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The humid air clung to Su Meilin’s robes as she trailed her sister through the bustling market street, her fingers brushing against jade trinkets displayed on a vendor’s cart. At seventeen, Meilin—once Hemlock Potter—still marvelled at the sensory richness of this world: the sharp scent of star anise mingling with ripe persimmons, the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith’s hammer, the way sunlight fractured through silk canopies overhead. Five years her senior, Su Xiyan moved with lethal grace ahead of her, the Hua Hua Palace head disciple’s silver hairpin catching the light like a blade. "Keep up, Meilin," Xiyan called over her shoulder, her voice cool but edged with affection. "Master expects us back before dusk."

They slipped into a narrow alley where the sounds of commerce faded, replaced by the drip of rainwater from tiled roofs. Xiyan paused before a nondescript teahouse, its wooden sign creaking in the breeze. "Remember," she murmured, adjusting Meilin’s collar with brisk precision, "these meetings are not for the sect’s ears. What you see here stays between us." Her eyes held a rare flicker of vulnerability beneath their usual steel. Meilin nodded, curiosity coiling in her chest. She’d long sensed the shadows in her sister’s meticulously ordered life—the unaccounted hours, the faint scent of ozone and crushed violets that clung to her robes after "night hunts."

Inside, the air tasted of aged pu'er and damp stone. Two figures waited in the dim back corner booth. Tianlang-Jun lounged against silk cushions like a lazy panther, his dark robes pooling around him, a half-smile playing on lips too sharp for true nonchalance. Beside him, Zhuzhi-Lang sat rigidly upright, his gaze lowered respectfully—until it lifted and met Meilin’s. His eyes, a startling shade of molten gold, widened fractionally. A blush crept up his neck, clashing endearingly with the severe line of his jaw. Tianlang-Jun chuckled low in his throat. "Su Xiyan, your little shadow grows more striking each time. Introduce us properly."

Su Xiyan’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly on Meilin’s shoulder before releasing her. "My sister, Su Meilin," she stated, her voice cool water over stone. "Meilin, this is Tianlang-Jun and his nephew, Zhuzhi-Lang." Zhuzhi-Lang bowed stiffly, his serpentine grace momentarily awkward. "This humble one greets Su-guniang." Meilin returned the bow, her own cheeks warming under his intense, golden stare. She recognized the coiled stillness in him—a predator’s patience, yet his shyness felt disarmingly genuine. Tianlang-Jun’s gaze flickered between them, amused and calculating.

Tianlang-Jun leaned forward, pouring fragrant tea into delicate celadon cups. "Come, sit," he commanded, though his tone was velvet. "Xiyan tells me you share her sharp mind, little sister." His eyes, dark as obsidian, held a challenge. Meilin settled beside Xiyan, her senses prickling. She caught the faint, metallic tang of demonic energy beneath Tianlang-Jun’s cultivated charm and the sweet, earthy scent of Zhuzhi-Lang’s coiled power. Xiyan accepted her cup without looking at Tianlang-Jun, her posture flawless, yet Meilin saw the minute tension in her jawline—the conflict between duty and desire.

Zhuzhi-Lang remained silent, his gaze fixed on the steam rising from his untouched tea. When Meilin accidentally brushed his sleeve reaching for a honeyed walnut pastry, he flinched as if scalded. "Apologies," he murmured, voice low and raspy. Meilin offered a small, reassuring smile. "None needed." His golden eyes flickered to hers, startled, then darted away. Tianlang-Jun snorted softly. "Nephew, must you resemble a startled rabbit? Su-guniang won’t bite." Zhuzhi-Lang’s blush deepened, staining his pale neck crimson.

Su Xiyan cleared her throat, drawing attention back. "We depart for the Ghost Lotus Grotto at dawn," she stated, all business. "The sect believes it’s a routine artifact retrieval." Tianlang-Jun’s smile turned predatory. "Ah, but we know better. Those ruins whisper of celestial-grade treasures—and delightful traps." He leaned conspiratorially toward Meilin. "Your sister handles wards like a poet crafts verses. Elegant. Brutal." Pride warmed Meilin’s chest, mingling with unease. Xiyan’s knuckles whitened around her cup. "Flattery won’t disarm the pressure plates, Tianlang-Jun."

Zhuzhi-Lang shifted, his shoulder brushing Meilin’s again. This time, he didn’t pull away. "The grotto’s lower chambers flood with the tide," he offered quietly, his gaze fixed on the table. "There’s... a narrow passage behind the moonstone waterfall. Safer." Meilin tilted her head. "You’ve mapped it?" His golden eyes met hers—brief, intense. "Once. Long ago." Tianlang-Jun chuckled. "My nephew’s memory rivals a star-chart, Su-guniang. Trust his guidance." Zhuzhi-Lang’s ears flushed crimson.

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Outside, thunder growled. Rain began pelting the teahouse roof like impatient fingers. Tianlang-Jun sighed dramatically. "Nature conspires against romance! We’ll drown before reaching the grotto." Su Xiyan stood abruptly, her robes swirling like storm clouds. "Then we leave now." Her tone brooked no argument. As she strode toward the door, Tianlang-Jun followed with a lazy grin, but not before winking at Meilin. "Watch her, little sister. She’s breath taking when provoked."

Zhuzhi-Lang lingered beside Meilin, gathering their scattered teacups with meticulous care. His movements were fluid, economical—a swordsman’s precision applied to porcelain. When his fingers brushed hers passing a saucer, he froze. "Apologies," he whispered again, voice barely audible over the downpour. Meilin smiled, genuinely this time. "You apologize too much, Zhuzhi-Lang." His golden eyes widened, startled by her use of his name. A faint, hesitant curve touched his lips before vanishing like mist.

Outside, the rain lashed sideways, turning the alley into a churning river. Tianlang-Jun conjured a shimmering barrier of dark energy above them, the raindrops sizzling where they struck. "Hold tight, nephew!" he called over the roar, pulling Su Xiyan close under the shelter with practiced ease. Xiyan stiffened, but didn’t pull away. Zhuzhi-Lang hesitated, then offered Meilin his arm—a formal, stiff gesture. "The footing is treacherous," he murmured, avoiding her gaze. She took it, feeling the surprising warmth of his skin through the silk sleeve, the coiled strength beneath.

They moved swiftly through the deluge, Tianlang-Jun’s barrier carving a dry path. Meilin watched Zhuzhi-Lang navigate the slick cobblestones with serpentine grace, his focus absolute. Once, when her foot slipped on moss-slicked stone, his grip tightened instantly, steadying her without a word. His golden eyes flickered to hers, a silent question. She nodded, pulse quickening. Ahead, Tianlang-Jun leaned close to whisper something that made Xiyan’s ears flush crimson beneath her rain-soaked hair.

The Ghost Lotus Grotto loomed like a jagged tooth against the storm-lit horizon. Inside, the roar of the waterfall swallowed the rain’s drumming. Zhuzhi-Lang led them unerringly behind the cascading moonstone curtain, into a narrow tunnel smelling of wet stone and ancient magic. "Here," he murmured, pressing a palm against a seemingly solid wall. It shimmered, revealing a hidden archway choked with glowing ghost orchids. Tianlang-Jun grinned. "Nephew, you’re worth ten treasure maps."

Su Xiyan moved first, her blade drawn as she scanned the chamber beyond—a vast cavern glittering with bioluminescent fungi. Celestial light refracted off towering quartz formations, casting shifting rainbows on the damp floor. "Pressure plates," she warned, pointing to faintly glowing sigils beneath a layer of silt. "Step only where I step." Her movements became a lethal dance, avoiding traps with preternatural grace. Meilin watched, awed, as her sister’s silver hairpin caught the eerie light like a falling star.

Tianlang-Jun chuckled softly, leaning against the archway. "Observe closely, little sister. Your sibling turns survival into art." His gaze lingered on Xiyan’s focused profile with open hunger. Zhuzhi-Lang remained close to Meilin, his posture protective. "The air shifts near the eastern stalagmite," he murmured, almost inaudibly. When Meilin glanced up, she spotted the faint distortion—a shimmering ward disguised as condensation. She nodded her thanks, and a small, pleased flush coloured his cheeks.

They followed Xiyan’s precise path across the cavern floor, silt whispering beneath their boots. The ghost orchids pulsed with soft light, casting long, dancing shadows. Suddenly, a low hum vibrated through the quartz formations. Zhuzhi-Lang’s hand shot out, halting Meilin mid-step as a section of the floor silently pivoted beneath where her foot would have landed, revealing jagged spikes glistening with venom. "Careful," he breathed, golden eyes wide with alarm. His fingers trembled slightly against her arm before he withdrew them.

Tianlang-Jun whistled appreciatively. "Sharp senses, nephew." He sauntered past the concealed pitfall, his gaze fixed on Xiyan, who was deciphering intricate runes carved into a towering crystal monolith. Her brow furrowed in concentration. "These aren’t traps," she murmured, tracing a glyph with her fingertip. "They’re seals. Binding something." A faint tremor shook the cavern floor, dislodging dust from the ceiling. Zhuzhi-Lang instinctively shifted closer to Meilin, his shoulder brushing hers. She felt the warmth radiating from him, a stark contrast to the cave’s chill dampness.

The tremor intensified. Cracks spiderwebbed across the quartz formations. High above, clusters of ghost orchids, disturbed from their slumber, pulsed violently. With a soft, sighing sound, they released shimmering clouds of luminescent spores. The air thickened instantly, tasting cloyingly sweet and metallic. Meilin gasped as the cavern dissolved into swirling violet mist. Through the haze, she saw Zhuzhi-Lang’s form ripple and distort. His elegant robes vanished, replaced by immense coils of shimmering, obsidian-scaled serpent. He encircled her completely, his massive wedge-shaped head lowered protectively over her smaller frame, golden eyes blazing with primal intensity. A low, resonant hiss vibrated through her bones—a sound of pure warning.

