A pair of long, slender hands closed around my throat—right now they were choking me.
I almost recognized him at a glance: Ethan Marshall, the male lead.
Not the kind, righteous hero everyone expects—Ethan was scheming, cruel, and a little twisted.
Ugh!
He was trying to strangle me.
What should have been a vicious, bloody moment was made weirdly erotic by those well-defined fingers wrapped around my neck.
He narrowed his beautiful, phoenix-like eyes. "How dare you drug me. Do you want to die?"
My body trembled like a shaken die; cold sweat streamed down my face.
What was I supposed to say—That I wanted to sleep with him?
No!
The drug was given by Claire Bennett—what did that have to do with me?
I steadied myself and looked up at his handsome face, keeping a serious tone. "The one who drugged you was the previous me. She deserved to die!"
Then I shifted tone, "But the me now would gladly go through fire for you. I’ll be your most loyal dog!"
He froze, as if unsure how to react.
After a beat, his gaze landed on my bootlicking smile and, to my surprise, the murderous look in his eyes dimmed a little.
He made a small amused sound and curled the corner of his mouth into a provocative smirk. "Hah."
His voice was low and pleasant.
Then the hand at my throat slid down to my waist, lingering and tracing back and forth.
He was touching me!!!
For a moment I feared something worse, until he smoothly pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve, daintily wiped his hand, and tossed it to me. Only then did I realize I’d overthought it.
My face heated up. Damn it!
I’m not usually a sap, but his looks were criminally good.
Bleeding from the nose was my last bit of pride.
Ethan sat back on his bench, one hand propping his forehead, his robe half-open. Wild, sinister, alluring—his voice flowed like a mountain spring as he scoffed, "You do have some backbone."
Me: Don’t think I don’t know who you’re hinting at.
He raised an eyebrow after a long moment and looked down at me. "If that’s so, give me a reason to believe you."
Ethan trusted no one easily; that much I knew better than anyone.
My guess was right.
He paused, lips parting, voice icy. "Otherwise— I’ll flay you, cut your tendons, bleed you out."
Holy hell!
How could lips this warm speak words so cold?!
I almost lunged, threw him to the ground, and marched him to the authorities to teach him some laws—but I held back. If I rushed him, I’d be the one dead. I knew his weakness, which meant I had leverage.
The only person who could make him bow willingly would be Hazel Carter—the female lead.
So it was time to play my card.
I knelt before Ethan’s bench, holding out a lavender sachet embroidered with a White Rabbit, eyes fixed and steady as I presented it.
I flicked a quick look at his expression.
As expected, his face froze for a breath; his eyes dimmed and reddened. Long lashes drooped as he hid the turmoil beneath. His tone grew colder and harder. "Where did you get that sachet?"
Could I tell him I stole it?
No!
I didn’t answer him directly. I struck at the heart of the matter. "I can help Lord Blackthorne win Hazel Carter—her heart included."
Silence fell—only our soft breaths mingled.
He was moved.
Yes! Finally I’m safe!
After that day, I racked my brain and pieced together the plot.
March 3rd: Waverly was overrun by monsters.
The Willowridge Academy disciples were ordered to go down the mountain to exterminate them.
Hazel Carter was among them.
When danger struck, the big bad Ethan would conveniently appear early, rescue Hazel—
…and then feelings would grow between them.
I was getting excited. I hitched up my skirt and sprinted to the Dread Hall, almost drifting to a stop in front of Ethan.
He was studying the sachet, thoughtful.
I lifted my chin and flashed an eager look. "Lord Blackthorne, please proceed to Waverly."
He frowned, looked at me annoyed, and—somewhat reluctantly—agreed.
Waverly’s streets were crawling with black spiders, a dense oppressive tide of them. The town lay under a shadow.
Bodies were strewn everywhere, ripped open—guts, blood splashed across the ground. The air reeked of iron and rot.
"Those spiders are bloodstalker spiders!" I stood close to Ethan and scanned the carnage with wide eyes. The phrase "turn pale at the sight of spiders" might as well have been about me.
The spiders, peasized at first, swelled after drinking from the roadside corpses, sprouting a bloody maw and venom-laced fangs. Strings of goo dripped to the ground.
"Gross-looking things," Ethan said calmly, watching the chaos.
They might be ugly, but not as ugly as your heart, I thought.
He stood there, resisting. When he still didn’t move, I helpfully prodded, "Lord Blackthorne, if you delay, Miss Carter will be dead!"
At that, Ethan stiffened. When he looked up, his gaze was uncharacteristically serious. There was a fierce edge in it. "Lead the way."
Ha—Hazel Carter’s name was magic.
"Be careful, junior sister!" a white-robed man shouted as he drew his sword and slashed at the bloodstalker spiders around him, rushing toward Hazel.
Hazel turned at the sound. Less than three steps behind her was a spider the size of a person, jaws wide, fangs poised to rip her apart.
The spider leapt with unstoppable force.
She barely had time to draw her sword. As if accepting her fate, Hazel closed her eyes in despair.
When Ethan and I arrived we saw exactly that.
Seeing the woman he pined for about to be devoured, Ethan moved without a word.
Veins bulged, a gust erupted from him, tossing everyone away a few yards. He raised his hand and used his spirit force to trap that spider midair, slowly tightening.
A low, hoarse voice: "Why choose to kill anyone else? You shouldn’t have touched her."
With a crunch, the spider was crushed into a stinking, bloody puddle.
The other spiders, witnessing that, abandoned their frenzy and tried to flee—but none escaped. One by one they exploded into gore and stench.
I gaped.
Ethan walked right up to Hazel and, after studying her a moment, swept her waist and carried her in his arms into the nearest guestroom.
She blushed and turned away, flustered in his embrace.
I crouched to wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth—I’d helped him get a girl and ended up spitting blood?
All the more reason to cling to him. The man was terrifyingly powerful.
If someday he decided to kill me as a favor to Hazel, I wouldn’t even know how I died.
Talk about maddening.
That night I breathed out and wiped sweat from my temple, leaving Hazel’s room.
For some reason Ethan refused to heal Hazel himself and instead sent for me.
I saw Hazel’s face change—pale, shocked. She had secretly fallen for him, only to be ignored at the crucial moment.
No wonder this book dragged on for a thousand chapters. I had only read to chapter 500—the one where the previous Claire was stabbed to death.
I shook my head and trudged down the corridor, exhausted and ready to sleep.
Rounding a corner, I collided with someone.
Their chest was solid and hard and it banged my nose; stars exploded in my head and tears sprang to my eyes.
I looked up—who else but Ethan?
Transmigrated into a book, stuck with a serial killer, life hanging by a thread, forced to be his dog—!
All the built-up grievances spilled out. I don’t know where the nerve came from, but I yelled at him, "You idiot, what are you standing there for?!"
His face darkened. "What did you say?"
Before he could react more, my tears came in a flood. I sniffled and clung to his sleeve, apologizing. "I—hic! I… I’m sorry!"
Me, a model citizen, the nation’s bright bud, bowed my head to this monster for survival.
Motherland, if you could hear me—I’m being mistreated!
Tears blurred my vision. I caught Ethan’s face—a look like he’d eaten something gross—and then he brushed me off and walked away.
Only after he left did I realize I’d wiped my snot on his sleeve.
Tsk tsk. How clean is this guy?
The next morning I stared at the girl in the bronze mirror, fretting.
Oval face, arched brows, bright eyes and perfect teeth—still a pretty, delicate face. But right now she looked like a drowned thing: swollen, red-rimmed eyes, tear-cracked cheeks, hair a tangled mess.
I washed my face and looked a little better. I forced a stiff smile at the mirror.
"Oh no! Senior Hazel is poisoned!"
Someone’s shout cut through my thoughts.
Wait!
I snapped into action and dashed out.
Ethan came out before I reached the door.
I spread my arms to block him. "Where are you going?"
He looked at me and coldly said one word: "Leave."
We stood like that for barely a second before I backed away, defeated.
You don’t know how terrified I was.
But I’m not dumb—just now I planted a tracking curse on him.
I anticipated his anticipation.
His anticipation!
Preemptive moves made me proud.
A bold man fears a clingy woman. I figured if I stayed glued to him, even as his dog, he’d form feelings. He wouldn’t dare kill me then.
"Young hero, what poison did your senior take?" I asked the white-robed disciple beside the bed, looking at Hazel’s darkening lips.
"Miss Claire, my senior—she was poisoned by the same venom the bloodstalker spiders used yesterday," the white-robed youth said reluctantly. "Someone went to find the antidote!"
“What—?”
