Chapter Two: Separation

The cold moon is silent.

Shen Du sat on the stone steps of Qingya Peak's gate, taking a long time to accept the reality before him—he looked down and saw a pair of hands that didn't belong to him, slender and long, with distinct knuckles, and skin as white as the finest mutton-fat jade. He had seen these hands for twelve years, every time his master drew his sword, flicked his sleeve, or gathered his disheveled robes. But now these hands were on his own arms; whatever fingers he moved, they moved exactly the same, without the slightest deviation.

He took a deep breath, his chest heaving with an unusual rhythm. Something soft swayed slightly against his chest with each breath, a strange weight that made the hairs on his body stand on end. He forced himself not to think about what it was, focusing instead on the silent consciousness in his mind.

"Master," he called out in his heart.

No one answered.

"Master?" he called out again.

After a long while, a cold and weary voice echoed in his mind: "...Here."

It was just one word, but Shen Du could hear a kind of bewilderment in his master's voice that he had never heard before. In his twelve years of memories, Lu Qinghan had always been calm, composed, and in control of everything. Even when facing that red-robed demonic cultivator, her eyes had never wavered. But now, an extremely subtle crack appeared in her voice.

“That demonic cultivator should have gone far away,” Shen Du said. “I just used my divine sense to search around, and there was no trace of him within a ten-mile radius.”

Lu Qinghan remained silent for a few moments, probably verifying it with her divine sense. After a while, she hummed in agreement.

Both of them breathed a sigh of relief. The oppressive feeling emanating from that figure in red robes was simply too strong; so strong that just confirming the other's departure left them with a feeling of utter exhaustion, as if they had escaped a calamity. Shen Du felt his knees going weak, unsure whether it was from fear or the torment of the bizarre turn of events.

"How are you?" Lu Qinghan's voice rang out again, his tone noticeably more urgent than before. "Is there anything that's bothering you? Is there any blockage in your body control? Is your spiritual energy circulating smoothly?"

Shen Du was stunned. His master had asked so many questions in one go, which was almost unimaginable before. Lu Qinghan was always very concise in her speech, and would never use a fourth word if it could be explained in three. But now, as if afraid of missing something, she bombarded him with a series of questions, leaving Shen Du somewhat bewildered.

"I'm fine, Master, I'm fine," he quickly replied. "My body can move and I can control it, and my spiritual energy is circulating normally. It's just... it's just a little strange."

Saying he was "a little unaccustomed" was an incredibly mild tone. Every movement he made felt like walking in someone else's clothes—no, a million times worse. He was living in someone else's flesh, skeleton, and organs. With each heartbeat, he could feel the unfamiliar structure and pressure inside his chest; with each breath, he could feel his lungs expanding and contracting—they weren't his own. He could even feel every breath of wind on his skin, a tactile sensitivity many times greater than his original body—this was his master's senses, the perceptive abilities a Golden Core cultivator should possess.

"It's good that you're alright." Lu Qinghan's voice calmed down a bit, but she immediately followed up with another question, "Is there any pain anywhere? Is there anything that's uncomfortable? Feel carefully, don't miss any details."

Shen Du carefully examined his own body—no, his master's body. From top to bottom, inside and out, every organ, every bone, every inch of skin. The feeling was strange, like inspecting a house he had lived in for a long time but had never really paid attention to; every corner was both familiar and strange.

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t hurt, and I don’t feel uncomfortable.”

"That's good." There was a slight, almost imperceptible relaxation in Lu Qinghan's voice, but it quickly turned serious again. "Shen Du, you are not allowed to do what you just did again."

"What's up?"

"Charge out." Lu Qinghan's tone suddenly turned cold, as if he were back to scolding him for slacking off during sword practice. "I told you to stay inside, why didn't you listen? Can't you tell what level that person is? Late Nascent Soul stage, just one step away from entering the Divine Transformation stage. You, a mid-Foundation Establishment stage cultivator, are trying to get yourself killed by rushing out like this?"

Shen Du opened his mouth, wanting to say, "I can't watch Master go alone," but the words felt too sentimental to say. He had never been good at saying heartfelt things to his master since he was a child; every time he tried to say something sincere, it would end up as a joke.