Beside the monolith, Su Xiyan staggered. The runes swam before her eyes, morphing into the stern, disapproving face of her Hua Hua Palace Master. "Betrayer," the spectral image hissed, its voice echoing Xiyan’s deepest dread. "You consort with demons. You endanger your sect." Xiyan’s blade trembled in her grip, her usual icy composure fractured. Across the cavern, Tianlang-Jun laughed, a harsh, grating sound. He wasn't looking at Xiyan. He stared, transfixed and horrified, at the mist-shrouded image of a crumbling demonic palace throne room, littered with the broken bodies of loyal subjects. "Failure," the vision whispered with Zhuzhi-Lang’s voice, filled with a disappointment Tianlang-Jun had never allowed himself to acknowledge. "Your dream of peace drowned in blood."

Meilin pressed her back against Zhuzhi-Lang’s cool, immense scales. The hallucinogenic mist painted phantoms on the swirling violet air – flashes of Privet Drive’s oppressive gloom, the chilling green flash of the Killing Curse, Dumbledore’s lifeless eyes. Yet the solid, coiled reality of the serpent demon surrounding her was an anchor. She felt the powerful thrum of his heartbeat vibrating through his scales, smelled the ozone tang of his protective energy mingling with the orchid’s cloying sweetness. His massive head remained lowered, shielding her completely, his golden, slit-pupiled eyes fixed not on her visions, but scanning the cavern beyond her with lethal vigilance. His protective posture was absolute, instinctive.

As another tremor shook the grotto, Zhuzhi-Lang instinctively tightened his coils around her, a reflexive shield against falling debris. The pressure, firm but not crushing, triggered a jolt of panic deep within Meilin’s golden core – a remnant of battles fought and won in another life. Her uncontrolled burst of Qi erupted outward in a silent, invisible wave, a ripple of raw power that momentarily shredded the swirling violet mist. The oppressive visions flickered and dissolved like smoke. Meilin gasped, the sudden clarity sharp and cold. She felt Zhuzhi-Lang flinch violently against her, his coils loosening instantly. "Zhuzhi-Lang!" she cried out, genuine distress lacing her voice as she twisted within his loosened grip, her hand instinctively reaching towards where his serpentine neck met his body. "I’m so sorry! Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?" Her eyes, wide with concern, searched his reptilian face, mistaking his flinch for pain inflicted by her accidental surge.

The massive serpent form shimmered violently, scales blurring into pale skin. In the space of a heartbeat, Zhuzhi-Lang stood before her in human form, his golden eyes wide with panic mirroring hers. "No! Su-guniang, I am unharmed!" he blurted out, his voice raw with urgency. But in his frantic haste to reassure her and assess her safety, the transformation spell faltered. His elegant robes failed to materialize. He stood utterly, shockingly bare before her, pale skin gleaming faintly in the cavern's eerie light, his lean musculature starkly visible. A heartbeat of stunned silence hung thick in the air.

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Meilin froze, her apology dying on her lips as her gaze inadvertently swept over him. Her cheeks ignited crimson, hotter than any spellfire. She snapped her eyes shut instantly, turning her head away with a strangled gasp. Across the cavern, Tianlang-Jun’s horrified trance shattered. He took in the scene – his nephew’s mortified nakedness, Meilin’s scarlet face turned sharply aside – and a slow, wicked grin spread across his face, momentarily banishing his own hallucination’s grim spectre. "Oh-ho!" he crowed, his voice echoing unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet. "Nephew! Such scandalous impropriety! You've thoroughly compromised Su Meilin's virtue!" He clapped his hands together, delighted. "There’s only one honorable path now! You must marry her!"

Zhuzhi-Lang stood paralyzed, his entire body flushing a deep, mortified scarlet that clashed violently with his pale skin. He stammered incoherently, utterly unable to form words. With a frantic, trembling flicker of demonic energy, his robes finally shimmered back into existence, wrapping him in their familiar dark silk. He clutched the fabric tightly at his throat, his golden eyes wide with panic and humiliation, darting between Meilin’s averted profile and his uncle’s gleeful expression. "Uncle!" he choked out finally, his voice strangled. "It was an accident! A transformation error! Su-guniang did nothing wrong!"

Tianlang-Jun strode forward, ignoring the lingering tremors in the cavern floor. He clapped a hand on Zhuzhi-Lang’s rigid shoulder, his grin predatory. "Accident or not, nephew, the damage is done! Such intimacy witnessed demands recompense! Ancient demonic customs are quite clear on this point!" He winked broadly at Meilin, who was still studiously examining a glowing quartz formation, her own cheeks burning. "Su Meilin, my dear, you must agree! Honour demands he make an honest woman of you!" Su Xiyan, who had shaken off the last remnants of her hallucination, pinched the bridge of her nose. "Tianlang-Jun," she sighed, her voice laced with exasperation, "this is hardly the time for your theatrics. We are standing amidst unstable wards and hallucinogenic spores."

Zhuzhi-Lang looked ready to melt into the damp stone. "Uncle, please!" he hissed, mortification radiating from him in palpable waves. His golden eyes darted to Meilin, filled with desperate apology. "Su-guniang, I swear upon my ancestors, I meant no dishonour! The transformation... it faltered under the spores' influence and my own haste!" He clutched his robes tighter, as if they might vanish again. Meilin finally dared a glance back, meeting his panicked gaze. The sheer absurdity of the situation, layered over the grotto's danger, sparked a nervous giggle she couldn't suppress. "It's... it's alright, Zhuzhi-Lang," she managed, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed laughter. "Truly. I understand it was an accident. And... ancient demonic customs aside," she shot Tianlang-Jun a pointed look, "I don't think anyone needs to be 'made honest' here."

Tianlang-Jun threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing off the quartz walls. "So forgiving! But nephew, see how she blushes! Surely some form of recompense is owed? Perhaps a courtship? A betrothal gift? A vial of celestial-grade snake venom?" He nudged Zhuzhi-Lang, whose blush deepened impossibly further. Su Xiyan stepped forward, her blade still gleaming faintly. "Enough," she commanded, her voice slicing through Tianlang-Jun's amusement. "The spores linger, the wards are unstable, and that tremor felt like more than just the spores. Focus." Her sharp gaze swept the cavern, landing on the glowing runes she'd been deciphering. "These seals are weakening. Whatever they bind is stirring."

Before Zhuzhi-Lang could stammer another apology, a faint, frantic hissing echoed from crevices near the cavern floor. Three slender jade-green snakes, no thicker than Meilin’s finger, slithered towards him with urgent speed. They coiled around his ankles, lifting their tiny heads, tongues flickering rapidly. Zhuzhi-Lang’s expression shifted instantly from mortification to sharp alertness. His golden eyes snapped to Tianlang-Jun and Su Xiyan. "Watchers," he hissed, his voice low and urgent, all shyness vanished. "Hua Hua cultivators. A large patrol. Approaching the grotto entrance swiftly. They detected the Qi surge."

Without waiting for discussion, Zhuzhi-Lang moved. He gestured sharply towards a narrow fissure hidden behind a curtain of dripping ghost orchids. "This way. Quickly. It leads to an underwater channel." Tianlang-Jun’s teasing grin vanished, replaced by predatory focus. He swept Su Xiyan protectively behind him as she sheathed her blade, her face a mask of icy composure. Meilin followed Zhuzhi-Lang into the damp darkness, the narrow passage swallowing them whole just as distant voices and the clatter of cultivator boots echoed faintly from the main cavern behind them. Zhuzhi-Lang navigated the twisting, water-slicked tunnel with serpentine certainty, his form a shadow guiding them through utter blackness until they emerged, gasping, onto a mossy riverbank far downstream from the grotto’s entrance, hidden by dense, weeping willows.

Rain still fell in silver sheets, but the immediate danger had passed. Zhuzhi-Lang leaned against a gnarled tree trunk, catching his breath, his little jade-green spies now coiled securely around his wrists like living bracelets, their tiny tongues flicking contentedly. Meilin watched them, a relieved smile touching her lips despite the adrenaline still humming in her veins. "They’re adorable," she murmured, genuine warmth in her voice as she nodded towards the snakes. "Such clever little things."

Tianlang-Jun, already shaking water from his sleeves like a disgruntled cat, froze mid-shake. His eyes, sharp with mischief, snapped from the snakes to Zhuzhi-Lang’s mortified face, then back to Meilin. A slow, wicked grin spread across his features. "Adorable?" he echoed, his voice dripping with faux innocence. He leaned conspiratorially towards Meilin, lowering his voice theatrically. "Tell me, Su Meilin... were you admiring my nephew’s pet snakes?" He paused dramatically, letting the rain fill the silence. "Or," he continued, his grin widening impossibly, "were you perhaps referring to... another serpent entirely?" His suggestive glance flickered pointedly downwards towards Zhuzhi-Lang’s waistline.

Zhuzhi-Lang choked. The blush that had finally begun to fade surged back with volcanic force, staining his neck and ears crimson. He looked utterly stricken, his golden eyes wide with horrified disbelief. "Uncle!" he gasped, the word strangled. His hands clenched at his sides, the little jade snakes tightening their coils on his wrists as if sensing his distress. He couldn’t even look at Meilin, staring fixedly at the muddy riverbank as if wishing it would swallow him whole.

Meilin’s own face flared scarlet, hotter than dragon fire. She sputtered, utterly mortified. "Tianlang-Jun!" she protested, her voice cracking with indignation. "That’s—that’s completely inappropriate!" She shot a desperate, apologetic glance towards Zhuzhi-Lang’s rigid profile, her mind reeling at the sheer audacity of the demon lord’s crass insinuation. The absurdity warred violently with her embarrassment.

Su Xiyan stepped forward, her expression glacial. "Enough," she stated, her voice slicing through the rain like honed steel. She fixed Tianlang-Jun with a look that could freeze lava. "Your juvenile humour endangers us all. We linger too long." Her sharp gaze swept the dense willow canopy and the churning river beyond, assessing escape routes. The threat of discovery hung thick in the damp air.