“What do you mean ‘my companion’?”
“Oh, you mean the one traveling with me? That’s my brother!” I added quickly, worried he’d misunderstand again. “My real brother!”
The boy in white suddenly flushed and scratched the back of his head. “Oh…”
His expression smoothed, then grew serious. “This poison spreads fast. My senior brother and the other disciples have already gone to look for azureroot.”
Senior brother?
That must be Nathan Hale—the second male lead, the biggest obstacle in the main couple’s relationship.
I couldn’t help grinning. That Nathan sure had made Ethan eat his share of trouble!
Rumor had it azureroot grew where two extreme lands met: the north slopes were barren wilds crawling with beasts; the south slopes were lush and fertile but overrun with demons.
The youth tightened his sword at his waist. “Miss Claire, you should stay and rest at the guestroom. I’ll go and come back quickly.”
“No! I’m going with you!”
I caught the worry in his eyes and batted my lashes playfully. “Don’t worry, I can’t fight worth a damn—but when it comes to running, I’m second to none!”
“This…” He looked torn, then made up his mind. “Fine!”
Night fell and darkness wrapped the land like a blanket.
Wind rattled the branches, making dry, whispering sounds. Everything felt bleak and hollow.
“Ash, tomorrow we head north.” I poked at the embers with a stick, unusually serious.
“Huh? Miss Claire, why do you say that?” The bonfire lit the boy’s pale, skinny face—beautiful even with a puzzled frown. This kid would be trouble when he grew up.
I stopped admiring him and shrugged. “The azureroot’s probably been grabbed already.”
The tracking charm was nearly spent, and Ethan suddenly changed course—suspicious. If he’d found azureroot, he wouldn’t have stopped and not come back. So someone else likely beat him to it. No doubt about it.
Ash’s lips moved like he wanted to speak, but then the forest behind us erupted in a string of piglike, bloodcurdling screams.
Cold wind cut through the all-consuming dark. The cries were painfully sharp in the lonely woods.
Ash froze, his face pale. Understandable—he looked only about seventeen or eighteen.
Me? I’m different. I’ve seen a ton of horror flicks (don’t get it twisted—ghost movies). Nothing fazes me.
“You stay here. I’ll go see what that was.” I didn’t know it, but in Ash’s eyes I practically glowed holy.
I moved toward the sound, pushing aside hip-high weeds. A huge, blood-dripping face crashed into view—pale as snow and stark against the night.
Her dead eyes sharpened when they landed on me; long hair whipped around. She wore a blood-red wedding gown, embroidered red shoes with mandarin ducks, and long, slightly blackened nails. She kept emitting unbearable, shrill wails.
I met her gaze calmly. “No one taught you not to scare kids?”
The female ghost ignored me and lunged, claws out, tongue lolling, a demon’s snarling face.
I didn’t hesitate. Fist clenched, I punched that weeping, bleeding face. The ghost collapsed.
Victory! What a waste of suspense. I’d thought she’d be harder.
“Hey! You little—what the heck?” The ghost lay twisted on the ground, clutching her cheek, cursing.
Her accent—wait, could she be one of us?
I ran over and grabbed her hands, all wired up with adrenaline. “Prosperity, democracy, civility, harmony?” I recited like some kind of ridiculous chant.
At first she looked bewildered. Then wrath flashed across her face and her nails lengthened, razor-sharp. She snarled, “Screw your %*%&! Die!”
She leapt at me.
Bummer. Not one of our kind.
Fine. Fight then.
I turned to Ash with a honeyed smile. “Close your eyes, be a good boy.” He obeyed obediently.
I spun into action—left hook, whirlwind kick, sundry Sanda moves—when a hand suddenly grabbed my wrist.
“You? What are you doing here?”
I blinked in surprise. Ethan stood there; dew still clung to his dark robe. His voice was ice-cold. “Kill her. No one else knows where the azureroot is.”
I understood in an instant. “You mean she can lead us to the azureroot?”
Ethan released my wrist and gave me a disdainful look, like I was an idiot. Ash, however, stepped forward excitedly. “Great! My senior sister can be saved!”
I nodded with fake relief. “Great! Your senior sister can be saved!”
Humans can be such parrots.
By the time I plucked up my skirt and ran to Ethan’s side, he had already sealed the ghost in place.
“Brother, where do we go next?” I tilted my head and flashed my sweetest salesman smile.
He stiffened; his brow furrowed, like he couldn’t quite believe I’d called him that.
“Hey, come on, brother! Why so quiet?” I feigned hurt and bonked his chest with a tiny fist. When his expression darkened, I looped my arm through his and leaned in conspiratorially, whispering with my hand over my mouth.
“I tell people we’re siblings,” I confessed. “Gotta cover your identity.”
Ethan rolled his eyes and scoffed, “You sure know how to make trouble for me.”
What a nice thing to say.
I didn’t deny it. All for his sake, you know—mostly.
“You’re right, of course. Brother—brother!” I forced a smile that might’ve cracked my face, grinding the words out like they were nails.
In my head I kept chanting: he has plot armor. So what? He’s stronger than you, has women, won’t die, and he’s gorgeous… I changed the subject. “So where are we going next?”
“Hollow Hollow Cave.” His lips were thin; his gaze sharp.
He didn’t say it casually—Ethan’s eyes lifted with a mocking curl at the corner of his mouth. “You’re so scared of death and yet still come?”
Who’s looking down on who? I put on a pathetic, clingy act. “Brother was so good to me growing up. I must go with you. What if—” I choked up on cue. “What if you get hurt? Someone should take care of your funeral, wah wah…”
Better if he didn’t come back—then my life would be safe.
“Shut up.” Ethan’s teeth clicked together like he’d swallowed a fly.
I was secretly thrilled. I love seeing that irritated-can’t-get-rid-of-me look on his face.
Ash watched our little display and smiled, “You two really are close!”
Ethan jerked his arm free from my grip, flicked his sleeve, and said coldly, “Pathetic.”
Ash didn’t know what to say. I forced an awkward laugh and jabbed at him. “He’s like that—always joking, ha ha.”
At dawn, I woke from a dream with a start. My gaze fell on Ethan and I breathed out. If he’d left, Ash and I heading into Hollow Hollow Cave would have been suicide.
That place lived up to its name: full of vengeful ghosts who couldn’t reincarnate—dead spirits and terrible entities, some with centuries of cultivation as black phantoms. Your average black ghost carried millennia of hatred, a thick murderous aura. Mortals who came near died in three days; cultivators weakened and lost their powers.
Ethan had originally gone into Hollow Hollow Cave later in the story, but my being transported into the novel had caused a butterfly effect and sped up the plot.
I watched Ethan. He sat serene with closed eyes, a few strands of dark hair moved by the breeze. His face was otherworldly—cold and chiseled, nose straight, lips a quiet crimson. He looked like a god fallen to earth—untouchable and sacred.
I crept over and sat opposite him, no shame, propping my chin in my hands to stare. His eyelashes were so long—one, two… I counted them with a finger.
“What are you doing?” Ethan opened his eyes, expression blank.
He’d known all along, probably waiting to see what I’d do. I’d been ready for a sneaky flirt, but instead I sat there like an idiot counting his lashes. The look on my face—mouth slightly open and blissfully unaware—made him briefly amused. Any insult turned bland.
He smirked, raising one brow. “You’re drooling.”
What? I slapped my sleeve to my mouth, only to realize—there wasn’t any drool. Damn you, liar! I glared, but he didn’t look back. He smoothed his sleeve and stood, and I caught a hint of a smile on his lips as he walked away.
The ghost we’d sealed morphed into a whirling black vortex and tore off like a rocket.
“After her!” Ethan’s eyes flashed steel.
Without a word, Ash and I followed. The ghost led us straight to Hollow Hollow Cave before we even realized it.
At the cave entrance, ominous, terrifying cries—like a thousand voices all overlapping—streamed out, making my skin crawl.
The ghost dove in with impossible speed, like a fish to water—back in her domain.
“So…we go in?” I asked hesitantly.
Ash gripped his sword, remembering their master’s warning at Willowridge Academy: ten go in, nine never come out. He squared his shoulders. “Miss Claire, you stay outside. Ethan and I will go in.”
Seeing how determined he looked made my heart ache. Since I’d arrived in this world, it was the first sincere act anyone had shown me.
Just as I melted into gratitude, a shadow flicked past. Ethan had already gone in.
I yanked Ash’s sleeve and followed.
At some point, the wind stopped.
That terrifying scream cut off abruptly, leaving a hush.
Ethan stopped, listening, his voice calm as if stating a fact. "It’s coming."
