“Xiao Hu, why are you so silent? Are you still mad? Come on Xiao Hu, A’Hu, talk to me,” Xinzi tugged on Xiao Hu’s sleeves, acting like a spoiled damsel attempting to regain the favors of her furious lover. Except that in this case, Xiao Hu was the actual “damsel,” and her forehead creased at the monk’s antics.
“Xiao Hu.” The words and pronunciation projected an entirely different image from Xiao Hu’s initial name: Xia Hu. From a “summer tiger,” she devolved into a “little fox,” not only losing all face and heroic bearing, but also getting reduced to a cute canine.
One had to know that Xinzi was exceedingly fond of feral canines. From wolves to foxes, all the way to jackals, over the years, Xinzi had collected plenty of statues and folk tales related to the beasts—using them to decorate his Liberation Temple study and feed some of his addiction for mortal literature. With this new name, it was almost as if Xinzi reaffirmed his ownership of Xiao Hu, making her understand that from now on, she could only be his little pet.
The fem swordmaster’s cheeks burned red, and as she balled up her fists, they trembled in frustration. Yet, at the same time, Xiao Hu couldn’t muster the courage to reject the name. Worse, the more Xinzi repeated it, the more pleasing to the ears it seemed to be.
‘He must have used tricks to modify my brain.’ Xiao Hu tried to convince herself, by now having entirely ignored Zuixian, who stood nearby, sipping some booze.
As the Klesha Haze granted him absolute control of Xiao Hu’s psyche, Xinzi could have indeed used it to modify certain aspects of her personality. But would he ever? Absolutely not. Not only did he not need to, but it’d also ruin all the fun our monk had in making Xiao Hu convert into her better self. The overflowing Yin Qi that reshaped her body constantly messed up her hormones as well. Add to that the corruptive properties of heretical techniques such as the Copulation Madness Mantra, and Xinzi estimated that it wouldn’t be long until Xiao Hu started craving meat more than ass cheeks.
“Let me guess, Xinzi?” As Xiao Hu cast dagger eyes at our monk, Zuixian chimed in—answering Xinzi’s rhetorical question with one of his own. Reminded of Zuixian’s presence, Xiao Hu felt a wave of discomfort quiet her budding anger. She didn’t wish to appear weak and submissive before strangers, but at the same time, didn’t know how to resist Xinzi’s antics. So she just hid behind the monk, hoping that his body would provide enough distraction that Zuixian wouldn’t care for her anymore.
Zuixian took note of this change of pace. That the spirited Xiao Hu turned into a meek cat before Xinzi didn’t please him one bit. Initially, Zuixian felt in her the type of burning heart and heroic spirit that the starstruck idiots around him so often lacked. But as soon as Xinzi appeared, all this heart faded away, replaced by an obvious need to surrender to the monk’s pressure. Perhaps Xiao Hu herself had yet to make sense of the destructive effect that Xinzi had on her. Would it not be a shame, a loss, if Xinzi buried that spirit?
‘Let’s not get emotional. Zuixian, Zuixian, stop thinking with the wrong head. This is not your business.’ Zi Zuixian thought.
“Impressive. How did you guess my name?” With a theatrical show of surprise, Xinzi’s jaw dropped. The monk covered it with his right hand, eying Zuixian from head to toe as if truly impressed by the prime disciple’s astuteness.
“Simple, of the White Immortal sect’s outfit, your robe only has the white. Not only do you not wear the sword emblem but you also had your outfit cut like a monastic garb, instead of the traditional Daoist robe that we all wear. Also…you’re bald.” Undisturbed by Xinzi’s game, Zuixian replied with full candor—then took another sip of his wine.
“Eldest senior brother is indeed a dragon among men. Your capacity to notice all the salient points knows no match under the Heavens.” Entertained by Zuixian’s bluntness, Xinzi kept the charade on. The monk knew full well that Zi Yao didn’t possibly send her treasured nephew to the Soaring Crane Mountain’s ruins just to collect treasures. No, he had to have come for him.