Without another word, she gestured sharply towards the distant silhouette of city walls barely visible through the downpour. "The nearest settlement. We lose ourselves among mortals." They moved swiftly through the sodden landscape, the rain plastering hair to faces and robes to skin. By the time they reached the city gates, slipping past weary guards with practiced ease, they were drenched to the bone, shivering despite their cultivation. The closest inn, "The Drunken Carp," beckoned with warm, smoky light spilling from its windows.

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The innkeeper, a stout man wiping tankards behind a scarred counter, took one look at their bedraggled state – Tianlang-Jun’s arm possessively around Su Xiyan’s waist, Zhuzhi-Lang hovering protectively near Meilin – and beamed. "Ah, travellers caught in the storm! Seeking shelter with your lovely wives, eh?" He didn't wait for confirmation, bustling towards keys hanging on a peg. "Only two rooms left, adjoining! Perfect for two couples!" Tianlang-Jun’s eyes gleamed with wicked delight. He squeezed Xiyan’s hip. "Indeed, good sir! My devoted wife and I," he gestured grandly, then nodded towards Zhuzhi-Lang and Meilin, "and my dear nephew with his blushing bride." Zhuzhi-Lang stiffened, his face paling beneath its lingering flush, while Meilin bit her lip hard. Su Xiyan merely inclined her head, her expression unreadably serene. The charade was safer than explanations.

Upstairs, the reality of the disguise settled heavily. The adjoining rooms were small, each holding only a single large bed and a wooden tub already being filled by servants with steaming water. Tianlang-Jun practically shoved Zhuzhi-Lang towards the room meant for him and Meilin. "Off you go, nephew! Tend to your 'wife'," he winked outrageously. "Remember, cold baths are excellent for... fortitude." He then swept Su Xiyan into their own room, closing the door firmly. Zhuzhi-Lang stood frozen in the doorway of the second room, unable to meet Meilin’s eyes. The steaming tub dominated the cramped space, its implication unavoidable. "Su-guniang," he stammered, staring fixedly at the worn floorboards, "I... I shall wait outside while you... attend to your comfort." He made to retreat, but Meilin, cheeks still warm, shook her head firmly. "Don't be absurd, Zhuzhi-Lang. We're soaked through, and we need to look the part." Her voice was surprisingly steady, practical. "You turn around. I'll be quick." He obeyed instantly, spinning to face the wall, his shoulders rigid. Meilin shed her dripping outer robes with trembling fingers, washing hastily in the blessedly hot water, the steam offering a thin veil of privacy. She dressed swiftly in clean, simple inn garments before tapping his shoulder. "Your turn."

Zhuzhi-Lang bathed with similar speed, the water sloshing softly. Meilin kept her gaze politely averted towards the rain-streaked window, focusing on the bustling street below. When he emerged, damp hair clinging to his temples, clad in plain cotton robes, Tianlang-Jun’s voice suddenly carried through the thin wall, loud and deliberately teasing: "Remember, nephew! Hands strictly above the blankets tonight! Unless," his tone dropped to a mock whisper, "you're aiming to make me a great-uncle before the season turns! Far too young for that honour, I assure you!" Zhuzhi-Lang choked, the colour draining from his face before flooding back crimson. Meilin pressed a hand to her mouth, torn between mortification and a hysterical urge to laugh. "Ignore him," she murmured, her own cheeks flaming. "He thrives on embarrassment." Zhuzhi-Lang nodded mutely, looking utterly wretched.

Downstairs, the common room buzzed with damp travellers and the smell of stew and cheap wine. Tianlang-Jun had already secured a corner table, his arm draped possessively over Su Xiyan’s shoulders, playing the devoted husband with theatrical flair. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively as Zhuzhi-Lang hesitantly pulled out a chair for Meilin. "See? Chivalry! Practicing for domestic bliss already, nephew?" Zhuzhi-Lang dropped into his own chair like a stone, staring fixedly at the sticky tabletop. Meilin shot Tianlang-Jun a quelling look, but Su Xiyan intervened first, her voice cool and cutting. "Eat. Silence is the wisest companion now." She placed a bowl of steaming congee firmly in front of Tianlang-Jun, effectively silencing him. The meal passed in tense quiet, punctuated only by Tianlang-Jun’s exaggerated sighs and Zhuzhi-Lang’s rigid stillness.

Later, in the cramped upstairs room, the single bed loomed impossibly large. Zhuzhi-Lang stood frozen near the door, radiating discomfort. "Su-guniang," he stammered, eyes fixed on the worn rug, "I shall... meditate. On the floor. You must take the bed." Meilin sighed, exhaustion overriding embarrassment. "Zhuzhi-Lang, the innkeeper expects spouses to share the bed. Sleeping on the floor invites suspicion." She sat on the edge of the mattress, patting the space beside her. "We’re both adults. We can share without incident." Reluctantly, stiff as a board, Zhuzhi-Lang perched on the very edge of the bed, putting maximum distance between them. He lay down rigidly on his back, staring at the ceiling beams as if they held profound secrets. Meilin settled carefully on her side, facing the wall, pulling the thin blanket up to her chin. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension and the drumming rain on the roof.

Exhaustion eventually claimed them both. Sometime deep in the night, the chill seeped through the thin blanket. Instinctively, Meilin shifted towards the warmth radiating beside her. Zhuzhi-Lang, lost in sleep, murmured something indistinct and turned towards her warmth. His arm draped loosely over her waist, pulling her closer. Her head found the hollow of his shoulder, her hand resting lightly against his chest beneath his loosely tied sleep robe. His own robe had shifted open during the turn, revealing a smooth expanse of pale chest and shoulder. They settled into each other, breathing synchronizing, limbs tangled comfortably in the shared heat, oblivious to the world outside.

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The grey light of dawn filtered through the rain-streaked window. The door to their adjoining room burst open without warning. Tianlang-Jun strode in, already dressed and radiating morning energy. "Rise and shine, lovebirds! Time to—" His cheerful call died abruptly as his eyes landed on the bed. Meilin jerked awake, blinking blearily. Zhuzhi-Lang startled violently beside her, sitting bolt upright. The sudden movement pulled their loosely tied sleep robes further askew. Meilin's robe gaped open, revealing the delicate curve of her shoulder and the top swell of her breast, while Zhuzhi-Lang's robe slipped entirely off one shoulder, baring his chest and collarbone. Their hair was wildly tousled, cheeks flushed from sleep, limbs still tangled in the rumpled bedding.

Tianlang-Jun’s eyes widened comically. His gaze swept from Meilin’s exposed shoulder to Zhuzhi-Lang’s bare chest, then down to the intimate disarray of the bed itself. A slow, triumphant grin spread across his face, wider and more delighted than any Meilin had ever seen. He clapped his hands together once, sharply. "NEPHEW!" he boomed, his voice echoing in the small room. "You magnificent serpent! You did it! You've made me a GREAT-UNCLE!" He practically vibrated with glee. "Last night! The shared warmth! The rumpled sheets! The evidence!" He gestured wildly at their dishevelled state. "Tell me everything! Was it passionate? Did the earth move? Was it—"

Zhuzhi-Lang scrambled backwards off the bed so fast he tangled in the blanket and crashed onto the floor with a muffled thump. He yanked his robe closed with frantic hands, his face a mask of utter, horrified mortification. "UNCLE!" he choked out, his voice strangled and high-pitched. "It wasn't—! We didn't—! We just slept!" He couldn't even look at Meilin, who was frantically clutching her own robe shut, her cheeks burning crimson. "Nothing happened! Absolutely nothing!"

Meilin, still blinking sleep from her eyes, found her voice amidst the chaos. "Tianlang-Jun!" she snapped, her embarrassment sharpening into genuine anger. She pointed a trembling finger at the gleeful demon lord. "Get out! Right now!" Her glare could have frozen boiling water. "And stop inventing depraved fantasies about your own nephew!"

Tianlang-Jun clutched his chest dramatically, feigning wounded innocence. "Depraved? Meilin! I merely celebrate youthful vigour!" His eyes danced with unholy amusement as Zhuzhi-Lang scrambled to his feet, looking ready to melt into the floorboards. "Look at him! Utterly ravished! The flush of conquest!" Before Zhuzhi-Lang could stammer another denial, Su Xiyan appeared silently in the doorway behind Tianlang-Jun. Her expression was colder than the winter rain outside. Without a word, she seized Tianlang-Jun's ear, twisting it sharply.

"Ow! Beloved! Mercy!" Tianlang-Jun yelped, his theatrics instantly replaced by genuine discomfort as Su Xiyan dragged him backwards towards their room. He craned his neck, shouting over his shoulder even as he stumbled: "NEPHEW! MEILIN! DOWNSTAIRS! BREAKFAST IS PARAMOUNT!" His voice echoed down the hallway, dripping with insinuation. "YOU NEED YOUR STRENGTH AFTER SUCH... EXERTIONS! MEILIN ESPECIALLY! MUST NOURISH THE LITTLE ONE FORMED LAST NIGHT! HEALTHY BABIES START WITH A HEARTY MEAL!"

Zhuzhi-Lang froze mid-scramble, his mortified flush deepening to a shade of purple Meilin hadn't thought possible. He looked physically ill, swaying slightly where he stood. Meilin, clutching her robe closed, felt fury momentarily eclipse her embarrassment. "That... that incorrigible...!" she hissed, unable to find words vile enough. The sheer, outrageous audacity of his lie – shouted for the entire inn corridor to potentially hear – left her momentarily speechless.

A frantic rustling sound came from Zhuzhi-Lang's sleeves. Three tiny jade-green snakes poked their heads out, their little tongues flickering rapidly as if tasting the thick, toxic cloud of humiliation radiating from their master. They seemed agitated, coiling tightly around his wrists before vanishing back into the fabric. Zhuzhi-Lang finally managed to drag his gaze from the floorboards, meeting Meilin's eyes for a fleeting, agonized second. "Su-guniang," he whispered, his voice raw with shame, "I... I am so profoundly sorry. My uncle's... exuberance... knows no bounds. Please, disregard every vile word."