A hoarse, sinister chuckle swelled in the air. The sound trembled. "What wind blew you here?"
"Hand over the azureroot."
He cut straight to the point, his tone empty of feeling.
"And if I refuse?"
The voice dropped the sneer and turned nasty.
"Don’t make me say it twice!"
Ethan grew impatient; a flash of cold light crossed his eyes.
"What a joke!
Things in my Hollow Hollow Cave don’t just get taken!
You think I’m some meek black spirit?"
The voice rose sharp and vicious.
"Then prepare to die!"
Ethan was done wasting words. A black vortex shot from his hand with unstoppable force.
It swept everything instantly.
The black specter was thrown out, spinning in midair.
Panting, the dark aura around it swelled, murderous energy spilling from it until even the faintest light vanished beneath that shadow.
I fought to hold my own killing intent down and glanced at Ash—he stood ready, every muscle tensed.
The black spirit lunged at Ethan, unraveling into wisps that wrapped around him. They coalesced into a claw and curled up from behind, aiming straight for the crown of his head.
"Ethan! Behind you!"
Panic made me step forward two hurried paces. I clasped my hands and shouted.
In the chaos, Ethan spared me a sideways look.
For some reason, that look felt less like thanks and more like irritation—like I was being loud and annoying.
Forget it. I kept my mouth shut.
Ethan’s pupils darkened. He crushed the shadow and slammed it into the ground. Then, using his mind, he gathered a huge halo of light into a fireball and smashed it mercilessly down.
"Aa!"
The black spirit shrieked.
The scream seemed to trigger something. In an instant, thousands of ghosts poured out of Hollow Hollow Cave, swarming overhead and drifting everywhere.
"You insolent brat! Your father stole the Understone from my cave long ago. Now you’ve delivered yourself—I’ll send you back without return!"
With that, the black air scattered and launched a furious assault.
I recited a talisman quickly. The copper bracelet slipped from my wrist and multiplied: one became two, two became three. Countless bracelets flew at the attacking shadows.
Ethan was powerful, but even he couldn’t hold off an army of ghosts.
They rained down from the sky; he fell hard and a mouthful of blood spilled from his lips.
He wiped his mouth. After a moment, he actually laughed.
Violence leaked from his every pore. "You want to die?"
Then a massive, ominous black maw tore open above us. Its edges spiraled, sucking in everything nearby. The air shuddered; filaments of light wound like vines around their prey and dragged them into the void.
It felt like world-ending destruction.
Alive screams from torn souls never ceased.
In the blink of an incense stick, Hollow Hollow Cave suffered more than half its forces dead or wounded.
Ethan wasn’t faring much better. His face was pale, cold sweat rolled down his temple. Several wounds pierced him; blood welled from them and soaked his shirt, a grisly sight.
He raised a hand, controlling a faint blue light within the blackness, and flung it toward where Ash and I stood.
"Take the azureroot."
His gaze was unfocused, his lips stained dark with blood. He half-kneel on the ground.
Hair fell over his face, obscuring his expression. Only his straight-backed silhouette remained clear.
The sensible thing to do was obvious.
I took the azureroot without a word, grabbed Ash, and ran.
"Claire, are you leaving Ethan behind?"
I hesitated. If he died here, honestly, it would be the easiest outcome for me—but… the male lead doesn’t die, right?
"Forget it!
I’m getting you out first!
Your senior sister’s poison won’t hold much longer."
I bit my finger, drew a teleport sigil in blood, poured in most of my spirit power, and sent Ash away.
Now only this problem remained. I frowned at Ethan.
Of all things—lucky bastard. The male lead is basically unkillable, isn’t he?
As a minor character, I might end up sacrificing myself.
Ah well. Think of it as earning some favor points.
I hauled Ethan up with difficulty, slung his arm over my shoulder, and with the copper bracelets kept by thought to block the phantoms, we staggered out.
We walked from dusk into dawn. My spirit power was nearly spent.
With a loud thump, I tripped. We both fell.
I scrambled up, fuming, pointed at his unconscious handsome face and barked, "Were you raised on bricks or something? You’re heavy as a hog!"
"Why won’t you just die? It’s been two days—your blood should be drained by now!"
"Male-lead aura really makes you arrogant. I won’t feed you, and you still won’t starve!"
What a torment! Let me die instead of dragging this guy around day after day!
Thankfully, providence smiled. As the sun set, I spotted a wisp of cooking smoke ahead.
My cells seemed to come alive. My numb, starving stomach finally registered sensation.
I hauled Ethan and limped toward it.
Knock, knock, knock.
I knocked at the gate. Ethan was propped against the wall.
"Is anyone there?"
A kindly-faced old woman peeked out, curious who had come. Seeing me, she asked uncertainly, "Young miss?"
Before I could answer, my vision dimmed and I nearly collapsed. The woman caught me.
"Oh! What’s wrong with you?" she cried, rushing inside. "Old man, come help!"
An old man came out. "What’s the matter?"
I steadied myself and pointed at the unconscious Ethan. Weakly I explained, "My—my brother and I escaped. He’s badly hurt."
Then I tried to kneel. "Please, ma’am, have mercy—Claire begs you!"
"What are you doing! Get up!" the woman said, firmly preventing me from bowing.
The old man helped me up too. "No need for such ceremony, miss. Come inside."
They set Ethan on a bed.
The old woman looked at the blood on him and gasped. "Oh my! How did he get such severe wounds?"
She ran to the house and called, "Old man! Go fetch the doctor! This young fellow is gravely hurt!"
"Alright, I’ll go!"
After the doctor prescribed medicine and instructions, the old woman pulled me aside. She looked serious. "You don’t need to fool this old woman. Tell me the truth—did you elope with this young man?"
Huh?
I glanced at Ethan—half-dead—then at my own lively face. I realized how it looked: the two of us had run away together, the girl’s family beat the boy nearly to death, the two escaped—of course she’d assume we were a runaway couple.
Explanation was useless, so I went with the flow.
I chose my words carefully. "Actually, yes. We did run away together."
The woman nodded with a look that said, I knew it.
I relaxed and started spinning a tale.
Tears came easily now. "We truly loved each other, but—" my voice choked, then I went on in a plaintive tone, "my family didn’t approve. They thought he was just after status. They beat him into this state, fearing he would harm me."
How the Villainess Stole Him
"He lazed around, gambled, and schemed. Still, I never blamed him."
"Because I loved him."
The old woman glanced at Ethan on the bed in disbelief—so handsome a young man could be so…ungood!
Watching her pity, I felt strangely satisfied. For the first time, badmouthing felt delicious!
I sneaked a look at Ethan. Good—his eyes were closed.
Wait.
His eyes were open.
Open.
Open!
My brain shorted; I didn't know whether to curse or scream.
I turned and found him calmly watching me, a ghost of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
I shivered uncontrollably. When did he wake? Had he heard everything?
Oh god, please—
But the old woman didn't notice. She squeezed my hand and continued, kindly, "Looks matter, but so does character. Even a handsome face doesn't mean a good heart…"
Guiltily, I glanced at Ethan. He'd closed his eyes again. I breathed out: he must not have heard.
The woman rattled on, then said warmly, "I don't know young people today, but since the two of you ran off, you should settle down and live peacefully."
She patted my hand reassuringly.
I stayed tense, glancing at Ethan every few breaths, afraid he'd overhear more.
"I'm heading out. Rest well, child."
"Yes, ma'am."
I breathed a sigh and had just closed the door when an iron hand clamped my wrist and pressed me against the wall.
"Are you enjoying this little story you made up about me?"
His voice was low, hoarse. His breath washed over my ear.
Long fingers tightened on my throat, then caressed it, eyes dangerous.
"Don't you dare—"
"Hands! Let—let me go!"
I tried to put on a tough act, but my trembling voice betrayed me.
I went limp at once, making a pitiful face. "Big brother, we can talk. Killing me now would be foolish!"
"Besides, in a way I saved your life. A little gratitude is due—" I stalled, and then—
A soft, hot mouth pressed to mine, a cool, sharp scent, sealing my parted lips.
Near yet distant.
My mind blanked. What scene was this?
"Too loud."
Ethan pulled back and rested his head on my shoulder, speaking lazily.
You complain I'm loud—I was just being groped a moment ago!
But thinking back…hm. Not the worst.
I seriously suspected he was deliberately provoking me.
I'm a hot-blooded girl. This was a direct challenge to my bottom line.
I tried to push him off, but he flopped like a rag against me, his forehead burning against my clavicle.
So hot—did he have a fever?
"Ethan…Ethan?"