"I was just... worried that Master would suffer a loss." He scratched his head, his fingers touching a head of smooth, long hair, and his movements froze instantly. He was now in his Master's body, with long, black hair that reached his waist, smooth as water to the touch.

"Afraid I'll suffer a loss?" Lu Qing scoffed. "Does your arrival make me stronger or something?"

Shen Du was speechless, choked by the words.

"Now that you're here, I have to focus on protecting you." Lu Qinghan's voice suddenly lowered, carrying a hint of bitterness that Shen Du had never heard before. "If anything happens to you, I..."

She didn't finish speaking.

Shen Du's heart skipped a beat. Not a metaphor, but a real, forceful jump, as if a hand had squeezed his chest. He could feel the rhythm of the heartbeat—faster than normal, carrying an inexplicable panic. But it wasn't his own heartbeat, at least not entirely. Because his own consciousness had no reason to be panicked.

That was the master's heartbeat.

"Master," Shen Du's voice unconsciously softened, "you just said...you?"

Lu Qinghan did not answer. His heart beat faster, then seemed to be forcibly suppressed by something, gradually returning to a normal rhythm.

"It's nothing." Lu Qinghan's voice turned cold again. "The most important thing right now is to find a way to separate us. You can control my body now, you can move, and you can use spiritual power, but this is not a long-term solution. Our souls share the same body, and if this goes on for too long, no one knows what problems might arise."

Shen Du nodded, then realized that his master probably couldn't "see" this gesture—although she was inside him, the two couldn't directly read each other's thoughts. Their communication was more like a dialogue on a soul level, a transmission of information beyond language, but their true thoughts and inner thoughts remained isolated. His master could "hear" what he actively said, but not what he kept unspoken in his heart. And vice versa.

“Master is right,” Shen Du said, “but how do we divide it?”

Lu Qinghan remained silent for a while, seemingly deep in thought. Shen Du waited patiently, knowing that his master didn't like to be disturbed when he was thinking.

“The reason my body can contain your soul and body is because of the effect of that demonic sword.” Lu Qinghan’s voice was thoughtful. “That sword turned me into what I am now—my flesh and blood disintegrated, leaving only a skin, but this skin retained its function of containing. After your body and soul were absorbed in, the skin automatically used you as filling material.”

The word "filler" gave Shen Du goosebumps.

“If this hypothesis is correct,” Lu Qinghan continued, “then conversely, if I actively manipulate this physical body to operate in reverse, it’s possible to exclude you. Just like…”

She paused for a moment, as if searching for a suitable metaphor.

"It's like spitting it out," Shen Du said for her.

Lu Qinghan was silent for two seconds: "...The words are vulgar, but the meaning is roughly the same."

Shen Du took a deep breath—once again feeling the unfamiliar expansion of his chest that didn't belong to him—and stood up. The moonlight shone on him, the bloodstains on his white clothes dried into a dark brown, resembling an eerie ink painting under the moonlight. He turned around, facing the empty gate of Qingya Peak, not far away were the fragments of the plaque that had been shattered by the red-robed man's blade.

"Does the master think it's okay to try now?"

"The sooner the better," Lu Qinghan said. "Tell me when you're ready."

Shen Du stretched his body, took a few deep breaths—each breath seemed to remind him that this body did not belong to him—and then nodded: "Ready."

“Alright.” Lu Qinghan’s voice deepened. “Next, I will use my divine sense to control this physical body. You need to cooperate with me. When you feel a repulsive force, do not resist it.”

"clear."

Then, Shen Du sensed a strange movement.

It didn't come from the outside, but from within. A subtle, wriggling sensation emanated from the inside of his skin, from the layer of "skin" clinging tightly to his body. The feeling was hard to describe—like a thin silken thread slowly moving across his skin, or like countless tiny hands gently pushing against his skin. It didn't hurt; in fact, it was quite gentle, but the strange sensation from within his body made his hair stand on end.

He looked down and saw a scene that sent chills down his spine.

His arm—his master's arm—began to tremble slightly, like a lake ruffled by the wind. The texture of his skin twisted and rearranged in the moonlight, and then, silently, a small crack appeared on the inside of his left arm.