Meilin took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing her trembling hands to still. The fury warred with a strange, protective pang seeing Zhuzhi-Lang's utter devastation. "It's not your fault," she stated firmly, her voice regaining some steadiness. "He's the one who needs gagging. Now," she gestured towards their discarded outer robes, "we need to get dressed. Properly. Before he comes back and starts measuring me for maternity robes." The attempt at levity fell slightly flat, but it broke the suffocating tension.

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Downstairs, the common room buzzed with morning chatter. Tianlang-Jun sat radiating smug satisfaction, already demolishing a plate of steamed buns. He winked outrageously as Zhuzhi-Lang pulled out Meilin's chair with trembling hands. "Ah! The radiant mother-to-be! Looking positively glowing after last night's... exertions!" He leaned conspiratorially towards a nearby serving girl. "Double portions for these two! Building strong foundations, you understand!" Zhuzhi-Lang sank into his seat, looking ready to spontaneously combust. Meilin ignored Tianlang-Jun entirely, focusing on Su Xiyan, who calmly poured tea. "Ignore him," Xiyan murmured, sliding a bowl of congee towards Meilin. "He'll tire himself out eventually."

Meilin took a deliberate sip of tea, her gaze sharpening as it landed on Tianlang-Jun's midsection. He was leaning back slightly, robes stretching comfortably over his stomach after the hearty meal. A slow, thoughtful frown creased her brow. "Actually..." she began, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry over the clatter of dishes. She tilted her head, studying him with exaggerated concern. "Tianlang-Jun, forgive my boldness... but are you feeling quite well?" Her finger pointed subtly towards his stomach. "That... distension. It seems rather pronounced this morning. Are you certain it's just breakfast?"

Tianlang-Jun paused mid-bite, his chopsticks hovering over a dumpling. He blinked, momentarily wrong-footed. "Distension?" he echoed, glancing down at his own stomach.

Meilin leaned forward, her expression one of exaggerated innocence. "Indeed. Such sudden rounding... and so low." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Could it be... morning sickness manifests differently for demonic pregnancies? Sister," she turned to Su Xiyan, her eyes wide with feigned concern, "as the esteemed father-to-be, shouldn't you fetch ginger tea?"

Su Xiyan, her face utterly impassive, lowered her teacup with deliberate slowness. Her cool gaze swept over Tianlang-Jun’s midsection. "A valid observation, Meilin," she stated, her voice devoid of inflection yet cutting through the inn's chatter. She reached out, her fingers surprisingly gentle as they brushed the fabric stretched taut over Tianlang-Jun's stomach. "The swelling is significant. Consistent with early second trimester demonic gestation." Her fingers pressed lightly. "Firmness suggests twins. Congratulations, husband." She withdrew her hand, picking up her chopsticks as if discussing the weather.

Tianlang-Jun’s jaw went slack. The smugness evaporated, replaced by utter bewilderment. He stared down at his own stomach, patting it experimentally. "Twins? Beloved, this is merely breakfast! A hearty one, admittedly..." His protest faltered as Su Xiyan calmly gestured towards a passing serving wench. "Bring ginger tea," she ordered. "And steamed fish. The expectant mother requires gentle sustenance." The serving girl blinked, glanced at Tianlang-Jun’s bewildered face and his noticeably rounded belly, then scurried away, eyes wide with scandalized gossip.

Meilin pressed her advantage, leaning forward with wide-eyed innocence. "Oh, Tianlang-Jun! You must tell us everything! How long have you known? The cravings... the fatigue...?" She sighed dramatically. "Such a brave mother-to-be, enduring demonic gestation while still travelling! Does the little one kick fiercely? I hear demon hybrids are quite active." Zhuzhi-Lang, momentarily forgotten, watched the unfolding scene with stunned disbelief, a flicker of horrified amusement finally breaking through his mortification.

Tianlang-Jun spluttered, patting his stomach defensively. "This is congee! Not progeny!" He shot a betrayed look at Su Xiyan, who calmly selected a steamed bun. "Beloved, surely you jest?" Su Xiyan dabbed her lips delicately with a napkin. "The signs are unmistakable," she stated flatly, her gaze lingering pointedly on his midsection. "The rounding is textbook. Your robes barely contain it. Clearly, the twins require more space." She gestured towards the returning serving wench, who placed ginger tea and steamed fish before Tianlang-Jun with trembling hands. "Nourish them well," Xiyan instructed the girl coolly. "The father must ensure the mother's health."

Meilin leaned in, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Oh, the sacrifices of demonic motherhood! Does walking tire you? Should we fetch a sedan chair?" She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "And the mood swings! Sister, remember yesterday when he wept over that terrible romance novel? Now we understand!" Zhuzhi-Lang choked on his tea, hastily covering his mouth, his shoulders shaking with suppressed, horrified laughter. He stared fixedly at his bowl, unable to look up.

Su Xiyan nodded gravely, placing a solicitous hand on Tianlang-Jun’s arm. "Indeed. The emotional volatility is a known symptom. We must ensure he rests adequately." She gestured towards the untouched ginger tea. "Drink, husband. Settle the twins. The ginger aids digestion... and suppresses nausea." Her expression remained utterly impassive, but a flicker of icy amusement danced in her eyes as Tianlang-Jun gaped, utterly speechless for the first time Meilin could recall.

Meilin pressed a hand to her mouth, feigning concern. "Oh, the poor dear looks overwhelmed! Perhaps we should send for a midwife? Or," she added thoughtfully, "looser robes? That sash seems painfully tight across your... condition." She watched with delight as Tianlang-Jun instinctively sucked in his stomach, then immediately looked horrified at the involuntary action. Patrons at nearby tables were now openly staring, whispering behind hands, their eyes darting between Tianlang-Jun’s midsection and Su Xiyan’s stern, ‘supportive’ expression.

Zhuzhi-Lang finally lifted his head, his mortification momentarily eclipsed by bewildered fascination. He watched his uncle, the mighty Demon Emperor, flounder under the relentless assault of fabricated pregnancy symptoms. A tiny, incredulous smile tugged at his lips as Tianlang-Jun desperately gulped the ginger tea, only to grimace at its sharpness. "See?" Meilin whispered loudly to Zhuzhi-Lang, pointing. "The aversion to strong flavours! Classic!"

Su Xiyan maintained her icy composure, but the slight tightening of her knuckles around her teacup betrayed suppressed laughter. She gestured imperiously at Tianlang-Jun's untouched fish. "Protein is vital for fetal development. Consume it." Tianlang-Jun stared at the fish like it was poisoned, his earlier smugness replaced by panicked indignation. "Beloved," he hissed, leaning close, "this charade has gone far enough!" Su Xiyan merely arched a single, elegant eyebrow. "Charade? Are you suggesting I misdiagnose your condition?" Her voice dropped, cold steel beneath the calm. "Or perhaps you wish to explain your earlier... exuberant... announcements to the entire inn?"

Meilin seized the moment, leaning towards a wide-eyed serving girl hovering nearby. "Perhaps some pickled plums? I hear expectant mothers crave sour things desperately." The girl nodded frantically and scurried off. Tianlang-Jun groaned, burying his face in his hands. "This is slander! Cruel, unfounded slander!" His muffled protest was drowned by Zhuzhi-Lang’s poorly stifled cough, which sounded suspiciously like a laugh choked back at the last second.

Su Xiyan remained unflinching, her gaze coolly assessing Tianlang-Jun’s slumped posture. "Fatigue sets in," she observed clinically. "Rest is paramount. After breakfast, you will retire to our room." She gestured dismissively. "Meilin, Zhuzhi-Lang, you will scout the town perimeter. Discreetly." Her tone brooked no argument, effectively silencing Tianlang-Jun’s next sputtered objection before it began. He slumped further, radiating defeated indignation as the serving girl returned, placing a small dish of intensely sour pickled plums beside his fish with a look of profound sympathy.

Chapter Text

Later, navigating the bustling market street, Zhuzhi-Lang kept a careful half-step behind Meilin, his gaze darting nervously at the crowds. "Su-guniang," he murmured, his voice still thick with residual embarrassment, "your... retaliation was... formidable." A tiny green snake peeked from his collar, its tongue flicking approvingly. Meilin offered a small, sharp smile. "He started it. Demonic pregnancies require creative management." They paused by a stall selling intricate hairpins, the momentary distraction easing the tension.

A commotion erupted nearby. Tianlang-Jun, trailing Su Xiyan like a disgruntled storm cloud, had been loudly lamenting his "delicate state" to anyone who'd listen. "The cravings!" he groaned dramatically, clutching his stomach as Su Xiyan inspected medicinal roots nearby. "First pickled plums, now I yearn for roasted scorpions dipped in honey! The burden!" His voice carried easily over the market din. Spotting Meilin, his eyes lit with mischief. "Ah! Little Meilin! Still glowing? Remember to rest! Growing two heirs is exhausting!" He winked outrageously.

An elderly woman with sharp eyes and a healer's insignia pinned to her robe bustled forward, drawn by Tianlang-Jun's theatrics. She peered intently at his noticeably rounded midsection, then turned her piercing gaze on Meilin. "Ah, young mistress!" she declared, her voice carrying the weight of decades of village wisdom. "Your husband speaks true! Rest is vital!" She gestured firmly at Meilin's own slender frame. "Especially for one so newly blessed! Early stages are fragile! Avoid strenuous travel and cold drafts!" She leaned in conspiratorially. "I have an excellent tonic for morning sickness – bitter, but effective!"

Tianlang-Jun’s eyes widened with unholy glee. He puffed out his stomach further, placing a protective hand over it. "Wise words, honoured healer!" he boomed, radiating mock solemnity. "My poor Meilin suffers terribly! The nausea, the fatigue... and the cravings!" He shot Meilin a look dripping with exaggerated sympathy. "Just this morning, she wept for candied centipedes! Can you imagine?" The healer clucked sympathetically, already rummaging in her herb pouch.

Meilin’s cheeks flushed crimson, but before she could protest, the healer thrust a small clay jar towards her. "For the young mistress!" the woman insisted, her voice firm. "Steep a spoonful in hot water twice daily. Settles the stomach and strengthens the womb!" Her gaze swept critically over Meilin’s slender form. "You must eat more, child! Build strength for the little one!" Nearby vendors paused, their curious stares shifting between the "expectant" demon lord and the mortified young woman.