"I call you son, would you answer me? You mutt! When you're awake, call me father!"
Silence answered.
He'd passed out again, it seemed.
13. I hauled him toward the bed with effort, planning to just toss him on it—but the bastard's hand clamped onto my skirt, pulling me down with him onto the mattress.
I braced myself with my hands. His impossibly handsome face was no more than three centimeters away, flushed with fever, his lashes thick and trembling.
I stared for a long moment, then woke up with a jolt.
I scrambled off him, tumbling to the side and lying there, staring at the ceiling.
God.
Why is my heart pounding so fast?
Something's wrong with me… I finally decided it was because he's too damn handsome.
"I'm not a good person, you know! If you keep seducing me like this… I might—"
"Might what?"
Ethan's eyes suddenly opened, black and sharp.
I tugged the corner of my mouth. What else could I do? Don't underestimate me. As a shameless flirt, I'm capable of anything.
"I might!"
Ethan said it without warning.
I stared at him like, what the hell, do you have mind-reading powers?
"With you acting like this, I might mistake it for giving yourself to me."
"Well, what’s wrong with that?"
What's wrong with that? Are you planning to two-time me?
"I don't remember much. Even if you're not my wife, you should be someone I know."
He analyzed seriously.
He actually had amnesia!
From the fever? Could my springtime finally be here?
"But you're cunning! So I'm guessing—" Ethan raised an eyebrow and nodded at himself casually. "I'm probably not a good person either."
My face was calm, but inside I was snorting: You're right on both counts. You're not just not a good person—you might not even be human!
I scooted forward and put on a solemn expression. "Listen, I—" I pointed at myself. "I'm your mother."
"Son, do you remember your mother?" I asked with a gentle, concerned smile.
"…I have amnesia, not dementia." He frowned impatiently, utterly exasperated.
I let out an awkward laugh to ease the tension. "Uh, joking, haha." Then I went serious. "I'm your sister."
"Oh? Is that so?" Ethan sounded casual, but the menace in his tone was clear, like he was saying: lie to me and I'll kill you.
"Don't get worked up! It's fine, it's fine." I waved a hand and forced a smile. "I'm your most capable subordinate!"
I glanced at him to gauge his expression and continued cautiously, "Over the years I've risked my life for you countless times!"
I paused to make sure he was following, then launched into a solemn fabrication. "Ten years ago, I lost an arm protecting you when you took the throne. Six years ago I broke a leg suppressing the demon tribes. Four years ago my face was ruined. Two years ago my heart was pierced."
"Don't ask how I survived—possession, okay?"
"You couldn't bear to lose me, your right hand, so you gathered eighty-nine wizards to bring me back."
"Well, that's basically it!" My story was a little wild, but it had drama; I was relatively pleased.
Ethan listened without expression and reached one conclusion: this woman lied constantly, was fickle and devious.
14. Ethan's cultivation had been severely damaged; he absolutely could not return to the Demon Realm—or chaos would follow. With his amnesia, he stayed here by default.
From that day on, to make him believe I was one of his, I leaned fully into bootlicking.
When he sat by the window writing, I'd suddenly appear, smiling and buttering him up: "Your strokes have the might of armies, the force of mountains!" He just looked at me without comment, frowning.
When he helped Mr. Harper fertilize the fields and loosen the soil, near the end of the workday I yanked the wooden bucket from his hands and grabbed the ladle, dramatic: "Let me help!" He cursed at me: "Get your head checked." I shot back: "You're my medicine." He couldn't stomach food for three days.
When he took paintings to town to sell, I stood beside him to collect the money and keep the accounts—then slipped off with the purse to buy pastries. He turned and left, abandoning me in town.
Day after day, under my tireless encouragement, Ethan slowly started to show me small favors.
Gradually, when I made a scene and got angry, he'd sometimes involuntarily curl his lips into a smile before forcing it back down as if nothing happened. When I rattled off nonsense and he snapped at me mercilessly, my fit of fury would somehow make him more amused.
Sometimes I'd look at him and feel like he was a different person—less quick to kill, less full of murderous rage. His clear, handsome features were hard to reconcile with the old title of Lord Blackthorne.
15. The Lantern Festival was the liveliest night in the human world—lanterns and decorations everywhere, streets teeming with people. Every house alight through the night.
"Hey kiddo! Grandma says there's a lantern festival tonight. Are you going?"
I ran full tilt to Ethan's room, shouting before I even reached the door.
Out of breath, I shoved it open and clutching my sides found Ethan sitting at his desk reading.
"I'm not going." He kept his eyes on the book, voice flat.
"Why not? I heard the streets are full of fun stuff!" I coaxed.
"The mortal world is full of trivialities. What's novel about that?" He answered evenly.
"Last chance to change your mind—going?" I pressed.
"No." He raised his eyes slowly. "Close the door behind you when you leave."
"You—!" I couldn't take that insult! I slammed the door and stormed off.
I returned with three full copper coins clutched in both hands. "Going now?" I offered.
He raised an eyebrow in surprise that I brought my entire savings. "When do we leave?"
I knew it: if you're not greedy, the heavens will smite you. He agreed easily, and my heart lurched—those coins took me ages to save.
I did this because the original book said that on Lantern Festival night, demons would stir. It also said Ethan was weak that night. To cement my heroic image in the male lead's heart, I planned to stage a scene where I shielded him from injury and saved his fate.
"How much longer?" Ethan asked after a long pause, looking at the scraps of talismans scattered on the floor.
I tucked loose hair behind my ear, steadied the precarious hairpin on my head, rolled up my sleeve to show a pale arm. "This time, it's going to work!"
With that I traced the characters on the talisman in a flourish. "Done!" I picked up the teleport charm, grinning at Ethan as if to taunt: see if you can do this!
Ethan didn't respond. I pinched the charm between two fingers and recited the incantation. A white light flared; the two of us vanished from the room.
—Street vendors yelling, cheers, crowded avenues and the long bridge; every place was bustling with life.
"Ethan!" I appeared before him and, like a magician, produced two sugar figurines from my sleeve, grinning brightly.
His eyes shifted, dark and unreadable. "Here—try this." I held a translucent sugar figure to his lips, urging him to taste.
He obediently leaned down, bit a corner, and it melted with a saccharine sweetness.
"Tasty?" I watched him expectantly.
He licked his lips, locked his eyes on me, and after a moment murmured, "Mm."
I blinked: why was he suddenly so agreeable? Lately something about Ethan felt off. His gaze shifted between possessive and cold; it made me uneasy.
I shook the thought away and dragged him into the most crowded part of the festival. Unseen by me, Ethan scanned the surroundings with a hawk's gaze. The demons hiding in the shadows trembled and then slunk away, grudgingly hiding again.
"Claire, do you want to drink?" He asked suddenly, while I tugged him along.
It was the first time he used my name.
I turned, puzzled; he repeated, "Claire, do you want to drink?" That little "Claire" sent a chill through me. Was he trying to poison me by getting me to drink?
Not willing to defy him, I stammered, "Drink? Y-yes, of course! If you want it, let's drink!"
We sat in a tavern and the waiter swiftly poured cups for both of us and set out signature dishes.
"You're paying for this?" I asked.
"Mm." He nodded.
"I want a few more dishes." I tried again.
"Okay." He agreed to every request I dared make. I trembled inwardly. This posture clearly meant he intended to kill me himself now that he'd regained memory.
"Why aren't you eating?" Ethan asked, staring at me without blinking.
Under his gaze, I shyly picked up a piece and put it in my mouth, savoring like my life depended on it. Still alive. Maybe it's not poison?
I tasted a little of everything, then set my chopsticks down and closed my eyes to wait for death.
After a long time I opened them, stared at him, and complained, "Your preparations aren't even thorough! If you're going to poison me, finish the job—don't make me try everything first!"
Angrily, I grabbed the wine jug and, to Ethan's surprise, tilted it back and downed the contents without hesitation.
The dizziness hit right away. The world doubled. The jug crashed to the floor in pieces. I went down—but into a warm embrace with Ethan's faint scent.
I fought to open my eyes, clearing the fuzz in my head. Looking at his handsome face, I forced one finger up and, syllable by syllable, said, "I… will not let you off!"
A muffled chuckle came from above. "You're drunk. This wine isn't poisoned." A warm kiss landed on my lips like a promise. "Wait," his deep, clear voice said.
16. I woke to Mrs. Harper at my bedside.
Ugh—my head hurt!
I tapped my forehead, a little shocked I hadn't died.