The cut wasn't large, only about an inch long, with edges as clean as if cut with a knife, yet not a drop of blood flowed out. After the cut opened, Shen Du saw that inside wasn't flesh and bone, but a warm, slightly glossy flesh color—it was his own skin, the skin color he had on his original body before he was swallowed up.

"It's open." Lu Qinghan's voice rang in his mind, tinged with suppressed joy. "It works. Try to come out through this opening, move slowly, don't rush."

Shen Du gritted his teeth, concentrated, and tried to stick his hand out of the crack.

The process went much more smoothly than he had imagined. As he focused his attention on his hands, he felt a loosening between himself and the outer skin, as if he were wearing a slightly oversized garment, allowing his arm to move freely inside. He carefully pulled his right arm out of his master's skin and then peered out through the crack.

The fingertips of one hand were the first to emerge.

Those were his own fingers, slightly thick knuckles, with healthy tan skin and neatly trimmed nails—he had just cut them the day before yesterday because long nails were prone to breaking when practicing swordsmanship. Watching this familiar hand slowly emerge from a patch of fair skin, Shen Du felt an indescribable sense of absurdity.

"Okay, that's it." Lu Qinghan's voice was clearly encouraging. "Continue."

Shen Du continued to pull away. His arm, wrist, and entire right hand were exposed, then his left. He braced himself against the sides of the rift, peeling his upper body away from his master's skin bit by bit, as if removing a tight-fitting garment. Each separation was accompanied by a slight suction, like countless extremely fine threads being torn between their skins. These threads broke without pain, but produced a faint, sticky sound at the moment of breakage, exceptionally clear in the silent night wind.

His head was the hardest part to get out because it was the most tightly fitted. When he finally freed his head from his master's facial skin, he felt the tongue that wasn't his own finally release itself. The moment the two tongues separated, Shen Du had an indescribable feeling—the tongue that left took away the warmth of his tongue tip, leaving behind a coolness that wasn't his own, as if the cool fragrance of his master's body had been sealed in his saliva and then smeared on his taste buds.

He shook his head violently, shaking off the strange feeling, and braced himself against the edge of the crack with both hands, struggling to break free.

Half of his body weight slumped downwards, and Shen Du's upper body finally detached completely from his master's skin. The night wind whipped against his bare skin, carrying the chill of the night, but he had never felt the night wind so intimate—this was his own body, his own skin, his own senses experiencing the temperature of this world. He gasped for breath, sweat sliding down his forehead and dripping to the ground.

"I'm out!" Shen Du's voice was filled with the joy of surviving a disaster. "Master, I'm halfway out!"

He looked down at himself—his upper body had completely detached from his master's skin, leaving only his legs embedded in the shell. His master's skin had split open from his waist upwards, like a white petal unfurling, its edges slightly curled, revealing a warm, lustrous inner surface. In the moonlight, Shen Du saw his naked upper body and the lower half of his master's skin forming a bizarre combination, like a jigsaw puzzle disassembled in half.

"Continue." Lu Qinghan's voice also carried a hint of joy. "Pull your leg out too."

Shen Du nodded, braced his hands on the ground, and began to pull his legs outward.

This step was easier than the upper body because the legs didn't have as many complex concave and convex structures. He could feel his leg bones sliding out of the sheath of his master's skin, the adhesion between the muscles and skin gradually crumbling under his forceful pulling. The subtle snapping sounds of threads breaking were incessant, dense and intricate, like stepping on a very thin layer of frost.

Finally, his left foot was pulled out. Then his right foot.

Shen Du rolled over and landed on the stone slab beside him. The rough stone surface pressed against his back, the cold touch bringing him back to his senses. He lay there, panting heavily, completely naked, his skin still feeling damp and slippery, as if it had been soaked in some kind of slime. The moonlight shone on him, on his tanned skin, creating a stark contrast with the gleaming white body beside him.

He turned his head and looked in the direction of his master.

Lu Qinghan's body lay flat on the bluestone slab a few steps away. After he left, the body quickly lost its full shape, returning to its previous thin and soft state. It lay open in the moonlight, like a white gauze garment carelessly tossed on the ground, its outline blurred, its edges slightly twitching, as if it still had its last breath.

But Shen Du saw his master.