Tianlang-Jun beamed, puffing out his stomach with renewed vigour. "Such kindness!" he boomed, clapping a hand on Meilin’s shoulder. "See, Meilin? The honoured healer understands your plight! The exhaustion! The strange cravings!" He leaned closer, his voice dripping with mock concern. "Perhaps she has a tonic for weepiness too? Remember yesterday, weeping over that wilted lotus?" The healer nodded sagely, already pulling out another jar. "Emotional flux! Common in the first trimester!"

Meilin’s jaw clenched. She snatched the offered jar from the healer’s hand, her knuckles white. "My profound gratitude," she ground out, her voice tight. Before Tianlang-Jun could unleash another barb, she spun towards him, her eyes blazing. "Since you seem so invested in prenatal health," she hissed, shoving the jar against his chest, "you drink it! Twice daily! Strengthen your womb!" The healer gasped, scandalized. Tianlang-Jun blinked, momentarily speechless as the jar thumped against his padded robes.

Su Xiyan materialized beside them, her presence instantly silencing the murmuring crowd. She plucked the jar from Tianlang-Jun's startled grasp with cool efficiency. "A thoughtful gift," she stated, her voice slicing through the tension. Her gaze fixed on the healer. "We will ensure both expectant parents adhere strictly to the regimen." She handed the jar back to Tianlang-Jun. "Carry it, husband. Carefully. Fragile contents." Tianlang-Jun stared at the small clay vessel like it contained venom, his earlier glee replaced by wary apprehension.

The healer, oblivious to the undercurrents, turned her stern gaze on Zhuzhi-Lang. "Young master!" she commanded, pointing a gnarled finger at Meilin. "Your wife requires vigilance! Ensure she rests, avoids jostling, and consumes nourishing broths. No heavy lifting! Guard her from undue stress!" Zhuzhi-Lang froze, his ears burning crimson. Tiny snakes writhed visibly beneath his collar, mirroring his panic. "I... she is not..." he stammered, utterly paralyzed.

Meilin saw her chance. She seized Zhuzhi-Lang's arm, her grip surprisingly firm. Leaning into him, she fluttered her lashes dramatically, her voice a breathy sigh. "Oh, Honoured Healer," she cooed, pressing closer, "you needn't worry. My beloved husband dotes on me *most* attentively." She tilted her head, casting Zhuzhi-Lang a look of exaggerated adoration. "He insists on carrying everything... even my worries." Zhuzhi-Lang stiffened, a choked sound escaping him as her fingers tightened possessively on his sleeve.

The healer beamed, nodding approval. "Excellent! Such devotion warms this old heart! See that it continues, young master!" Zhuzhi-Lang could only manage a strangled nod, his face aflame, utterly silenced by Meilin's sudden, clinging performance and the healer's stern expectation. His snakes retreated deep into his robes, vanishing completely. Tianlang-Jun watched, momentarily stunned into silence, his mouth slightly agape at the unexpected counterattack.

Once the healer finally bustled away, satisfied, Meilin instantly dropped Zhuzhi-Lang's arm like a hot coal, stepping back with a sharp exhale. "Apologies, Zhuzhi-Lang. That was... necessary." She rubbed her temples, her cheeks still flushed. "If you'd denied it, she'd have questioned everything. Suspicion is the last thing we need." Her voice was pragmatic, but a flicker of genuine embarrassment warmed her ears.

Zhuzhi-Lang stood frozen, his arm tingling where her fingers had gripped. His snakes cautiously emerged, peering at Meilin as if assessing a sudden storm. "N-no apology needed, Su-guniang," he stammered, finally finding his voice. "Your... strategy was effective." He avoided her gaze, focusing intently on a nearby stall selling polished river stones, his own face mirroring their deep red hue. The mortification of being publicly claimed as her husband warred with a strange, fluttering warmth in his chest.

Meilin frowned, her pragmatic streak cutting through the awkwardness. "Stop calling me that," she said sharply, her voice low. "If we're pretending to be married, 'Su-guniang' sounds like you're addressing your sect leader's distant cousin, not your wife. It’s suspicious." She crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently on the packed earth. "Use my name. Meilin. It doesn’t bite." Her tone was brisk, practical, but her eyes held a flicker of challenge.

Zhuzhi-Lang froze, a blush creeping up his neck. "Su-guniang... Meilin," he corrected hastily, stumbling over the syllables as if they were unfamiliar stones. His snakes rustled beneath his collar, mirroring his discomfort. "It feels... improper," he murmured, staring intently at the ground. "Too familiar." The intimacy of her name felt like stepping onto thin ice—terrifying and exhilarating.

Meilin rolled her eyes, though a faint smile touched her lips. "Improper? We're pretending to share a bed, Zhuzhi-Lang. Calling me 'Meilin' is the least of it." She nudged his arm lightly. "Practice. Say it." Her tone softened slightly. "Unless you'd rather Tianlang-Jun hears you slip and decides to lecture us about 'marital harmony' again?" The threat hung in the air, practical and sharp.

Zhuzhi-Lang swallowed hard, his gaze darting nervously around the bustling market before settling hesitantly on her face. "M-Meilin," he stammered, the name feeling foreign yet strangely warm on his tongue. A tiny green snake peeked from his sleeve, its head tilting curiously at her. "See? Not fatal," Meilin remarked dryly, turning to examine a stall displaying shimmering silk ribbons. "Now keep saying it. Loud enough for eavesdroppers, quiet enough not to draw stares."

Chapter Text

A sudden commotion erupted nearby. Tianlang-Jun's voice boomed over the crowd, thick with theatrical woe. "Beloved! The twins demand candied locusts! The craving is unbearable!" Su Xiyan stood impassive as a statue, ignoring his dramatic clutching at his padded stomach while she bargained stoically for medicinal herbs. Zhuzhi-Lang instinctively stepped closer to Meilin, his shoulder brushing hers. "We should move," he murmured urgently, the proximity making his pulse quicken. "Before he involves us in his... condition."

Before Meilin could reply, a sharp crack echoed overhead. The overloaded canopy pole of a nearby stall groaned, its ropes fraying under the weight of clay pots. Zhuzhi-Lang reacted instantly. He lunged, wrapping an arm around Meilin’s waist and yanking her back hard against him just as the pole snapped. Pots crashed down where she’d stood, shattering in a spray of terracotta shards and dried herbs. Dust billowed around them.

His grip was iron-tight, pressing Meilin flush against his chest. She felt the frantic drum of his heart against her shoulder blade, the coiled tension in his muscles. His breath hitched near her ear. "Are you unharmed?" The words rasped out, thick with genuine fear. His snakes hissed in agitation beneath his robes, pressing against the fabric near her back.

Meilin blinked dust from her eyes, her own pulse hammering against his arm still locked around her waist. "Fine," she managed, voice shaky. The scent of crushed herbs and his unique, faintly earthy demonic aura filled her senses. His closeness was overwhelming – protective, solid, yet radiating sheer mortification. She could feel the heat radiating from his face near her hair. He hadn't moved, frozen in the aftermath, his body shielding hers instinctively even as the danger passed.

Zhuzhi-Lang jerked back as if scalded the moment he registered her safety, putting a full step between them. His ears burned crimson, tiny snakes vanishing deep into his robes like startled eels. "Apologies, Su-... Meilin," he stammered, staring fixedly at the shattered pottery. "The stall... it gave way." His voice was tight, layered with flustered embarrassment over the intimacy and a fierce, lingering protectiveness that tightened his jaw. He hadn't hesitated, hadn't thought – only acted. That instinctive ferocity, so at odds with his usual shyness, left him shaken.

Meilin brushed dust from her sleeve, her own heartbeat still echoing the sudden violence of his pull. "You saved me a cracked skull," she stated matter-of-factly, though her gaze lingered on the coiled tension in his shoulders. "Apologies are unnecessary." She deliberately stepped closer again, closing the distance he'd created, her voice lowering. "But perhaps less yanking next time? My ribs aren't pottery." A faint, wry smile touched her lips, acknowledging the absurdity amidst the lingering adrenaline.

Zhuzhi-Lang’s eyes darted to hers, then swiftly away, colour high on his cheekbones. The protective instinct still thrummed beneath his skin, warring fiercely with the mortification of holding her so tightly, so publicly. His snakes remained hidden, utterly still. "I... reacted poorly," he murmured, his voice rough. "Forgive the roughness." He flexed his hand, remembering the feel of her waist beneath the fabric, the way she'd fit perfectly against him. The memory sent another wave of heat through him, sharp and confusing.

Meilin watched the flustered shift of his gaze, the rigid line of his shoulders. The practical part of her noted the efficiency of his reflexes; the other part felt an unexpected warmth at the fierce, unthinking shield he'd become. She deliberately softened her tone, cutting through his turmoil. "You reacted correctly. Debris hurts more than bruised ribs." She gestured towards the commotion where Tianlang-Jun was now loudly lamenting the "danger to delicate constitutions" near shattered pottery. "Focus there. Your uncle’s theatrics need containment, not my gratitude."

Tianlang-Jun seized the moment like a prize. He staggered dramatically towards the wreckage, clutching his padded stomach. "The shock!" he wailed, voice echoing off the market stalls. "Such violence! Poor Meilin! Her fragile state!" He pointed a trembling finger at Zhuzhi-Lang. "Nephew! Carry your wife immediately! The jostling... think of the heirs!" Vendors stared, murmurs swelling about the unfortunate pregnant couple. Su Xiyan materialized beside him, her expression glacial. She assessed the scene, then Meilin's dust-streaked robes, with clinical detachment.

"The patient exhibits heightened distress," Su Xiyan announced, her voice cutting through Tianlang-Jun's theatrics. She fixed a stern gaze on Meilin. "Palpitations, pallor, potential uterine agitation. Immediate bedrest is non-negotiable." Her eyes flicked to Tianlang-Jun, silencing his next embellishment. "The mother," she emphasized the word pointedly, "requires absolute calm. We depart for the inn. Now." Her tone brooked no argument, transforming Tianlang-Jun's farce into a medical decree. Patrons nodded solemnly, whispering advice about warm broths and quiet rooms.