Mrs. Harper helped me sit up and fed me a bowl of sobering soup. She said Ethan had carried me back last night, and that a gentle, polite young woman had followed behind him. She asked if I knew her; I said I didn't.
But I knew in my heart—she had to be the heroine.
Mrs. Harper took my hand, wanting to comfort me but not sure what to say. She only sighed, "Child, forget him."
A wild joy leapt through me: Ethan and Hazel were always meant to be canon.
And knowing Ethan's personality, if he hadn't killed me this time, he never would.
I'm finally free!
Afraid he might change his mind and come back to kill me, I slipped away that night, saying a hurried goodbye to Mrs. Harper and disappearing into the night.
For half a year after that, life was peaceful.
I lived reckless and free, accepting that fortune is fate and life and death are beyond control. I even foolishly believed I’d shaken off the plot that had been ruling my life.
Until— "Ethan, let me out!"
I threw myself against the barrier, punching and kicking with everything I had.
Ethan stood on the other side in a wedding suit—red silk draped over his shoulders made him look even more graceful and striking.
He stood calmly beyond the barrier and said, "Claire, stay put."
"Like hell I will! You're marrying Hazel—what did you drag me here for? To be your witness?"
Ethan looked past my words as if he hadn't heard, his voice low and magnetic. "Don't try to escape."
Then he turned and walked away.
As soon as he left I started probing the barrier's structure, feeling along its seams and direction.
After the length of an incense stick, a smug smile slipped across my face: this barrier can't hold me now!
"Ethan, Ethan, you haven't been wasting my time these past six months, have you?"
Before the words finished, the copper bracelet slipped off my wrist and hovered in the air.
I mouthed the incantation under my breath, then looked up and said, "Break!"
Within the time it takes to drink tea, the barrier shimmered with white light, weakened, and finally vanished.
Feeling great, I shoved a couple of pastries from the table into my mouth as I left—and froze halfway chewing.
Aren't these the same pastries that used to be her favorites half a year ago?
How did they get here?
Weird. I shrugged and sauntered out.
But the moment I stepped out of where the barrier had been, I froze.
How did I end up in the main hall?!
On the left sat the elders of the demon realm; on the right stood a line of Willowridge Academy disciples, including Nathan Hale, the second male lead.
And dead center—standing as the bridal pair—were Ethan and Hazel.
Ethan spotted me first. His eyes locked onto me, his expression darkening.
Hazel wore red too, her skin like ivory, hair piled neat beneath a phoenix crown. Her beautiful eyes kept darting to Ethan; her cheeks were flushed, radiantly charming.
But when she followed Ethan's gaze and saw me, her smile faded.
Under the blistering attention of the couple, everyone quickly noticed me.
Whispers spread. People leaned in, asking who this girl was.
I gave a sheepish laugh. "Sorry—ha—sorry to intrude!"
Then I spun to slip away.
"Stop!"
Ethan's voice was ice from behind.
I stalled and cursed under my breath, yanking a teleport talisman from my pocket.
Suddenly the paper burned in my hand and turned to ash before my eyes.
I turned back, incredulous. "You!"
Ethan's thin lips moved. "I said, stay put."
Just six months—how had he become this extreme?
I sighed and allowed the demon guards to cuff my arms and drag me down. As they led me away I couldn't help noticing Hazel's blood-red eye makeup and the way her lips were set tight and bright.
A chill ran down my spine. Something felt off—every character in this book was falling apart!
17.
They took me to Ethan's bedchamber.
His underling, Midnight, tossed me a set of pale yellow servant's clothes.
After I changed, Midnight led me into the inner room. The floor was cold; I looked around, curious.
I almost bumped into him.
Midnight turned and said coldly, "From today you are His Majesty's personal maid. Do your duty. If you dare to escape, I'll kill you myself."
I blinked my innocent eyes and answered solemnly, "I won't. Never!"
"Also, don't let Lady Hazel see you. Her husband will be displeased."
"Yes, yes!"
I bobbed my head like a trained chick, very cooperative.
After Midnight left the bedchamber, I pulled another teleport talisman from my bosom. I started the chant—only for the talisman to spark and burn again.
"Huh? What's going on?"
When I turned, Ethan was standing there, staring at me coldly.
"Um, I was just playing with fire…" I offered a flimsy excuse.
He knitted his brow and stepped behind the screen. "Come here."
"But—!"
I answered decisively.
"You and that old couple—your lives are in my hands!"
Realization widened my eyes. My voice shot up an octave. "Be a human being! It was the old man and woman who saved you!"
"So I entrusted their lives to you."
Ethan said it plainly.
I stalked behind the screen, very reluctant. "What do you want me to do?"
"Help me change."
I did as told—undoing the buttons of his outer robe, sliding it off his shoulders, then reaching to unfasten his trousers.
A low voice drifted from above me. "I'll do it myself."
I obediently stepped aside—couldn't have been that hard, huh.
"Don't stand behind me!"
"Oh."
"Don't stand on my right!"
"Okay."
"Don't stand on my left! Get out!"
"All right, maid's leaving."
I moved to the side and started to walk out of the bedchamber.
"Claire!"
Ethan's teeth-gritted voice came from behind.
"I told you to go outside the screen, not out of the hall!"
"Yes."
Hearing his fury, a delicious urge to taunt him washed over me.
When everything was arranged I let the curtains fall and was about to withdraw when a hand—knuckled and strict—grabbed my wrist without warning.
"Are you upset I left without saying goodbye?"
I blinked. "No."
"There's nothing between Hazel and me."
"Oh."
"I'm still mad at you!"
"Oh… huh?"
I looked at him dumbly. Excuse me—what are you mad about? For what right do you have to be angry?
Ethan still tugged my wrist stubbornly. In a flat voice he said, "Because you always try to run away from me, avoid me!"
Well duh! Who wouldn't run to avoid being nailed to a Execution Pillar?
I rolled my eyes silently and kept my voice soft. "Your Majesty, could you please let go of my hand?"
Ethan's face soured; after a long moment he released me.
He stared at me, flush under his jaw, and said flatly, "I didn't prepare a bed for you."
"I know!"
I answered cheerily.
"Then why are you so happy?"
He went on.
I swept the curtain aside and climbed onto the bed, snuggling up to him.
Ethan was clearly surprised and took an involuntary step back.
I pressed close, nearly nose-to-nose, my breath warm on his face. A red flush bloomed behind his ears.
I gave a sly smile. "Your Majesty, you're distracted."
By the time Ethan realized it, he was frozen.
"You used an immobilization charm on me."
Ethan gritted his teeth, glaring.
"Guards!"
He shouted—unexpectedly—and I lunged, clapped a hand over his mouth, and dropped the curtains.
Midnight knelt outside. "Your Majesty, orders?"
I strained my voice into a smoky, deliberately sultry rasp. "His Majesty says no one is to disturb us."
With my hand clamped over his mouth, Ethan's eyes locked on me. To keep him from wrecking things, I pressed a knee into his abdomen and used both hands to cover his mouth.
Pink rose across his eyes. Little beads of sweat gathered at his temples. He clenched his teeth like he was holding something back.
"Ah!"
A sudden sting shot through my palm. I couldn't help yelping.
I glared at him in disbelief: Are you kidding me?
He looked at me, eyes still rimmed in color, and then—without warning—licked the wound on my palm. A rush of numb sweetness fizzed through my hand like electricity.
Midnight frowned but, seeing the two of us tangled behind the curtains, bowed and intoned, "I take my leave."
18.
In the dimness I held my breath and stayed draped over Ethan, straining to hear any movement outside.
"Everyone out!" Midnight's voice called into the hall.
The attendants murmuringly withdrew. "Yes, Lord Left Historian."
Finally alone.
I looked down at Ethan; his dark hair had come loose over his chest. His lips were under my hand, his neck blushed, sweat dotting his forehead, his phoenix eyes hazy and wet.
"Okay, you can let go, but you don't shout for help, understand?"
He panted and nodded, forcing himself to bear some hard, aching stiffness.
I couldn't see anything really wrong; my grin was wicked.
Tsk tsk—those eyes all watery—anyone would think someone had hurt him. A nasty idea formed.
Holding his mouth with one hand, I peeled off my shoes and socks with my feet and, like a movie villain, grinned wickedly at Ethan.
He had a huge thing about cleanliness—an extreme aversion—but I could tell he knew what I was up to. Anger flickered in his eyes; muffled sounds escaped him.
I could almost read his teeth-gritted words: You dare!
Ha! I was born to defy—of course I dared.
In a flash, I shoved my shoes and socks into Ethan's mouth.
Seeing his fury, a thrill of inexplicable pleasure flooded me.