To be precise, he saw his master's shape. Although the human skin had shriveled up, it still retained Lu Qinghan's face and body contours. Her eyebrows, nose, and the curve of her lips were all preserved perfectly on that thin, cicada-wing-like skin in an almost eerie way. Even the small mole at the end of her eyebrow was still in its original position, only now it had lost its support and lay flat on the ground, like a flattened shadow.

"Master," Shen Du propped himself up and crawled toward her, "How are you?"

“...Alive.” Lu Qinghan’s voice echoed in his mind, but compared to before, there was an indescribable weakness in her voice. “It just feels empty, and not very pleasant.”

Shen Du crawled to her side, his hands trembling as he picked up the human skin. The touch was completely different from the first time—before, the skin was warm, carrying body heat; but now it was rapidly cooling down, like an empty shell that had lost its heat source, its warmth draining into the surrounding environment.

"What do we do next?" Shen Du's voice was somewhat panicked. "If I... if I take your body out like this, will you still be able to recover?"

Lu Qinghan remained silent for a few moments. Shen Du could sense that she was thinking, that her consciousness was still functioning—though very weak. This reassured him slightly, but his hands were still trembling.

“It might take some time,” Lu Qinghan finally spoke. “I can sense that this skin is still alive; it hasn’t died. It’s just in a dormant state right now, and it needs—”

Before she could finish speaking, something unexpected happened.

The human skin in Shen Du's hand suddenly trembled violently. The tremor wasn't a mere swaying in the wind, but a living, internal rhythm, as if something within the skin had awakened. Then, a very faint glow began to appear on the surface of the skin—not moonlight, but a warm-toned, skin-like luminescence that shifted and danced across its surface.

"Master?" Shen Du's voice changed.

"I don't know—" For the first time, panic crept into Lu Qinghan's voice. "It's moving on its own, I'm not controlling it—Shen Du, let go!"

But it was too late.

The human skin seemed to come alive, suddenly expanding and curling up at the edges, wrapping around Shen Du's hands with lightning speed. Shen Du instinctively tried to pull his hands away, but the skin's grip was incredibly strong, as if countless invisible hands were pulling him from all directions. The more he struggled, the tighter the skin wrapped around him.

"Master! What's going on?!" Shen Du's voice was filled with terror.

“The body is…is acting on its own,” Lu Qinghan’s voice was broken, as if he were enduring some great pain, “It feels empty, it craves…craving to be filled…”

Shen Du felt a chill run down his spine. He looked down at his hands, his own tanned hands, being slowly swallowed up by human skin. Countless flesh-colored, thread-like tentacles emerged from the rolled-up edges of the skin. These tentacles were extremely fine and soft, yet possessed astonishing resilience and stickiness. They climbed up his fingers, burrowed into the gaps between his fingers, wrapped around each knuckle, and then gently but firmly pulled his fingers into the sheath of the human skin.

The sensation sent shivers down Shen Du's spine. The tentacles were warm, carrying body heat, and as soft as the finest silk. They wriggled, crawled, and clung to his skin, each tentacle secreting a thin layer of mucus. When the mucus touched his skin, it created a slight suction sensation, as if countless tiny suction cups were working simultaneously.

"Break free!" Lu Qinghan's voice held a sharpness Shen Du had never heard before. "Don't let it touch your head! Last time it started from your head—"

But it was too late for her to say it.

Shen Du felt something crawling up the back of his neck. He turned around abruptly and caught a glimpse of the human skin slipping from his hand, winding up his arm like a white snake, over his shoulder, and up his neck. The collar of the human skin—the area where his master's neck used to be—was completely open, the edges curled up, revealing the moist sheen inside.

Then, the collar was suddenly buttoned up.

Shen Du's vision went black.

His head was covered with a human skin again.

This time, the sensation was clearer than the first. Perhaps it was because he had experienced it once before, making him exceptionally sensitive to every detail; perhaps it was because this time the mask's movements were more proactive and purposeful. He could feel the mask, centered on his nose, pressing in from both sides towards the center, as if an invisible hand was placing the mask on him. His master's lips met his lips, his master's nose enveloped his nose, and his master's brow ridge covered his brow ridge.

Then comes the tongue.