Tianlang-Jun beamed, puffing out his stomach triumphantly. "Wisdom itself! To the inn!" He gestured grandly towards Zhuzhi-Lang. "Nephew! Support your fragile blossom! Mind her delicate steps!" Zhuzhi-Lang stiffened, mortification warring with ingrained obedience. Meilin shot Su Xiyan a sharp look, but the older woman’s expression was unreadable ice. Practicality won. Meilin leaned slightly against Zhuzhi-Lang’s offered arm, playing the wan invalid as they navigated the gawking crowd. His touch was stiff, his ears burning crimson.

Chapter Text

Su Xiyan moved with lethal efficiency. While Tianlang-Jun loudly lamented Meilin’s "palpitations" to sympathetic vendors, she secured their departure. Within moments, their scant belongings were gathered, horses readied, and coins pressed into the innkeeper’s hand. Her commands were clipped, leaving no room for Tianlang-Jun’s embellishments. "The patient requires solitude," she stated flatly to the curious patrons, her tone silencing whispers. "Further excitement risks complications." Tianlang-Jun opened his mouth, likely to invent phantom contractions, but Su Xiyan’s icy glance snapped it shut.

They rode swiftly northward, leaving the bustling town behind. The road narrowed into a dusty ribbon flanked by terraced rice paddies shimmering under the midday sun. ''Zhuzhi-Lang?" Meilin murmured, leaning closer to Zhuzhi-Lang as their horses walked side-by-side. Her voice was low, meant only for him. "That healer’s tonic still clutched in your Uncle’s saddlebag. Think he’ll actually drink it?" A faint, mischievous smile touched her lips. Zhuzhi-Lang’s ears flushed pink. "He... values his dignity," he managed, his gaze fixed ahead. A tiny snake peeked from his collar, seemingly amused. "Perhaps we should... not remind him."

Ahead, Tianlang-Jun sighed dramatically, patting his stomach. "The twins grow restless! Such bumpy roads!" Su Xiyan rode beside him, silent as a shadow, her expression unreadable.

The dusty road curved past a cluster of bamboo stalls selling woven baskets and dried fish. Three merchants leaned against their carts, their robes plain but their posture too alert, their eyes scanning travellers with sharp assessment. One, a woman with calloused hands and a hawk-like gaze, stepped forward, blocking their path slightly. "Fine wares, travellers?" she offered, her voice smooth but her eyes lingering on Zhuzhi-Lang’s demonic aura, poorly concealed beneath his human glamour, and Meilin’s dust-streaked form leaning against his arm. "You seem weary. Seeking shelter?"

Tianlang-Jun puffed out his chest instantly, gesturing grandly towards Zhuzhi-Lang and Meilin. "My nephew and his delicate wife require rest! The journey strains her fragile condition!" Su Xiyan’s knuckles whitened on her reins, but she remained silent, her gaze locked on the "merchant" woman’s assessing stare. The woman’s eyes narrowed, flicking between Meilin’s deliberately wan expression and Zhuzhi-Lang’s rigid posture. "A delicate time indeed," she murmured, her tone deceptively gentle. "A strong husband must be a pillar. Tell me, young master, how do you ease your lady’s burdens?" Her gaze pinned Zhuzhi-Lang, probing.

Zhuzhi-Lang froze, panic tightening his throat. Meilin felt his arm tense beneath her light grip. Instinctively, she leaned harder against him, letting out a soft, weary sigh. "He anticipates everything," she interjected smoothly, her voice a fragile thread. "Warm broth before I ask... cushions for the saddle..." She lifted trembling fingers to brush Zhuzhi-Lang’s cheek, a gesture both intimate and demanding. "Isn’t that right, beloved?" Her eyes held his, silently commanding him to play along. A tiny green snake peeked nervously from his collar.

The merchant woman’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. "Names chosen?" she pressed, her tone falsely casual. "For the little one? Or ones?" Her companions subtly shifted, hands drifting near hidden belt pouches. Meilin’s smile widened, fragile and bright. "Oh, we argue endlessly!" she chirped, her voice gaining a breathless animation. "He favours 'Jian' for a boy, strong and simple. I prefer 'Lian'... gentle, like lotus petals." She squeezed Zhuzhi-Lang’s arm. "Tell her, darling." His blush deepened, but he managed a stiff nod. "Su-guniang... Meilin... has exquisite taste," he rasped.

Meilin sighed dramatically. "But twins run in his family! So we need *two* names!" She leaned conspiratorially toward the merchant. "Perhaps 'Mingyue' and 'Jinghua'? Moonlight and Essence of Flower?" Her eyes sparkled with feigned excitement. Zhuzhi-Lang swallowed hard, utterly lost. "Y-yes," he choked out. The lead scout’s eyes narrowed further, suspicion hardening. "Demon names?" she murmured, icy. "For half-bloods?" The implication hung like a blade.

Meilin’s breath hitched. Panic flashed in Zhuzhi-Lang’s eyes. Without thought, driven by sheer terror and the desperate need to sell the lie, Meilin surged forward. Her hands gripped the front of Zhuzhi-Lang’s robes, pulling him down. Their lips met—a clumsy, desperate press, more collision than caress. Zhuzhi-Lang froze, utterly rigid, his blush scorching against her skin. His snakes rustled frantically beneath his collar. Meilin held the awkward kiss, her own heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. 'Sell it,' she screamed internally. 'Sell it or we die.' She deepened the kiss slightly, clumsy but fierce, tasting dust and the faint tang of herbs on his lips.

The lead scout recoiled as if scalded. "Disgusting!" she spat, her voice thick with revulsion. "No true cultivator would debase herself so willingly with a demon." Her companions exchanged disgusted glances, hands relaxing away from their hidden weapons. "Filthy," one muttered, turning away. The lead scout waved a dismissive hand, her hawk-like gaze now filled with contemptuous pity. "Move along. We seek Hua Hua targets, not... this." She practically shuddered, turning her back on the spectacle of Meilin clinging to Zhuzhi-Lang’s frozen form.

Meilin broke the kiss, gasping for air. Her cheeks burned hotter than Zhuzhi-Lang’s ears. She stumbled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, unable to meet his stunned, mortified gaze. "They bought it," she rasped, voice trembling. Zhuzhi-Lang remained paralyzed, lips slightly parted, his entire body radiating shock. A tiny snake peeked from his sleeve, head tilted in bewildered concern. Tianlang-Jun let out a low, appreciative whistle, his earlier theatrics forgotten. "Nephew! Such passion! Truly, the marital arts are—" Su Xiyan’s icy glare cut him off mid-sentence.

Before Zhuzhi-Lang could stammer a reply, the air thickened. The nearby river, placid moments before, churned violently. Water surged upward, coalescing into a towering, translucent figure crowned with reeds and dripping silt. Its eyes glowed like submerged coals, fixed unerringly on Zhuzhi-Lang. A guttural roar echoed, shaking the bamboo stalls. "SNAKE-KIN! YOU SPILL YOUR DEMONIC CLAIM HERE? THIS WATERWAY IS MINE! CHALLENGE ME!" The spirit’s voice was the crash of rapids, its territorial rage palpable. It mistook Zhuzhi-Lang’s panicked aura flare during the kiss as a deliberate provocation.

Zhuzhi-Lang recoiled, panic overriding his lingering shock. "N-no challenge!" he shouted, voice cracking. Instinct drove him. He seized Meilin’s wrist, pulling her protectively behind him. "My mate—she carries my heir! We seek only passage!" The lie tumbled out, desperate and raw. Meilin’s fingers tightened around his, her pulse frantic against his skin. She stayed silent, letting the claim hang—a shield against the spirit’s wrath.

The river spirit paused, its watery form swirling with confusion. Glowing eyes narrowed, scanning Zhuzhi-Lang’s terrified posture, then Meilin’s dust-streaked robes and deliberately hunched shoulders. "Weak claim," it rumbled, disdain dripping like water. "Your scent reeks of fear, snake-kin. Not conquest." A surge of water lashed out, icy spray stinging their faces. Zhuzhi-Lang flinched but held his ground, shielding Meilin completely. His snakes hissed defiance from beneath his robes.

Meilin stepped forward, placing herself beside Zhuzhi-Lang despite his protective tug. She met the spirit’s burning gaze, her voice clear and steady, cutting through the river’s roar. "Fear for an heir is strength, not weakness. Would you threaten the waters where your own lineage flows?" She gestured towards her own abdomen, the lie solidifying into truth under the spirit’s scrutiny. "His claim protects life. Is that not stronger than territorial pride?" The spirit recoiled slightly, the churning water calming a fraction. Lineage was sacred.

Su Xiyan moved like frost. Her sword hissed from its scabbard, not aimed at the spirit, but plunging point-first into the damp earth between their group and the watery entity. A ripple of pure, chilling spiritual energy pulsed outward, forming an invisible barrier. The river spirit hissed, recoiling from the sudden, biting cold. "This waterway is contested," Su Xiyan stated, her voice devoid of inflection. "Your claim is noted. Ours is passage. Conflict serves neither lineage." Her eyes, colder than the deepest river pool, held the spirit’s gaze. The implication was clear: attack, and Hua Hua Palace would become its enemy.

The spirit’s watery form stilled, the churning subsiding into wary currents. Its glowing eyes flickered between Su Xiyan’s glacial authority, Zhuzhi-Lang’s terrified protectiveness, and Meilin’s defiant posture. Territorial rage warred with the ancient respect for lineage Su Xiyan invoked and Meilin had weaponized. "Pass... quickly," it finally gurgled, the sound like stones grinding underwater. Its form began to sink back into the river, reeds dissolving into foam. "Defile my waters again... and lineage drowns." With a final swirl, it vanished, leaving only the normal rush of the river behind.