He stared as if he'd like to skin me alive.
I laughed and leaned in near his ear. Proud and smug, I said, "Last time I stepped in dog poop, I stained my socks. I figured I'd wash them and reuse them."
Then, with exaggerated solemnity: "They might have been those very socks."
At that, Ethan's face darkened and his whole body trembled—but he still couldn't move.
Life is for thrills. Letting Ethan take a hit today would be one of my crowning achievements!
After a while I took out the last teleport talisman I had been hiding and started the incantation.
Nothing happened. I tried again.
Holy crap!
I snapped upright, staring at the blank talisman in my hand: Who the hell swapped out the cursed charm I drew?!
A laugh, low and bubbling from his throat, came from beside me.
I turned and yanked the sock out of his mouth.
"Claire, you really do act without thinking."
His eyes were cold and calculating, his voice low and hoarse.
"Is it… too late for me to apologize now?
Brother!"
"And what do you think?" he answered.
A chill ran down my spine: what did he mean by "what do you think"???
Basically one "die" away from being literal.
My eyes flashed and my tone turned sharp. "If that's how you're gonna talk, then I won't be polite."
I rummaged over his clothes with both hands and finally found a soft spot at his waist.
"You—!"
Ethan actually looked a little flustered for once. He started to protest, but my small hands had already twisted that spot.
"…!"
He made a muffled sound, part pain, part pleasure, his limbs involuntarily curling, his whole body trembling.
I froze.
What the hell kind of confusing reaction was that? And that look of enjoyment—was he mocking me?
I squeezed harder, nearly wanting to claw him. After a moment, his slim waist was mottled blue and purple—grisly to see.
But somehow, he seemed even more off.
His breathing grew hot, his voice shifted into a new tone.
I stared in horror and came to one conclusion: he was a masochist.
Finding this whole thing ridiculous, I kicked him under the bed.
He hit the floor hard, rolled a few times, and lay there on the cold ground.
Ethan lay there in a mess, eyes flashing like coals, trembling with barely suppressed rage: "You're unbelievable!"
I peeked out from behind the curtain and grinned without shame. "Thanks for the compliment!"
"Hope you sleep 'well' tonight!"
I enunciated the last word with a pointed look.
Then I drew the curtain shut.
I collapsed onto my pillow and cried silently: impulse really is the devil. I could have woken up tomorrow nevermore!
I turned onto my back and stared at the canopy above. The longer I stared, the fuzzier my thoughts became, and soon I was asleep.
Unknown to me, Ethan had already broken the paralysis spell I'd cast.
—Content warning—next scene involves underage transition—In the dark, Ethan stood by the bed, watching the pale face of the sleeping woman.
He reached out; a pinprick of white light spun from his fingertip and dove into her mind.
She slept more deeply, as if the world no longer existed.
He bent and kissed her, black hair falling behind him, tip of his nose dotted with sweat, the corners of his eyes flushed, throat moving.
His long, strong hand closed around hers and guided it down.
He twitched slightly—both pained and pleased—thin lips stained an eerie red.
After a sharp gasp, he released.
He lifted his head a little; his beautiful, narrow eyes glistened with a thin sheen of moisture, a flush spreading from ear to collar.
It took a long while for him to calm; the lust in his eyes finally faded.
He rolled onto his side and pulled her into his embrace.
—end—Light leaked through a crack and spilled into the cold chamber.
I squinted and took a long moment to reorient: what the hell is pressing on me?
No wonder I'd been struggling for breath in the middle of the night.
I bent my legs, gathered force, and kicked. A muffled groan answered me.
After a moment a shadow fell over my face, followed by a burning, intense gaze. I shivered all at once.
"What the—screw you!"
I opened my eyes and found a dark silhouette standing in front of me. Reflexively I threw a spinning kick.
But my ankle was grabbed, and an exasperated voice hissed, "Claire, have you got a death wish?"
I peered closer—of course, it was Ethan.
His face shifted with unreadable expression, his large hand clamping my ankle tight, his eyes like knives.
I hunched my neck and, with righteous indignation, said, "This was self-defense, okay?!"
My eyes darted guiltily as I muttered, "Who told you to stand there like a big black rat? I nearly freaked out!"
While I was muttering, the world spun. Ethan scooped me up in a horizontal hold, set off down the hall with long strides.
"Hey, hey! Ethan, put me down!… What are you doing!"
"Ah!"
In the next second, I landed in an extremely undignified heap outside the chamber door.
Ethan leaned against the doorframe and said in that infuriating tone, "Self-defense!"
He didn't spare me a glance and simply stepped over my sprawled body.
He stepped over me!!!
Could I stand for that?
No.
So I slipped off the embroidered shoe on my foot and threw it with a clean motion. It made a pretty arc through the air.
Ethan was walking when—wham—a shoe fell at his feet. He hesitated.
He turned and glanced back at me.
He looked once, then sneered, the look saying: You couldn't even hit me at this close range? Pathetic.
I pinched the groove between my nose and upper lip, mentally chanting: don't get mad, don't get mad!
If I get mad, he'll win—if I let him rile me, I'll be the one to lose.
Just then, Hazel Carter showed up.
She had two maids behind her carrying a delicately packed food box. Her flowing gown swayed with each step, a white jade hairpin holding her glossy black hair up.
Graceful and composed, her brows and eyes gentle.
She had a magnetic charm you couldn't quite put into words.
If I hadn't seen that flash of resolve in her eyes at the wedding, I wouldn't have kept nursing a grudge.
"Your Highness."
Soft, lilting, pleasant.
I was carrying a stack of folk superstition books and was still at the threshold when Hazel's gentle voice reached me.
I peered through the crack.
Ethan sat motionless at the desk, long black lashes casting a soft shadow on his pale face, thin lips faintly pink—handsome and severe.
Wow. It's not easy being a man who looks like that.
Hazel was stunning too—skin like porcelain, a flower beside still water.
She stood by his side and opened the food box, arranging the dishes.
They talked quietly and then Hazel smiled gently, her gaze soft and warm.
For some reason, that smile felt blinding to me.
Honestly, I didn't dislike Ethan—who would hate someone pretty?
But under the story's shadow, my feeling toward him had been mostly fear.
Maybe since his memory loss half a year ago I'd had a terrible thought: I secretly hoped Ethan would never regain his memories, that life could just keep going like this—with mother-in-law, Mr. Harper, him, and me.
But he not only recovered his memories, he saw through my web of lies. I had to leave Mr. Harper and find somewhere else to live.
And yet this pervert dragged me back during the wedding duties and still wouldn't kill me.
A song lyric popped into my head: this city's so empty, these memories so fierce—Claire Bennett reporting for duty!
I was thinking that when someone shoved me from behind. I stumbled forward and, to keep from falling, I ran two meters in a ridiculous little dash to regain balance.
The door flew open. Ethan and Hazel both looked surprised as I crashed in, awkward as hell.
I didn't know what to say. I gave a stiff laugh, crouched, and absurdly started wiping the floor with the handkerchief tucked at my waist.
"Ha—nothing, just the floor looked a little dirty."
With exaggerated seriousness, I scrubbed at an already clean floor, then turned to the culprit—Mr. Night.
"My subordinate saw her acting suspicious at the door," Mr. Night said, all businesslike.
I was speechless: suspicious my foot—it was because she didn't want to disturb your master's private time!
Hazel looked at me, startled; her eyes widened. "Miss Claire, why are you dressed like a maid?"
Then, softer, as if worried: "Your Highness, why are you… treating Miss Claire this way? It was Miss Claire who helped me—her antidote saved me."
"Your Highness, please let me bring her back to Dawn Palace; I'll take good care of her. I promise I won't mistreat her!"
Ethan cut her off, unusually gentle. "No need. It's late—go back."
Hazel seemed like she wanted to say more but stopped. Before leaving, she looked at me with a complex expression.
I kept my head down, tried to be as small as possible, and continued scrubbing the floor. Then a pair of black shoes trimmed with gold thread came into view.
A low chuckle floated overhead: "Wiping the floor? Only you could come up with an excuse like that."
I looked up and gave a practiced smile. "Not an excuse—I genuinely enjoy it."
"Heh. You keep surprising me."
He said it flatly: "Since you like it so much, wipe the whole place."
I faltered, looked around the huge hall, and quickly changed my tune. "Actually, never mind. Even hobbies have limits."
Live to fight another day.
He tilted the corner of his mouth and gave that knowing little laugh, then returned to the desk.
"Come here. Take all this away."
"You're not eating?" I asked, because waste would be a crime.
Ethan, annoyed as if I were being long-winded, lifted his eyes in impatience.