The tongue that wasn't his own curled out from the inside of the human skin again, precisely finding his tongue and covering it. There wasn't a single gap between the two tongues; back to back, tip to tip, even the frenulum beneath their tongues was perfectly aligned. Shen Du tasted that familiar flavor—blood, a cold fragrance, and an indescribable scent that belonged to his master. The tongue tightened slightly, like an extremely light and gentle embrace, enveloping his tongue in a warm, moist space.

Shen Du wanted to scream, but no sound came out. His mouth was sealed by a human skin, two lips that weren't his own enveloping his, soft and elastic, with a slight coolness. He could feel the curve of his master's lips, completely different from his own—his lips were thicker, with hard lines; while his master's lips were thin and delicate, with distinct peaks and slightly upturned corners, carrying a reserved curve even when he wasn't smiling. Now these two lips were pressed tightly against his, like two flower petals soaked in water, gently and irresistibly enveloping him.

Then there's his body.

This time, the human skin didn't engulf him from head to toe like it did the first time. Instead, it slowly and gradually pulled him back into its body, layer by layer. He could feel the skin's neck extending downwards, past his Adam's apple, against his collarbone, and then encircling him from both sides, swallowing his shoulders into the pouch.

The most bizarre part is the arm.

Shen Du felt his arms being pulled by two forces simultaneously. The two forces came from the two arm sheaths of the human skin, which, as if they were alive, flipped from the inside out, twisting in completely opposite directions at the joints. A normal person's arms can only bend forward and extend backward, but those two empty sleeves could move in any direction—they flipped a full 180 degrees in the opposite direction, wrapped around Shen Du's back, and then aimed at his own arms.

Then, they started "wearing" him.

The feeling was like slipping your arm into an extremely tight-fitting garment, but one that was alive. The inside of the human skin's upper arm secreted warm, sticky fluid. The moment this fluid touched Shen Du's skin, it created a slight suction, as if countless tiny living organisms were simultaneously pressing his skin and the inner wall of the human skin tightly together. He could feel every inch of the human skin's inner surface subtly wriggling, adjusting the angle and pressure of the fit, like a skilled tailor custom-making a seamless sleeve for his arm.

His fingers slipped inside the finger section of his master's skin pouch. His fingertips touched the inner tip of the pouch—the tip of his master's slender fingers, where the delicate, exquisite shape of the nail bed was perfectly preserved. His fingers were longer and the knuckles thicker than his master's, but when his fingertips touched the top of the pouch, the pouch automatically and slightly expanded, increasing by a mere half-inch to accommodate his slightly longer knuckles. Then the pouch snapped back and tightened, locking each of his fingers securely inside.

As his arms were "attached," Shen Du looked down—through his master's eyelids, through the skin covering his face—and saw a woman's arms. Fair, slender, and beautifully shaped, the moonlight casting a soft silver glow on the skin. But he knew that beneath that fair skin lay his own rough, bony hands. He could feel his hands moving inside his master's gloves, clenching, opening, and rotating—every movement perfectly conveyed through that thin layer of skin.

Next is the chest.

This was the part that terrified Shen Du the most. As the human skin began to cover his chest, he realized a problem—there was a huge, irreconcilable difference between his master's body and his own. His master was a woman, and he was a man. His master's chest had soft, protruding features that he lacked, while his chest was only flat muscle. What would those two soft, full mounds of tissue look like when the human skin covered his chest?

The answer was soon revealed.

When the human skin chest covered his chest, Shen Du felt an extremely strange sensation. The two soft masses were not empty shells; they had extremely fine, sponge-like structures inside, as if they had undergone some kind of special transformation. When his flat chest pressed against these two soft tissues, the human skin chest first expanded, and then began to slowly contract, as if it had its own consciousness, reshaping its internal shape.

But his chest was ultimately flat and couldn't fully fill those two soft curves. So, the skin itself reacted.

From the inside of his sac, from the inner wall of his breast, a warm, viscous liquid began to secrete. This liquid was much thicker and warmer than the mucus that had accumulated on his arms, resembling freshly drawn blood, but its color was a translucent pale pink. This mucus accumulated layer by layer in the space between his chest and the inner walls of his breasts, like a living filler. It sensed the size of the space, accumulating more mucus where needed and reducing secretion where less was required, filling every inch of space with extremely precise control.