And indeed, he was correct. Zi Yao intended to have Zuixian figure out how Xinzi managed to destroy the Soaring Crane Mountain with just the Funerary Rite of the Grand Legion. Alas, she’d underestimated her nephew’s laziness. Zi Yao wanted to know, but did Zuixian give a damn? Absolutely not. And regardless of who gave the orders, if Zi Zuixian didn’t care for something, he would only do it half-assedly.
“I don’t swing that way. Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“Well, at least no match throughout Dongli.”
“Reasonable… You’re a lot less obnoxious than the rumors let me believe.”
“Rumors, eldest senior brother, are often misleading. After all, if rumors are to be trusted, you were once a murderous psychopath that went from town to town, valley to valley, challenging minor to mid-level sects with an iron sword—and exterminating them to the last baby. It wasn’t until you condensed your pulse—trading blood drinking for the booze, that the low-level factions of Yanzhou finally returned to peace.”
“That is indeed an exaggeration. My sword has never tasted the blood of non-cultivators. Babies were naturally exempt. Also, those I cut most often deserved to be damned. I can’t be a psychopath for enforcing justice on behalf of Heaven—right?” In a flash, the two exchanged several pleasantries. Yet, to the onlookers, a palpable tension seemed to rise with each word. It was almost as if their interest in one another rose as they spoke, but none could tell if that interest would lead to a blood storm or merry drinks at the local tavern.
“Do you drink?” Not giving Xinzi the chance to answer his last question, Zuixian lowered his gourd, presenting it to our monk. There was a saying in the White Immortal sect that Zuixian only offered drinks to those he was about to kill. This saying was false, as Zuixian alone brewed and served the Roaming Fairy wine that Zi Yao enjoyed once every month. In fact, the Wine Eccentric offered drinks to every person that caught his interest. But too scared to brave the rumor, most didn’t dare to receive his offer.
“The Clear Heart monastery’s monks don’t drink. I received my ordinance from Abbot Qingxin and naturally must follow his precepts.” Xinzi was naturally not afraid of Zi Zuixian. However, he indeed didn’t drink—yet.
“But the Clear Heart monastery’s monks also don’t exterminate sects. I’m not sure that Abbot Qingxin would approve.” Zuixian smirked at the Clear Heart monastery’s rules, wondering how shameless Xinzi had to be to speak such words with a straight face after carrying out such a massacre.
“Don’t let the old monk fool you. He is one of the most accomplished butchers in the history of this world—joking, joking. That said, if one day my ordinance gets torn into pieces, I will not hesitate to accept your drink.” Xinzi met Zuixian’s smirk with a gentle smile that sent a chill up Xiao Hu’s spine. As far as she could recall, it was with similar displays that Xinzi used to fool her—ultimately shoving her into this detestable state.
“How about you? Do you drink?” As if sensing Xiao Hu’s discomfort, Zuixian shifted towards her—still offering his gourd. As he pushed that gourd forward, there was a refreshing, almost disarming energy that leaked from Zuixian’s eyes, almost sweeping all of Xiao Hu’s doubts and worries out of the way. Instinctively, she reached out. But barely had her hand passed by Xinzi’s arm that she caught a glimpse of the monk’s eyes. He didn’t speak a word, and yet Xiao Hu felt that if she took that gourd, she’d fall somewhat in his esteem.
But why should that matter? Since when did Xinzi’s view of her become a priority? Was he not the enemy that took not only took her beauties away, but also forced her to erase her masculinity as well? The fem swordmaster’s hand trembled in suspension, neither advancing nor retreating. At that time, Dong Ling stirred from unconsciousness, and like a rabbit leaping towards a carrot, she headed straight for Xinzi.
“A’Xin! You despicable bastard! How dare you cheat on me with all of those hussies? You and I are through!” As Dong Ling’s rant took off, the young lady grabbed Xinzi’s arm—yanking him towards her. It was only then that all noticed that, in spite of all this protest, Dong Ling was still…unconscious.
An odd silence settled on the scene, and for a second, all stared at Dong Ling, who with great gusto, threw kicks at the invisible hussies even as she dragged her monk towards her. Then she lost her strength and passed out again—lying against Xinzi’s arm like a child forced into a lethargic state by the aftermath of a sugar high.
Unprepared for this result, Xinzi and Zuixian blinked at Dong Ling, then in tandem, burst into laughter.