Chapter Text

They crossed the shallow ford swiftly, hooves splashing through the cold, clear water. Zhuzhi-Lang kept Meilin close, his grip on her wrist firm until they reached the far bank. Only then did he release her, stepping back as if burned. His gaze remained fixed on the rushing water, jaw clenched tight. Meilin watched him, the frantic pulse of the encounter fading, leaving only the raw memory of the kiss and his desperate claim hanging between them. Dust coated her tongue, but the phantom pressure of his lips lingered.

"Zhuzhi-Lang," Meilin began, her voice quieter than the river's murmur. She stepped into his line of sight, forcing him to meet her eyes. "What happened back there... the kiss. I acted without asking. That was wrong." She didn't flinch from his startled, flushed expression. "I panicked. It was the only lie strong enough to make them leave. But it wasn't fair to you. I'm truly sorry."

He stared at her, the frantic pulse in his throat visible. His blush deepened, but his rigid posture softened fractionally. A tiny emerald snake peeked from his collar, tilting its head. "You... saved us," he managed, the words rough. "The Hua Hua scouts... the spirit..." He swallowed hard, struggling past the memory of her lips against his. "Forgiveness... is unnecessary. The necessity was... clear." His gaze flickered away, then back, earnest despite the lingering embarrassment. "I understand."

Meilin let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Thank you," she murmured, sincerity warming her voice. The awkwardness didn't vanish, but a fragile understanding settled between them – a shared secret forged in panic and necessity. Ahead, Tianlang-Jun sighed dramatically, patting his padded stomach. "Such tender reconciliation! But alas, the twins demand sustenance! My delicate constitution requires pickled plums!" He shot Zhuzhi-Lang a sly, knowing look. "Perhaps someone could fetch them? For his dear, fragile 'mate'?" The teasing lilt was back, sharp as ever.

Zhuzhi-Lang stiffened, his ears flushing crimson anew. Before he could stammer a reply, Su Xiyan cut in, her voice colder than the river spray. "The patient requires quiet," she stated flatly, her gaze slicing towards Tianlang-Jun. "Excessive vocalization strains the womb." She nudged her horse forward, forcing Tianlang-Jun to follow or be left behind. He pouted theatrically but obeyed, muttering about "joyless physicians" under his breath.

The sky darkened unnaturally fast. What began as a drizzle became a deluge within moments, thick sheets of rain turning the dusty path into a churning mudslide. Visibility vanished. Through the downpour, Zhuzhi-Lang spotted the crumbling outline of a riverside shrine, its sagging roof offering meagre shelter. "There!" he shouted over the roar, guiding Meilin’s horse towards it. They dismounted hastily, scrambling under the rotting eaves just as a deafening thunderclap shook the ground. Instinctively, Zhuzhi-Lang moved—not away, but around Meilin. His body curved protectively, shielding her from the spray lashing through gaps in the ruined walls, his posture instinctively serpentine, coiled and defensive.

Inside the damp gloom, the air crackled with tension thicker than the storm. Tianlang-Jun, dripping and theatrically shivering, watched Zhuzhi-Lang’s rigid stance with unholy glee. "Nephew!" he crowed over another thunderclap. "Such primal guardianship! Truly, the bond deepens! Does the thunder stir your paternal instincts?" Zhuzhi-Lang flinched, his blush visible even in the dim light. He didn't move from Meilin’s side, but his shoulders hunched under the weight of the implication. Meilin kept her gaze fixed on the raging river beyond the shrine’s broken doorway, her cheeks warm despite the chill.

She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against Zhuzhi-Lang’s tense forearm. "Ignore him," she murmured, her voice low and steady beneath the storm’s roar. She turned slightly, meeting his startled, embarrassed eyes. "Honestly? It’s… kind of cute." A small, genuine smile touched her lips. "Seeing you like this. Protective." Zhuzhi-Lang froze, his blush deepening impossibly. A tiny green snake peeked from his collar, seemingly bewildered. He didn’t pull away, but a flicker of something warm – relief? confusion? – replaced some of the panic in his gaze. Tianlang-Jun’s delighted cackle echoed off the crumbling walls.

The storm raged for hours, a relentless drumming on the sagging roof. Zhuzhi-Lang remained a silent, protective statue beside Meilin, ignoring Tianlang-Jun’s increasingly elaborate teasing about nesting instincts and phantom fetal kicks. Su Xiyan stood sentinel near the entrance, her gaze fixed on the churning river, her expression unreadable. When the downpour finally eased to a drizzle, replaced by the dripping symphony of the soaked forest, she spoke, her voice cutting through the dripping silence. "The torrents have cleansed the trail." Her gaze swept the muddy path now a river of churned earth and broken branches. "No cultivator could track scent or sign through this."

Relief, sharp and sudden, washed over Meilin. They were free. Truly free. The suffocating pressure of pursuit lifted, leaving an almost giddy lightness. Tianlang-Jun let out a booming laugh, stretching theatrically. "Freedom! Excellent! Now, nephew, about those pickled plums for my delicate condition—" Su Xiyan’s icy glance silenced him mid-sentence. "Priorities shift," she stated flatly, turning her horse towards the northwest, away from the river and deeper into wild, demon-leaning territory. "We move."

As Su Xiyan guided her horse through the muddy aftermath, Zhuzhi-Lang remained close to Meilin, his posture unconsciously protective. The storm had washed away pursuit, but the raw intimacy of their shared desperation – the kiss, the claim, his shielding form in the shrine – lingered like damp silk against their skin. Meilin caught his sidelong glance, saw the lingering blush high on his cheekbones, and offered a tentative, reassuring smile. He looked away quickly, but a tiny emerald snake peeked from his sleeve, its head bobbing slightly as if nodding.

Chapter Text

Inside the shrine’s damp gloom, Su Xiyan paused, her sharp eyes catching a glint of faded crimson amidst the rotting rafters. With a flick of spiritual energy, she dislodged a cluster of brittle charms – miniature bridal phoenixes and entwined dragons woven from poisoned silk threads, their embroidery radiating a low, insidious hum. "Cursed wedding talismans," she stated flatly, her voice colder than the shrine’s stone. "Placed centuries ago, likely by a jilted lover. They resonate with… recent declarations." Her gaze cut directly to Zhuzhi-Lang and Meilin, heavy with unspoken implication. The air thickened, charged with the phantom weight of Zhuzhi-Lang’s desperate claim – "My mate—she carries my heir!" – echoing in the confined space.

Zhuzhi-Lang recoiled as if physically struck. The charms pulsed faintly in Su Xiyan’s hand, seeming to resonate with the lingering echo of his lie. He instinctively stepped closer to Meilin, a protective reflex warring with profound shame. "Junshang’s jest… my own words… they were necessity!" he stammered, his voice tight. The tiny snakes beneath his robes writhed nervously, sensing his distress. The cursed silk seemed to drink the light, casting long, accusing shadows. Meilin felt the oppressive spiritual pressure settle over them, heavier than the storm’s aftermath, forcing the charade back into sharp, uncomfortable focus.

Meilin didn’t hesitate. She stepped fully into Zhuzhi-Lang’s space, deliberately blocking his view of the talismans. Her hand found his forearm again, grounding him. "Look at me," she urged softly, her voice cutting through the suffocating dread. His panicked eyes met hers, wide with mortification. "Zhuzhi-Lang," she said, her tone firm yet gentle. "That lie saved us. Twice. And honestly?" She offered a small, genuine smile. "If I had to marry someone? Being your wife wouldn’t be a hardship. You’re kind, brave… and you’d make a wonderful husband." Her thumb brushed lightly over his sleeve, a silent reassurance against the cursed silk’s chill.

Zhuzhi-Lang stared, utterly speechless. His blush deepened, spreading down his neck, but the rigid terror in his shoulders eased fractionally. A choked sound escaped him – not quite a word, not quite a sob. The frantic writhing of his hidden snakes stilled, replaced by a slow, curious sway. Tianlang-Jun’s delighted gasp echoed from the doorway. "Oh! A confession! Truly, fate weaves—" Su Xiyan crushed the brittle talismans in her fist. A sharp 'crackle' of dark energy fizzled out, leaving only harmless dust drifting onto the muddy floor. "Silence," she commanded, her gaze lingering on Meilin’s steady hand on Zhuzhi-Lang’s arm. "The resonance is broken. Move."

Hours later, camped beneath ancient cedars dripping with residual rain, Su Xiyan’s fingers closed like ice around Meilin’s wrist. Her eyes narrowed on a faint, almost invisible tracery – a spiderweb-thin pattern of bruised violet swirling just beneath the skin. "The shrine’s malice lingered," Su Xiyan stated, her voice devoid of inflection. "A binding curse. It feeds on false vows made under its influence." Her gaze lifted, pinning Zhuzhi-Lang. "Your claim. Her affirmation. The talismans anchored it to her qi." Meilin felt a cold dread seep into her bones. The phantom pressure of Zhuzhi-Lang’s desperate lie – "My mate—she carries my heir!" – seemed to pulse beneath her skin.

"The counteragent?" Tianlang-Jun asked, unusually subdued, his usual teasing replaced by sharp focus. Su Xiyan’s reply was glacial. "Direct, sustained contact from the source of the vow. Skin to skin. His demonic qi must overwhelm the curse’s anchor point." She released Meilin’s wrist, leaving the faint violet mark stark against her pale skin. Zhuzhi-Lang stared, horrified comprehension dawning. His hand instinctively reached out, then jerked back as if burned. "Junshang’s command… my words…" he stammered, his face draining of colour. "I cannot—such imposition—"

Meilin cut him off, her voice surprisingly steady despite the icy dread coiling in her stomach. She extended her wrist towards him, the cursed mark pulsing faintly. "It’s just skin, Zhuzhi-Lang," she said, forcing a calm she didn’t entirely feel. "And it’s not imposition if I ask. Please." Her gaze held his, unwavering, trusting. The request hung between them, stripping away the layers of charade and panic, leaving only raw necessity and a terrifying vulnerability.