Shen Du felt the mucus flowing, accumulating, and shaping on his chest. The mucus was warm when it touched his skin, with a slightly itchy sensation, as if countless extremely fine needles were gently stroking his skin. But this itching was not unpleasant; instead, it produced an indescribable sense of comfort, as if he were enveloped by warm water, with every pore opening up.

Then, the mucus began to solidify.

The solidification process was rapid, taking only about ten breaths. The solidified mucus transformed into a gel-like substance, soft and elastic, with a texture almost identical to real breast tissue. It perfectly filled the space between his chest and his master's breasts, neither leaving him feeling empty nor causing any pressure from overfilling. When the wind blew, he could even feel the skin of the breasts being brushed by the wind through this gel-filled material—his senses were transmitted through the skin to the gel, and then through the gel to his skin.

It felt as if he truly possessed those two soft, rounded mounds.

Shen Du's heart began to pound wildly, and at the same time, he felt the rhythm of another heartbeat deep within his soul, also beating rapidly.

"Master..." he called out in his heart, trembling.

"...I'm here." Lu Qinghan's voice trembled as well, but the texture of her trembling was completely different from Shen Du's. Shen Du's trembling was out of fear and confusion, while Lu Qinghan's trembling was mixed with an emotion that even she herself could not understand. That emotion was like something that had been suppressed for too long at the bottom of an abyss, slowly seeping out from the cracks in the earth's crust.

"Why is this happening?" Shen Du asked. "Didn't we already break up? Why are we doing this again—"

"I don't know." Lu Qinghan's voice was very low, almost drowned out by his own heartbeat. "The body... it seems to have its own will. It's resisting the emptiness."

"Resisting emptiness?"

“Yes.” Lu Qinghan paused, as if organizing his thoughts. “After my body was hollowed out by the demonic blade, my skin itself became a living entity. It needs to be filled, it needs to be supported, it needs a complete, three-dimensional form. Without filler, it would become shriveled and empty, just like what you just saw.”

"So it swallowed me again?"

“It didn’t just devour you.” There was an extremely subtle meaning in Lu Qinghan’s voice. “It was shaping you. It was making you its filling, making you… a new me.”

Before Shen Du could process the meaning of those words, the lower half of the human skin began to move.

His legs hadn't been swallowed yet. From the waist down, his own body was still exposed to the night wind, his tanned skin contrasting eerily with his master's pale upper body. But the human skin clearly wasn't going to let any part go; he could feel the edges of the skin around his waist stirring, the fleshy tentacles extending again, crawling down his waistline and lingering at the base of his thighs.

During this process, the skin around the master's genitals was also moving strangely. Shen Du felt it—he felt something being stretched out, being filled. It was the master's originally withered genitals, now becoming full again because of his presence. Although he was encased in skin, his physiological structure had not been altered; he was the only abrupt presence within this female-shaped body.

Then, in the genital area of ​​the human skin, the skin tissues controlled by the master's consciousness began to move.

The lower body of that human skin parted its lips.

Shen Du desperately tried to retreat, but his legs were tightly bound by the tentacles of human skin, rendering him unable to move. These tentacles seemed like intelligent living beings, knowing how to achieve maximum control with minimal effort. They coiled around the inside of his thighs, avoiding major blood vessels, yet precisely locking his muscles and tendons, preventing him from making any significant movements.

Then, those lips found him.

Shen Du's body stiffened abruptly.

The feeling was indescribable. It was a warm, moist, and soft envelopment, starting from the most vulnerable spot and climbing upwards in concentric circles. The inner walls of the genitals secrete the same mucus as the breasts, but this mucus is richer, smoother, and warmer. It's like a living lubricant, forming a very thin film on the surface, then beginning to contract slightly with a rhythmic pulsation, like the breathing of some deep-sea creature.

Shen Du's mind went blank. He could feel every subtle change in himself being precisely captured by those lips—changes in temperature, hardness, blood flow—all of this information was transmitted to Lu Qinghan's senses through his skin. At the same time, he could also feel his master's body reacting. The internal temperature of his skin was rising, the secretion of mucus was increasing, and the thin inner wall of his skin was tightening more and more against his surface.

