Not only that, the sultry maid slid one shoulder bare, skin smooth as pooled lamplight, and purred, “While we play, you can sip a little of my blood. But if you ‘accidentally’ take too much, you’ll have to pay me back, okay~”
For the Blood Clan, that pose was a lure like moonlight on wine; Shelika’s body stirred like embers.
Then the word “money” fell like cold rain, and the heat in her chest guttered.
“Shoo, shoo!” Shelika waved, face set like frosted glass, pure disdain.
After all, in her past life Fulin was a shameless freeloader, hands always out like hungry sparrows.
“What a pity~ Tell me when you want to play. I’ll fill that emptiness of yours, mm-haha~”
“Get lost, get lost~”
Shelika shot out of the inn like a startled swallow cutting the dusk.
The more she replayed it, the more fear crept in like damp fog under a door.
For the Dark Blood Clan, living blood hits like a drug, sweet and ruinous.
The old Shelika broke that taboo often, especially after reaching the Doran Kingdom, hunting humans like a night hawk.
But the current Shelika isn’t the old Shelika; that one had nearly 150 years in the Blood Clan and wore a Dark Blood body like a second skin.
Fresh blood didn’t spin her mind out, not like a first taste of lightning.
Now Shelika is a mask worn by Fulin, and that mask itches like nettles.
Fulin hasn’t even settled into her Chaos Vampire body; foreign emotions snag her like thorns, and dawn stokes a bloodthirsty urge to wreck things like a storm tide.
If she can’t handle her own bones and blood, forget borrowing someone else’s shoes.
And Shelika’s body is Dark Blood Clan—hunger under silk, fangs under smile.
If she took the sultry maid’s bait and did unspeakable things, if living blood dragged her down a slope of lust she couldn’t climb back from, that maid would squeeze her wallet dry like a pressed orange.
At that thought, Shelika shuddered; her pale jade hand clutched her purse like a lifeline. She muttered, “Turns out women are trouble~”
Wait, that sounds like I’m cursing myself, she thought, confused, the thought spinning like a leaf.
She glanced at the sky darkening like ink, shook her head, and brushed the clutter aside. “Forget it. Business first.”
Business meant earning coin in the Holy City before the next worship day, gathering intel while working careful and small, like a mouse in the granary.
She watched the street grow lush with night like vines climbing stone and thought: to earn and collect info at once, bars and runways—night venues—are perfect.
Luckily, the Holy City had those in clusters like stars of neon.
After all, the Earth Mother rules the night; her attendant gods, aside from a few odd ducks, preside over night-bound crafts like lanterns and songs.
Because of them, Entertainment Street in the Holy City bristled with temples, shrines glowing like beehives of light.
Call them temples, but they’re houses of color and sound where attendants harvest followers, gather faith, and ply their trades like tides pulling nets.
Such places clustered on Entertainment Street like fish schooling in a bright river.
Leaving the Rose Traveler, she stowed the Eternal War Armor, parked her ride, and headed alone for Entertainment Street, boots tapping like fine rain.
By night the street bloomed wildly; the crowd surged like a tide, faces bright as paper lanterns.
Staff from every temple-venue spilled into the road, voices ringing like brass bells as they hawked their gods.
A troupe of Demonic Human Race girls wore priestly shawls over bunny-girl outfits, eyes curled like crescent moons, and cooed to passing men, “Hehe~ handsome boys, we’ve got lots of pretty sisters. Want to taste the night? Want the God of Vigor’s blessing? Then come to the Vigor Temple up ahead and see us~”
The Vigor Temple sat nearby, a fat purple neon sign blazing like a plum blossom in frost.
Paired with bunny-girls luring customers, the place felt exactly like the nightclubs from Fulin’s past life, all mirrors and smoke.
It wasn’t the only nightclub-shaped temple. The Moonlight Temple of the God of Moonlit Night had men instead of bunnies, gigolos with styles like a rack of masks.
Their outfits caught the night like fish scales—skimpy past shame—and they called to passing women, “Over here~ over here~ Ladies, want youth to stay? Want to keep your beauty? Don’t hesitate—the God of Moonlit Night grants all wishes. Come to the Moonlight Temple!”
Watching these sleazy men and sleek women hawk faith while crowds flowed past like indifferent water, Shelika felt a whole dust storm of curses kick up in her chest.
Beyond these mild pitches, some attendant gods had weird domains and few followers, so their temples resorted to bizarre or hard-sell tactics like carnival barkers.
A musclebound Demonic Human Race man, red headscarf tied like a flag and only base-layer pants on, dragged a smaller Earthfolk man, bull tugging goat, the latter resisting with coy feet.
“Jie-ge, don’t. I just met you.”
“My temple’s pretty big. Come take a look~”
“Jie-ge, don’t!”
The thin man was pulled into the God of Fire’s temple, and a long string of male high notes burst out, kettle-whistle mixed with whale-song, first low and urgent, then climbing.
“Uh—ah—ah! Uh—ah—! Uh—ah—ah—ah—!” The sound peaked like a summit and slid down like cooling ash.
Outside, Shelika felt the air fill with an unspeakable stench, like something scorched and sweet.
When the cries ended, two muscular men stepped out; the second, on a closer look, was the former scrawny Earthfolk, now carved from stone, every inch muscle.
The first displayed him to the stunned passersby like a vendor showing a prize fish. “Devote yourselves to the God of Fire. With His blessing, you can have perfect bodies like his!”
The showcased man flowed through bodybuilding poses, sending muscle rays like sunbeams off bronze, and the crowd’s longing hearts itched like mosquito bites.
Shelika stared, speechless, mouth a thin line; no way she’d work in these weirdo places. She quickened her pace, feet sparking like flint.
She looped the street once like a hawk circling. Aside from the oddities, most temples looked normal, business steady as a mill. She tried applying at a few.
First stop: the Temple of the God of Wine—basically a tavern, warm light pooling like honey. Shelika asked about part-time work.
They eyed her looks like buyers weighing silk and asked right off, “Willing to serve believers?”