I volunteered cheerfully, "Don't waste it—I can eat it!"
Ethan raised a brow like it was all up to me.
I happily picked up a pastry and popped it into my mouth, closing my eyes with bliss.
"So good?"
Ethan gave me a disgusted look.
I grabbed another piece and held it out to his lips. "Want a taste?"
He blinked and, slow to react, opened his mouth. Just as he was about to bite, I yanked it away—left him hanging.
"Oops, hand slipped!"
I said, then offered it again.
He frowned and opened his mouth to bite—then I snatched it back.
I couldn't help bursting into laughter, bent double and wheezing.
Ethan's face darkened. He probably didn't expect my bell-like laughter to last so long. He tugged the corner of his mouth. "Alright, that's enough."
I stopped laughing and turned. "Okay!"
My quota of joy for the day was filled.
He was silent for a long while, eyes suddenly deep. "My life was saved by her; I once promised her something."
"She wished to marry me."
"The Demon Sect and the Immortal School were bound for war. Her temperament is fierce; she'd pledge to stand with her sect."
"I married her partly to ease her worries, and partly to make her one of the demons, to keep her safe."
"I never touched her— not a single inch."
I looked at Ethan, suspicious: has he lost his mind again?
I have the god-tier perspective here—I know the heroine saved him. I not only know, I know more than he does!
"You telling me… why?" I asked.
"I adore you."
His voice was low and clear, his eyes full of sincerity.
"Then… thank you?"
"No need to thank me."
I jabbed my fist into Ethan Marshall's abdomen. "No need to thank me and you're still standing this close! If this isn't creepy, what is!"
Ethan flinched from the pain and instinctively let go of me. I bolted for the hall exit.
Whew—why was my heart racing like that just now?
I tapped my temple, scolding myself: lust makes you stupid, lust makes you stupid!
I shook my head and kept walking, not thinking about it further. I didn't notice the hem of a cloud-patterned skirt hiding in the shadow.
After I left, the skirt's owner stepped out—Hazel Carter, who had gone off and come back.
She dug her nails into her palm until little beads of blood welled and smeared. Hatred churned behind her eyes.
March 27. Demons and monsters poured out from every lair. The world was thrown into chaos.
"The demon clan… the demons are invading!"
Someone in Willowridge Academy shouted. Everyone's faces drained; shock flickered across the crowd.
It had only been a century since the last demon-human clash.
I woke up in a dim woodshed, my hands and feet tightly bound.
"What the hell? I've been kidnapped?"
I struggling with everything I had, but to no avail.
"Don't struggle. Weakwater can't break free."
A familiar, delicate voice came from the doorway.
I looked around and realized someone was standing there.
Hazel.
Before I could ask, she went on as if to herself, "The righteous and the demon forces are at war. Right now, you're the pawn to distract Ethan."
"To be honest, I heard your conversation with him that day."
She turned on me with a jolt, her eyes filled with venom. "I hated you then! Why could you win his heart so easily?"
"And me…" she laughed bitterly. "I had to threaten him with my life, force him to marry me in the most despicable way. How unfair."
Hazel lifted my chin, squeezing until my jaw ached. Her voice was too sharp. "I was his savior! The little boy once promised me a favor!"
Her fierce tone faltered. She inhaled, voice thin: "If you hadn't shown up… would he… like me?"
The air trembled and then fell still.
I said nothing.
Unbelievable—both the male and female leads of this book had completely fallen apart. I'm just one person; am I supposed to carry the whole mess?
"Why aren't you speaking?" Hazel asked suddenly.
I pursed my lips and answered honestly, "I didn't want to waste your time sharing your inner feelings."
She was taken aback for a moment, then smiled in a creepy way. "Tell me—if you and I were both locked on the Execution Pillar, who would Ethan choose?"
Execution Pillar?!
My heart dropped. So this was coming.
My face must have gone pale. Hazel, satisfied to see me drained, pushed the door open and left, ordering that I be watched closely.
Three days later, Ethan led the demon soldiers up onto the immortal mountain—ten days early.
I was strapped onto the high platform. The dragon-patterned grooves in the Execution Pillar were crusted with dried blood, turning into dark red veins that crawled like a nightmare.
Chains bound my hands and neck so tight I could barely breathe.
A biting wind cut into my skin.
Hazel was brought up by two disciples. Her face was bruised and her clothes torn, hair in disarray—she looked worse off than me at first glance.
The wounds were disturbingly realistic, I thought, but I couldn't even open my mouth to say it.
I'd had nothing to eat or drink for three days. I was weak to the point of speechlessness.
Her arm pinned, Hazel turned to me. "The show is about to start."
I looked toward the distance.
Through the haze, Ethan stood at the head of millions of troops in black armor, his dark hair tied high. He looked cold and severe, every gust of wind making him more menacing.
He lifted his gaze and, through the gloom, his eyes landed on me—bound and battered on the platform—across the sea of soldiers. Our eyes met, and then were torn apart by distance.
Master Nathan Hale, Willowridge's leader, in Daoist robes and an unreadable expression, spoke in a hoarse, authoritarian voice, "Ethan! If your army crosses another step, I will kill this demoness!"
He pressed his sword to my throat; the blade cut the skin and a bead of blood welled.
But my body was numb—I couldn't feel the pain.
My gaze fell on the red on my neck.
A murderous light flared in Ethan's eyes. His voice was ice. "If you touch her, I'll bury Willowridge with her!"
The demon army roared, stunned that their revered Lord Blackthorne would risk so much for a woman.
"Ethan, save me!"
A thin feminine voice cut through the tension.
It was Hazel, face streaked with tears, nearly begging Ethan.
His expression dimmed. "Release them!"
"Release them is possible—if you hand over the Yin Stone."
"Fine."
He said it casually, as if the Yin Stone were nothing.
But Remnight knelt before him, stern: "Lord Blackthorne, think carefully. That ambitious Daoist already has the Yang Stone. If she receives the Yin Stone, the consequences would be disastrous!"
Remnight's thin lips parted. "Give it to him!"
"…Yes."
Nathan produced the Yin Stone and laughed wildly, "With Yin and Yang Stones together, I, Nathan Hale, will be the sole power in this world! Hahaha!"
"Release them!"
Ethan's eyes were dark as pitch. He repeated the command.
"Don't be impatient. We'll give you the people—but…"
Nathan's grin turned cold. "You can only choose one!"
With both stones, Nathan ran rampant. His spiritual power skyrocketed, his crown shattered, hair frazzled, nails blackening.
It wasn't the calm rise of cultivation—he looked possessed.
Ethan's face grew darker, murderous. He leapt into the fray, clashing with Nathan.
It was a clash of demons.
Darkness swept the land. Ethan opened his hand and summoned a black vortex that widened with brutal force, aimed at Nathan.
Nathan used his spirit power as a shield to block it, but the vortex slammed into the ground and the earth caved.
With his other hand he summoned millions of blades that rained down on Ethan, leaving him no opening.
After the exchange, Ethan's body was slashed all over. Blood stained his handsome face, making him more dangerously alluring—sinister and fierce.
Blood at his mouth, he slowly raised his head. He seemed changed. His pupils took on a diabolical gleam, like a fiend from hell. A sword burst from his torso.
The blade, born from nothing, radiated terrifying power, cleaving the wind on Ethan's command.
Nathan's face went pale—he had never seen anything so unholy.
The sword, wrapped in dazzling white light, lunged at Nathan.
"Ugh!"
Blood sprayed from my mouth. I felt my body pierced, a huge hole torn through me.
Damn it—I knew this would happen!
At the heart of battle, Nathan used me as a shield.
I stared blankly at the sword embedded in me, pinning both me and itself to the Execution Pillar.
A metallic-sweet taste surged in my throat.
No exaggeration—my mouth was a busted faucet; blood poured out without stop.
Who knew a person could vomit that much blood?
I closed my eyes. I saw Ethan go berserk, sprinting at me, eyes bloodshot, veins bursting with rage.
I woke in a haze, a huge canopy over my head with lustrous beads dangling from each corner.
Barefoot, I stepped down from the bed. In the center of the room sat a gilded bronze censer carved with exotic beasts, incense curling.
Fog drifted everywhere, like stepping into an immortal realm.
"Claire, you're awake!"
A girl in a teal gauze dress ran over and grabbed my hand, voice intimate.
"Claire?"
I whispered the name without thinking.
It felt so familiar—my memory flooded back. I was Claire Bennett.
I had once been a peach-blossom spirit. Three hundred years ago, I survived my tribulation and ascended, becoming one of the minor immortals in the celestial palace.
