a hint of intention that he couldn’t discern.

Lin Jingxuan became alert, but before he could speak, he felt the inner walls of the human skin suddenly tighten. This tightening wasn't the slow, languid massage of before, but a precise, direct, and undisguised assault—before he could react, the inner walls of the human skin suddenly surged up from all directions, tightly enveloping his genitals. One ring of soft flesh gripped the tip, another clung to the base, and the remaining rings began to writhe rapidly and powerfully like waves. The warm suction enveloped all his sensitive spots, the force just right, pressing precisely on the most pleasurable points, each thrust striking his nerve endings.

His body trembled violently, and his knees almost buckled, but the nine-tailed fox continued walking steadily, as if nothing had happened.

"You—why now—!" His voice exploded in his mind, filled with incredulous anger and panic. She had just said a lot of affectionate things, and he was still immersed in the confusion and shock brought by those words, not even having sorted out his own emotions, and she had already started?

"What's wrong?" she replied to him, her tone innocent like a wife being unjustly accused by her husband. "I'm tired from shopping and want to be intimate with my husband. Is that wrong? Look, the phoenix at that sugar figurine stall is so beautiful. Let's go take a look."

Her embroidered shoes clicked on the cobblestones, her steps measured and graceful. Her skirt swayed gently with the movement of her waist, giving the impression of a mature, beautiful woman leisurely strolling the streets. She stopped at the sugar figurine stall, gazing down at the newly sculpted phoenix. The craftsman was meticulously tracing delicate lines on the phoenix's tail with a thin bamboo stick, and she watched intently, a polite smile playing on her lips.

But inside her, beneath the cover of her peach-colored dress, everything was completely the opposite of what appeared. The peristalsis of the inner walls of her skin grew faster and more intense, the nine layers of soft flesh simultaneously beginning their "Nine-Bend Dragon" pattern—each layer with its own rhythm, some fast, some slow, some clockwise, some counterclockwise, like nine independent snakes simultaneously coiling and sucking around the same pillar. The warm fluid secreted from her vagina soaked his entire organ in a moist, soft space, the passage began to rhythmically contract and expand, the sucking sensation traveling from top to bottom, wave after wave, without interruption or pause.

Lin Jingxuan clenched his teeth desperately. He wanted to resist—on the street, in the bustling night market, in front of a sugar figurine stall, with several children watching nearby. The environment itself was enough to break him, but he didn't even have a chance to say "no." His body, wrapped uncontrollably in the human skin, swelled up, his blood rushing to the area it was wrapped in as if on fire, pleasure shooting up his spine like an arrow.

"How much is this phoenix?" she asked the craftsman through her external vocal cords, her voice gentle and elegant. The calm and composed tone of her voice contrasted sharply with the intense stimulation surging within him.

"Three coins each, madam, would you like one?"

"I want two," she said with a smile, "one for my son."

She spoke with a polite smile, even glancing sideways at a woman holding a child beside her and nodding in greeting. The woman turned back and smiled kindly at her, completely unaware of the cruel torture this gentle and dignified beauty was inflicting on the prisoner inside her.

Lin Jingxuan is going crazy.

He felt his limbs going weak uncontrollably, but she stood firmly in place. His throat wanted to groan, but her vocal cords, under her control, could only utter calm words like "three coins" and "thank you." He wanted to curl up and escape the pleasure, but her back was straight. He was like a person with his mouth covered, all the pleasure sealed inside, unable to be released in any way—unable to cry out, unable to move, unable to escape, only able to endure again and again the increasingly rapid swallowing and sucking of the inner walls of her skin in the darkness. And everyone around was watching—watching her elegant smile, watching her composed steps, watching her take the two phoenix sugar figurines and carefully hold them in her hands.

"Mmm... It feels so good to be intimate with my husband. How do you feel, my husband? Is this angle just right?" Her thoughts spoke in his mind, her tone still gentle.

He almost instinctively clenched his teeth, refusing to answer. But the undulating force within her skin intensified—the nine layers of soft flesh seemed to receive some signal, accelerating simultaneously. The suction grew stronger, the "soul-sucking" technique had unconsciously begun, the indentation deep within her cervix precisely pressed against his most sensitive spot, gently bumping against it with every slight undulation of her steps. She, too, reacted with tiny spasms from the pressure of his genitals, both of them simultaneously stimulated by each other's touch, pulling at each other in the middle of the street.

"Ugh—!" He finally couldn't hold back, and a muffled groan escaped his throat. But just as the groan was about to escape, the nine-tailed fox spirit raised her hand to cover her mouth, wiping her lips with a handkerchief, perfectly concealing the sound. The sugar figurine seller next to her thought she had simply choked on the sweetness of the syrup.

"Madam, be careful not to burn yourself," the craftsman kindly reminded her.

"Thank you, I was just touched by the sweetness," she replied softly, a fleeting blush crossing her eyes.

Lin Jingxuan's consciousness began to blur. The pleasure had piled up to an unbearable level—like a balloon being forcibly inflated, expanding every second, teetering on the brink of bursting; or like being repeatedly tickled on the soles of his feet by a feather, forced to keep his eyes open and not laugh. The surrounding voices, lights, heat—all the external sensory stimuli reminded him that he was a prisoner wrapped in a skin, and outside that skin was a beautiful woman with a smug, serious expression, exchanging pleasantries with the stall owner. He had nothing to grasp, no wall to lean on, and could only let himself sink in this ocean of pleasure.

In the instant of climax, he felt as if the whole world had exploded into pieces before his eyes. The light from the lantern above his head and the patterns of the phoenix tail feathers on the sugar figurine in her hand were all swallowed by white light. He ejaculated, his semen passing through the gaps in the membrane and being completely absorbed by the inner wall of her skin. At the same time, a surge of heat erupted from deep within his ovaries—the fluid that convulsively gushed from the depths of a woman's climax. The simultaneous impact from his dual gender and two sets of senses was like two red-hot hammers shattering his consciousness.

On the surface, the nine-tailed fox merely tilted her head slightly, wiped non-existent sweat from her forehead with a handkerchief, and smiled as she accepted two strings of phoenix sugar figurines from the craftsman. She paid, turned, and walked back towards the inn, her steps still steady. The darkness before his eyes hadn't completely dissipated; he could only hear her gently licking the crisp sugar on the surface of the figurine, producing a very faint crunching sound.

"Thank you for the reward, my husband," she said telepathically.