Zhuzhi-Lang’s hand trembled visibly as he reached out. His fingers, cool and surprisingly smooth, brushed against the bruised violet tracery on Meilin’s inner wrist. A jolt, like static mixed with icy water, shot up her arm. He flinched but didn’t pull away. Instead, he pressed his palm fully against the mark, his demonic qi a low, insistent thrum against her skin – a strange counterpoint to the curse’s invasive chill. His blush deepened, spreading down his neck, but his focus remained locked on the point of contact, his expression a mixture of intense concentration and profound embarrassment. Tiny snakes peeked nervously from his collar, swaying in silent agitation.

The violet mark pulsed angrily beneath his touch, resisting. Zhuzhi-Lang inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing. He shifted his hand slightly, increasing the pressure. His qi intensified, a subtle warmth seeping through the cold dread, pushing against the curse’s anchor. Meilin gasped softly as the bruise-like pattern flared brighter, then dimmed, writhing like a trapped creature. She felt the echo of his desperate claim – "My mate!" – resonate within the curse, a phantom vibration fighting his genuine demonic energy. His thumb traced the edge of the mark unconsciously, a gesture both protective and intimate, sending an unexpected shiver through her that had nothing to do with the curse.

Su Xiyan watched, her expression unreadable, a silent sentinel ensuring the ritual’s purity. Tianlang-Jun, for once utterly still, observed his nephew’s intense focus with something akin to pride beneath his usual amusement. Zhuzhi-Lang’s blush remained fierce, but his trembling ceased. His entire being poured into the connection – the warmth of his palm, the focused thrum of his qi, the unwavering pressure against her skin. The violet tracery flickered erratically, like a dying ember. A bead of sweat traced a path down Zhuzhi-Lang’s temple. He leaned in fractionally, his breath ghosting over Meilin’s wrist, his concentration absolute.

Suddenly, a cold, slithering whisper brushed against Meilin’s inner ear, distinct from the forest’s night sounds. "...my mate..." It was Zhuzhi-Lang’s voice, strained and desperate, echoing his false claim in the shrine. Meilin flinched violently. Zhuzhi-Lang’s eyes snapped up to hers, wide with horrified recognition – he’d heard it too. The phantom whisper deepened, twisting into a guttural hiss only they could perceive. "...carries... my heir..." Mortification crashed over them both, thick and suffocating. The violet mark pulsed once, viciously bright, feeding on their shared shame.

Zhuzhi-Lang’s fingers pressed harder, his knuckles whitening. His demonic qi surged, a focused torrent of warmth and raw power flooding into her wrist. The violet tracery writhed like a dying serpent, lashing against the onslaught. The whispers intensified, clawing at Meilin’s mind – "Mine... bound... forever..." – each word a fresh wave of humiliation. She bit her lip, tasting blood, refusing to pull away. Zhuzhi-Lang’s gaze remained locked on hers, his blush a furnace, but his touch was unwavering, an anchor against the spectral assault.

Su Xiyan’s hand clamped down on Zhuzhi-Lang’s shoulder like ice. Her spiritual energy sliced through the connection with surgical precision. The warmth vanished instantly, leaving Meilin’s wrist cold and exposed. The violet mark pulsed weakly, mocking them. "Fool," Su Xiyan stated, her voice devoid of inflection. "The curse feeds on deceit. Your qi alone is poison to it." Her eyes, sharp as honed steel, pinned Zhuzhi-Lang. "The vow was false. Only truth can unravel it. Speak it."

Zhuzhi-Lang recoiled as if burned. His gaze darted from the cursed mark to Meilin’s pale face, then fixed desperately on the damp forest floor. "Truth?" he choked out, the word thick with panic. "I… the claim… it was Junshang’s command! A shield!" His fists clenched, knuckles white. Tiny snakes writhed frantically beneath his robes. The phantom whispers hissed louder – *"Mine... forever..."* – twisting the air between them. Su Xiyan remained impassive, a glacier of expectation.

Meilin stepped closer, her own fear swallowed by a surge of fierce protectiveness. "Zhuzhi-Lang," she said, her voice low but unwavering. She lifted her wrist again, the violet tracery pulsing faintly. "Look at me. Not the lie. Not the curse. Me." Her eyes held his, steady and demanding. "What do you truly feel?" The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. Tianlang-Jun watched, uncharacteristically still, his playful smirk vanished.

Zhuzhi-Lang’s gaze finally lifted, meeting hers fully. The frantic panic in his eyes softened, replaced by a raw, terrifying vulnerability. "Fear," he whispered, the word barely audible. "Fear… of failing you. Fear… of wanting what I cannot claim." He swallowed hard, his blush deepening impossibly. "But also…" His hand trembled as he gently touched her cheek, avoiding the cursed wrist. "A warmth… when you smile. A need… to stand between you and harm." His thumb brushed her skin, feather-light. "You are… everything gentle in a harsh world, Su Meilin."

Meilin’s breath caught. The phantom whispers faltered, the violet mark flickering wildly. She covered his hand with hers, pressing it against her cheek. "And you," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears, "are the quiet strength I never knew I needed. The protector who blushes when I tease him." A shaky laugh escaped her. "The gentleman who holds back… even when I wish he wouldn’t." She leaned into his touch. "The lie was necessity. This?" She glanced at their joined hands. "This is truth. I choose you, Zhuzhi-Lang."

Chapter Text

The cursed mark pulsed once, violently bright, as if fighting its dissolution. Then, like ink dispersing in clear water, the violet tracery dissolved. Not with a flash, but a sigh – a release of pressure so profound Meilin swayed. Only Zhuzhi-Lang’s steadying grip kept her upright. The oppressive whispers vanished, replaced by the clean scent of rain-washed cedars and the soft rustle of leaves. His thumb traced the unmarked skin where the bruise had been, his expression one of stunned wonder. Relief washed over them both, warm and dizzying.

His blush remained fierce, a beacon in the twilight gloom, but his gaze held hers without flinching. "Su Meilin," he breathed, her name a vow softer than any lie. "The truth... it terrifies me. To want you, truly. To be... worthy." His fingers tightened gently around hers. "But denying it feels like suffocation. If you permit... I would court you. Properly. As you deserve." The tiny snakes peeking from his collar swayed gently, mirroring his tentative hope.

Meilin smiled, a genuine warmth blooming in her chest that chased away the last phantom chill of the curse. "Permission granted," she whispered, leaning closer until their foreheads almost touched. "Court me slowly, Zhuzhi-Lang. Bring me wildflowers instead of pickled plums. Protect me, but let me stand beside you." Her thumb brushed the back of his hand. "And blush all you want. I find it charming."

A delighted gasp shattered the fragile intimacy. Tianlang-Jun bounced on his toes, clapping his hands like an overexcited child. "Marriage! Real marriage! Oh, glorious day!" He swooped towards them, eyes gleaming with predatory glee. "Nephew! Meilin! Forget courting flowers! I demand a promise – a whole clutch of little serpents! Ten, at least! Twelve! I shall spoil them rotten with cursed toys and terrible poetry!" He flung an arm dramatically towards Su Xiyan. "Xiyan! Tell them! Twins are clearly the bare minimum!"

Zhuzhi-Lang recoiled, his blush exploding into a fiery crimson that reached the tips of his ears. He instinctively tried to shield Meilin, stammering incoherently. "Junshang! Please! Such... impropriety! Meilin hasn't even—" His protest died as Meilin gently squeezed his hand, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes despite her own pink cheeks.

"Twelve?" Meilin tilted her head, her voice deceptively light. "That seems ambitious, Lord Tianlang-Jun. Perhaps start with one?" She met his manic glee with a serene smile. "After a very long courtship. And only if Zhuzhi-Lang promises not to teach them your taste in theatre." The tiny snakes peeking from Zhuzhi-Lang's collar froze mid-sway, utterly scandalized.

Tianlang-Jun clutched his chest dramatically. "Cruelty! My own nephew’s beloved wounds me!" He pointed a trembling finger at Zhuzhi-Lang. "See? Already she schemes to isolate you! Protect your romantic sensibilities, nephew! Demand better plays!" He leaned in conspiratorially. "I know a troupe performing ‘The Lusty Ogre Maid’s Forbidden Embrace’ next moon—"

Zhuzhi-Lang made a strangled noise, pulling Meilin subtly behind him. "Junshang, I beg you—"

"Silence!" Tianlang-Jun declared, waving a dismissive hand. "Negotiations are concluded! Twelve heirs! Minimum! They shall inherit my unparalleled wit and your unfortunate shyness!" He spun towards Su Xiyan, who stood observing the scene with icy detachment. "Xiyan! As senior female relative, you must enforce this! Demand grandchildren! Spoiled, numerous grandchildren!"

Su Xiyan’s gaze shifted from Tianlang-Jun’s theatrics to the intertwined hands of her sister and the blushing demon. A flicker, almost imperceptible, softened the glacial planes of her face. "Twelve," she stated, her voice cutting through the night air like honed steel. "Is inefficient." Tianlang-Jun deflated instantly, his triumphant posture wilting. Before he could protest, she continued, her eyes locking onto Meilin and Zhuzhi-Lang. "Five. Strategically spaced. Adequate for lineage consolidation." Her tone brooked no argument, the cold calculus of a sect heir assessing resources and succession. Zhuzhi-Lang choked on air, his blush deepening to a shade resembling overripe plums.

Meilin squeezed Zhuzhi-Lang’s trembling hand, grounding him. "Five seems… manageable," she offered, her voice carefully neutral, though amusement danced in her eyes. She met Su Xiyan’s impassive stare. "After the courtship, Jiejie. And only if they inherit Zhuzhi-Lang’s kindness, not Uncle’s taste in literature." Tianlang-Jun sputtered indignantly, but Su Xiyan merely inclined her head, a fractional nod that was both concession and command.

Zhuzhi-Lang exhaled shakily, the frantic crimson receding from his neck. His gaze dropped to their joined hands, his thumb tracing small, tentative circles on her skin. "Kindness," he murmured, the word thick with emotion. "And perhaps… your courage, Meilin." The tiny snakes peeking from his collar relaxed, swaying gently in approval. The oppressive weight of the curse was gone, replaced by a fragile, hopeful warmth radiating between their palms.