I remembered the tribulation day. Thunder rolled. I took my true form and burst from the earth.
There were eighty-one heavenly bolts; before the halfway point my branches were charred, peach blossoms drifting until only a few remained.
Just when I couldn't bear it, a man in dark robes formed a barrier with one hand and dispersed the thunder.
After the tribulation, I took human form. I wanted to thank him but staggered and fell into his arms, breath fragrant.
I stared up at his long brows and fox-like eyes—sharp, alluring. His straight nose and handsome, almost ascetic beauty left a deep impression.
That was my first impression of Ethan Marshall.
In the celestial palace, I searched tirelessly and learned he was the prince of the heavenly tribe—Ethan Marshall.
I even sneaked a look at the fate-record the Star of Life wrote for him and followed him down to the mortal realm to experience his tribulation.
The modern memories were part of Claire Bennett; I was fully Claire.
After I returned to the celestial court, Hazel Carter, Nathan Hale, and Ash Parker also completed their tribulations.
Only Ethan did not return.
Ash told me: after you died, he disappeared.
I was silent for a long time.
— I continued my carefree immortal life. The celestial palace had no phones or computers, but I was comfortable. I even made a fortune writing stories and sold many magical artifacts and rare treasures.
My bestsellers were "Those Secrets Between Me and the Heavenly Prince" and "Saving the Paranoid Prince: I Became His Little Treasure."
When Ethan finally came back, I didn't welcome him like the others. I hid in my pavilion, unsure how to face him.
Time passed, and he still showed no sign of looking for me.
Then I thought: of course. Who cares about a failed peach-blossom from a tribulation? In the prince's annals, it was just an insignificant footnote.
Watching me sulk day after day, Ash Parker came to my door with a plan.
"Marry me."
He said it with complete seriousness.
"What?!"
"Don't you want to know how Ethan Marshall really feels about you? Pretend to marry me. If he comes, you'll know he cares for you; if he doesn't…"
Ash swallowed. "I mean, if he doesn't come, would you…consider me?"
I froze, not knowing how to answer.
But the idea made my heart skip.
—
That day I put on the wedding gown the seamstress had made—gold-threaded silk embroidered with crane and phoenix. I coiled three thousand strands of hair into a single bun and stuck a double-phoenix hairpin into it; the little tassels swayed and glittered with every movement. I sat before the mirror while Lily applied my makeup—first the brows, then lip color, then a pair of delicate earrings.
I stared at my reflection and almost couldn't breathe.
It was like I’d become a different person—impossibly beautiful.
The gilded bird carriage Ash had sent was waiting outside the palace for ages. I pulled my veil over my face and was helped into the seat. The gilded bird spread its wings and the carriage cut through the sky.
My fingers twisted the edge of my sleeve the whole ride, my body tense. But the scenes I'd fantasized about didn’t happen, and disappointment seeped in.
Just as my thoughts were unraveling, the carriage landed smoothly and a pair of long, strong hands reached in.
I blinked at the hands—when had Ash's fingers gotten so knuckled?
I didn't think much of it and let the hands help me down.
Ash led me, turning left, turning right; finally we stopped at a palace gate.
There were people gathered—congratulations and well-wishes echoed everywhere. A matchmaker took my hand and led me inside.
The sky darkened and so did my heart—Ethan still hadn't come.
Tears fell and left dark red marks on my skirt.
I wiped my face hard and made up my mind.
Just as a pair of hands reached to lift my bridal veil, I called without thinking, "Ash! I—"
A snort of derision cut me off.
The veil was ripped away. My vision flashed.
"Look closely. I'm definitely not Ash."
He ground his teeth, glaring at me.
My eyes adjusted. The face before me sharpened into view—almond-shaped eyes, thin lips, a high nose. If not Ethan, who else could it be?
Tears pricked my eyes again.
When Ethan saw the wetness there, he panicked a little. "Why are you crying? I should be the one crying—when I thought you were going to marry Ash, I nearly lost my mind."
He wore his ceremonial robes, looking even more refined, and hurriedly wiped my tears away.
"I really want to punch you!" I muttered.
Ethan laughed softly. "We have all the time in the world. But now—let’s take care of the important stuff."
He pressed his lips to mine, shutting up the dirty words I hadn't gotten out, and kissed me until I forgot everything else.
That day, the news that the prince had stolen a bride spread through the palace. Everyone gossiped: what kind of woman was worth the prince storming in to take her?
[End of main story]
[Ash Parker's side chapter] The first time I saw Claire Bennett, she wore a pale yellow gauze dress, her hair in twin buns, with a tiny butterfly hairpin that tinkled when she laughed. The man with her was Ethan Marshall—an otherworldly sort of person who could make any man feel unworthy.
Nervous, I asked her, "Who is that man to you?"
She smiled and said, "He's my brother. Really."
To this day I can’t quite describe how my heart felt. In that moment it exploded like fireworks and my cheeks burned hot.
Afraid she might notice, I babbled and changed subjects, even speaking without finishing my thoughts. Luckily she didn’t press it, and I calmed down.
We went together to search for azureroot. At night we met a wandering ghost—pale, bleeding from the seven orifices. Her cultivation was weak; she was hardly a threat.
Inside I was calm, but I put on a show of fear. Seeing me frightened, she patted my shoulder reassuringly and stepped forward to investigate.
The ghost lunged and sensed me, suddenly wary.
I slid one hand to my sword sheath, revealing the cold flash of blade. The sword's presence was intimidating and the ghost shrank back like a frightened quail.
Seizing the moment, Claire threw a punch.
She glanced back at me confidently. I dropped the pretended careless expression and put on a terrified one instead.
Her eyes were bright, lips parted into a gentle, playful tone: "Ash, be good. Close your eyes."
Like a sheep, I closed my eyes. The blade didn't sheath, so the ghost dared not move.
I had underestimated Claire's talent for provoking trouble. The ghost suddenly turned frenzied and leapt at her. My heart jolted and I rushed to form a sealing wind sign with my fingers, binding the ghost's limbs.
Then her brother arrived. Seeing her cling to his arm, swaying and acting coy, I couldn't help but smile.
I decided then that once I returned to my sect and reached the proper age for the coming-of-age ceremony, I'd go ask her brother for her hand.
But after we parted at Hollow Hollow Cave, I lost all trace of her.
Brokenhearted, I locked myself away to cultivate.
On the day I emerged, demons had attacked the mountain. She was tied to the Pillar of Extermination—pale, withered.
I fell to my knees and begged our master to spare her. He kicked me aside, calling me a traitor, and ordered disciples to bind me.
I watched as a sword pierced her body. Blood spouted from her mouth and soaked her gauze dress, bright, terrible red.
A pain unlike any other tore through me; I felt I had lost everything.
My throat jerked and I couldn’t form whole words—only broken cries. A metallic, sweet taste flooded my mouth; I collapsed.
My vision caught Ethan running to her as if insane, but I could only lie there, staring at her bloodied cheek.
She must have been in so much pain.
I ruptured my meridians in my despair.
Warm streaks flowed from my eyes, nose, and ears. I thought, I must look frightful. If I meet her in the afterlife, I hope I won't scare her.
When I woke again, I was Lord Alaric—no, the title called me by a different name—and memories returned.
She was Claire Bennett, also known as Violet. She’d deceived me: Ethan wasn't her brother but the man she'd secretly loved for a hundred years.
No one knew, when she first entered the palace, that like Ash in the mortal world, I had fallen for her at first sight.
Her heart belonged to Ethan, and mine only to her.
I couldn't bear to see her suffer, so I contrived a plan to help her get what she wanted—suggesting she pretend to marry me.
I asked, "If Ethan doesn't have you, would you consider me?"
Those words took all my courage. She didn't answer, and I understood.
Let her have him.
Let her have him, I told myself.
On that day she was radiant in phoenix coronet and crimson robes—impossible to look away from.
As expected, Ethan came.
I grabbed him by the collar, shoved him against the wall, and squinted threats at him: if you betray her, even if it costs me my life, I'll make you pay.
He sneered, anger in his eyes: "My wife doesn't need Lord Alaric's concern."
And then he dissolved into mist and was gone.
I stood there for a long time, lifted my sleeve, and looked at the dazzling red and gold embroidery of my robes. I murmured to myself, "Claire, may you have countless mornings and evenings of peace, may your smile remain unchanged."
My vision blurred. I smiled and turned away.
—Your smile was like a startled swan, brief as a flash, like a sudden rain on autumn lotus; the only one who unsettled my heart in this life was her.
—————— Who here didn't leave a like?
