Su Qingshan closed the ancient tome to find Gujiajia staring at her with wide-eyed horror.
She handed the book back, offering a faint smile.
Gujiajia didn’t take it. Instead, she circled Su Qingshan, eyes raking over her.
Flawless porcelain skin. A perfect figure. Legs that seemed to stretch forever.
The more she looked, the more she envied.
But what she envied most was the other’s talent!
Though Su Qingshan was usually calm, even she felt uneasy under such an odd gaze.
Gujiajia propped her chin on one hand, pacing a full circle around Su Qingshan before suddenly leaning in close.
She scrutinized Su Qingshan’s icy-beautiful face up close.
Skin so delicate it seemed breakable. Exquisitely carved features. An aura of cool detachment.
Warm breath washed over Su Qingshan’s face. She instinctively leaned back, creating a sliver of distance.
That face. That body. The envy deepened.
But she was a Dark Dragon!
Why did she cultivate so fast?!
Weren’t dragons supposed to have peerless physical gifts but struggle immensely with cultivation?
After several circles, Gujiajia found nothing unusual—only growing envy.
Could the Dark Dragon’s physique hold some secret?
Cultivation techniques shaped a sect’s future. Discovering such a prodigy demanded attention.
But this prodigy was a Dark Dragon!
Gujiajia reached out and pinched Su Qingshan’s cheek.
Warm. Silky. Incredibly pinchable.
She wanted to do it again.
So satisfying.
Yet still, nothing felt different.
Su Qingshan tried to push her away.
Gujiajia seized her wrist, pinning it down.
Su Qingshan tumbled onto the sofa, her wrist trapped against the backrest by Gujiajia’s grip.
Gujiajia straddled her hips, one hand immobilizing Su Qingshan’s wrist above her head while the other traced her collarbone, then slowly mapped her spine.
The girl’s skin was tender, her frame petite.
Beyond the startling softness under her fingers, Gujiajia detected no anomaly.
A fiery, mature woman straddled a cool, aloof girl. She pinned the girl’s arms overhead.
Her ample chest pressed against the girl’s softness. Her free hand roamed the girl’s body.
The scene was intoxicatingly sensual.
Su Qingshan narrowed her eyes. Had she let her guard down only to have the tables turned?
She flipped suddenly!
The world spun. Gujiajia instinctively released her grip.
The girl knelt between the woman’s thighs, her long skirt hiked up and bunched at the roots of her legs, barely covering what mattered.
Her shapely thighs radiated raw sensuality.
One hand braced against the sofa back, silver-white hair spilling forward. The other gripped Gujiajia’s chin.
Her gaze dipped into the deep valley before her.
Su Qingshan smiled—a predator reclaiming control.
Her fingers slid down from Gujiajia’s chin, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone. The lightest touch sent shivers through Gujiajia’s skin.
Gujiajia arched toward it, desperate to quell the maddening itch.
Tiny sparks ignited, setting her body ablaze. Her face flushed crimson.
Those slender fingers kept descending, achingly slow.
Gujiajia tried to twist away, but Su Qingshan held her firm.
Heat flooded Gujiajia’s cheeks. Her limbs turned to water. She wanted to resist—but couldn’t summon the strength.
*Heh…*
Su Qingshan’s soft laugh filled the air. Her fingers never stopped. The tension thickened, sweet and heavy.
Closer… closer…
Her fingertip skimmed the valley’s edge, nearly scaling the peaks!
The air grew thick with unspoken desire.
Gujiajia’s face burned. Shame warred with a desperate craving for more.
*Ahem!*
An awkward cough cut through the haze behind them.
Gujiajia turned.
A woman stood there, draped in a deep indigo silk cheongsam. Unsuitable for summer, yet radiating regal elegance.
The hem covered her calves, but the high slit revealed creamy, full thighs—teasing glimpses of forbidden curves.
The tailored cut hugged her ripe, peach-like figure.
A gentle, beautiful matron.
Gujiajia wished the floor would swallow her. Yet breeding forced the words out: “Sister Wen.”
“My timing’s terrible. Forgive the interruption.”
The matron offered an apologetic smile, but her eyes blazed with undisguised curiosity.
Broad daylight. Clear skies. An aloof, noble girl and a poised, mature woman…
The girl’s dominant pose, hands sliding downward…
The woman’s flushed face, teeth grazing her lower lip, her entire body suffused with pink heat…
Sister Wen’s expression stayed politely serene while her mind raced through eighty episodes of a sappy romance drama.
“The lilies in your courtyard are lovely, Jiajia. Their fragrance followed me here.”
She settled onto a nearby sofa, her smile layered with meaning.
It brimmed with encouragement.
Gujiajia froze. The martial arts school had no flowers—too many children underfoot. What lilies?
Su Qingshan eased off Gujiajia’s lap, nodded politely to the matron, and sat beside Gujiajia.
Gujiajia followed Sister Wen’s lingering gaze—landing squarely on herself and Su Qingshan.
Understanding crashed over her. Her face erupted in scarlet.
“Sister Wen, it’s not—”
“No need to explain. I’m not some old-fashioned prude.”
The matron cut her off.
Society might not fully accept this yet—but she understood.
“Chase what your heart desires. I support you.”
Gujiajia opened her mouth to deny it. But under that warm, encouraging gaze, the words died. She lowered her head, tears pricking her eyes, lips trembling.
Why did explaining only make it worse?
She truly hadn’t meant *that*! She’d only wanted to examine the Dark Dragon’s bones—why did she cultivate their sect’s techniques so fast?
Su Qingshan didn’t care about the matron’s assumptions. Strangers’ words meant nothing unless they called her fond of men.
But the woman beside her sat unnaturally still, head bowed in silence. That wasn’t like the bold elder sister.
Su Qingshan leaned close, studying her face with quiet concern.
“What’s wrong?”
Gujiajia startled at the sudden proximity of that breathtaking face. She saw genuine worry in the girl’s eyes.
Her heart hammered.
The sting of misunderstanding hadn’t faded—but now panic drowned it.
A subconscious fear gripped her: *What if she thinks I’m trying to deny us?*
She hadn’t even recognized that feeling yet.
Only the frantic thudding in her chest. The breath catching in her throat.
Like a startled rabbit.
Gujiajia’s chest heaved violently—forgetting how tightly her shirt clung today.
*Pop!*
A soft sound.
Cool air kissed her skin.
A button had burst free, revealing white lace barely containing fullness, the delicate peaks just covered.
Voluptuous.
Her softness bounced against Su Qingshan’s cheek—not painful, but springy-soft.
The scene turned fiercely sensual.
Sister Wen clapped a hand over her eyes—peeking through her fingers like an ostrich burying its head.
Gujiajia stared blankly downward.
The girl’s cool, beautiful face pressed against her chest. Even Su Qingshan seemed stunned.
Gujiajia’s flush deepened, spreading down her neck, her collarbone, even tinting the soft curves a wanton pink.
Sister Wen marveled inwardly. *Goodness. Buttons popping? How intense must it have been?*