"Master..." Shen Du's voice trembled, so much so that he could barely utter a complete sentence, "I don't know... I couldn't control myself... I'm sorry..."

“…Don’t apologize.” Lu Qinghan’s voice was no better than his. His cool and composed tone had completely collapsed, replaced by a suppressed voice that was almost out of control. “This is not your fault.”

But besides restraint, there was something else hidden in the voice. Shen Du heard it—it was an emotion that had been suppressed for too long, twisted and deformed in fear and panic, an emotion that even the owner of the voice could not look at directly.

Those lips completely locked him in place.

From head to chest, from chest to waist, from waist to lower body, Shen Du's upper body was completely covered in human skin. He lowered his head and, through his master's eyes, saw a complete female body—smooth lines, exquisite curves, a slender waist, full breasts, and fair skin that shimmered like pearls in the moonlight. He tried to move his arms, and they still obeyed his commands, but the movements were elegant and fluid, carrying the reserved air unique to his master.

The physical body not only envelops him, but also tames his every move.

Then, he felt that emptiness.

To be precise, it wasn't his own feeling, but his master's. It was a perception emanating from the depths of his physical form, not his own—in the deepest layer of the skin, on a soul level transcending physical structure, a colossal void was screaming. That void was the wound left after Lu Qinghan was hollowed out by the demonic blade, the lingering sense of incompleteness after flesh and blood were extracted and soul stripped away. It had always been there, only temporarily alleviated after the body was reconstructed and filled. Now that emptiness had reappeared, even more intense than before, because the physical form had just undergone a cycle of "filling and emptying," and the disparity of gaining and then losing amplified the sense of emptiness countless times.

The sensation first came from his spine. Then it spread to his legs—he could feel that his legs were still exposed, still inside his body, but the emptiness had already seeped out from his lower body like an invisible poisonous fog, slowly and steadily eroding his will.

“Shen Du…” Lu Qinghan’s voice trembled, more so than ever before. Shen Du had never heard his master speak in such a voice before—it was no longer the lofty sword immortal, no longer the composed and powerful figure, but a woman gripped by fear.

"Shen Du," she said, her voice barely audible, "help me."

Shen Du's heart clenched suddenly.

"Master, how can I help?"

“I…I’m empty…” Lu Qinghan’s words began to break down, and her logic gradually crumbled. “Your legs…are still outside…I can’t feel them…I can’t feel my legs…my lower body is empty…there’s nothing there…only the wind…”

Shen Du looked down at his legs. His legs were indeed still exposed, the area below the knees firmly planted on the ground, his skin slightly chilled by the night breeze. But from the waist down, everything shriveled up; the skin on his legs hung limply, like two emptied tubes. Moonlight shone on them, revealing fine wrinkles on the surface—the natural contractions formed by the loss of filling.

“Shen Du…” Lu Qinghan’s voice held a tone Shen Du had never heard before, almost pleading, “Please put it back on… okay? Just for a little while… just for a little while…”

Shen Du's breath caught in his throat for a moment.

He had known his master for twelve years. In those twelve years, Lu Qinghan had said countless things to him—commands, reprimands, teachings, occasional concern and worry, and sometimes a few words that were almost gentle, but he had never, ever seen his master speak to him in this tone.

That tone of voice caused him a sharp pain in his heart.

“Master,” Shen Du gritted his teeth, “I am willing to do so if it can save you.”

He meant it when he said that. Twelve years of master-disciple relationship, twelve years of nurturing grace—if his master needed him to jump into a fire pit right now, he felt he probably would. Besides—he glanced at his two exposed legs—it was just a matter of stuffing those legs into the skin bag as well. If it could go in, it could come out. Hadn't they already successfully separated? Although the skin had swallowed him again in the end, at least it proved that separation was technically feasible.

Since we can separate, what difference does it make if we go in now?

"Are you serious?" Lu Qinghan's voice suddenly rose a little, carrying an emotion that Shen Du found somewhat gratifying, bordering on "overjoyed." But that emotion vanished in an instant, quickly replaced by a deeper weakness and pleading, "Shen Du, you—"