17 Humiliation

The system seemed to sense why Jiuwu’s expression, despite the lack of any significant change in her features, felt as though she had become an entirely different person.

In the past, whether she was angry or happy, her expressions seemed rehearsed, forever projecting an air of harmlessness, gentleness, and docility. Now, the softness in her eyes had vanished, and the perfectly measured curve of her lips had disappeared. It was as if a meticulously crafted mask had been torn away, revealing the sharp, jagged edges beneath.

While the system was still pondering this, it found the scene before it suddenly blocked.

Jiuwu reclined on the couch, her gaze falling without restraint upon Xuanyi’s half-naked waist. His long, robe-like ceremonial garment hung open, and the thin muscles across his snow-white chest tightened under her scrutiny. This decadent, suggestive sight lent a scorching, vivid allure to his otherwise cold and handsome face.

She still loved this face. If not for that, she would have killed him to satisfy the hatred in her heart.

She had always gazed at this same face with infatuation, hoping that one day, the moonlight of her memories would, as it had many years ago, smile and stroke her head, telling her that he was there for her.

The young man who had once stood before her, raising his head to tell everyone with unquestionable authority that as long as he was there, no one would turn her into a villain—that same man had personally pushed her into the abyss and into the clutches of her inner demons.

How could she not hate him!

Everything has a cause and an effect, yet he had changed, and there was never an answer as to why. She had been too afraid to ask before, but now it was unnecessary. Perhaps he had long regretted taking her to the Wanshu Sect; only she had clung to him as if he were a life-saving straw.

He had personally killed the moon in her heart; therefore, she would not let him have an easy time either.

With a slight flick of her fingertip, the youth before her, unable to resist, collapsed to his knees. Her small, rounded toes, pale with a hint of pink, pressed lightly against his hard chest. The young master of the Immortal Sect, always surrounded by reverence, had never experienced such an insult—especially one delivered with such supreme, dog-like contempt.

Jiuwu expected him to be humiliated to the point of rage, to hear him snap and curse. Instead, he merely froze for a moment before lowering his eyes, which were flushed with shame and anger. His sharp, phoenix-like eyes cast downward, making him appear unexpectedly fragile.

But Jiuwu knew well how good his acting was. Just to lure her away without suspicion, he had been able to endure putting aside his innate arrogance to play the part of a peaceful companion for days. Now that he was in her hands, he naturally had to sheath his thorns.

Her crystalline, pale toes lifted