Lu Chuning’s heart swelled with disbelief.
Had Luo Qingchuan truly fallen under the Bewitching Heart Technique?
Cold sweat beaded on the young man’s brow; tears welled stubbornly in his eyes.
He tried to lift his head, to rise—
but his gaze remained locked, unable to stray from Lu Chuning’s delicate features.
Luo Qingchuan endured two clashing urges with immense strain.
His mind screamed to answer her question—to reveal Peony’s dying words.
His body ached to commit violence against the girl, whose presence held the serene grace of a secluded orchid.
*He’d die. He’d surely die.* Yielding to either impulse meant damnation.
Lu Chuning grew anxious.
This was her first time channeling the Bewitching Heart Technique through her own body—why did it feel utterly ineffective?
Was making a lovesick teenage boy tear up even considered a result?
...She pondered carefully.
Perhaps Luo Qingchuan truly possessed extraordinary will and a pure heart.
Or he’d used some sinister demonic-sect art to resist.
Or—he was lying! Maybe he didn’t care about faces… he just preferred *bigger* ones!
Though desperate, she dared not escalate.
Luo Qingchuan was likely the target, yet he didn’t feel like a villain.
She only wanted him to confess—so she could keep him close for guidance, ensure his safety, then release him back to society.
Clenching her teeth, Lu Chuning asked sweetly, “May I ask, Luo… what’s making you want to cry?”
Her long lashes fluttered.
*Click.*
A high heel clattered to the floor—kicked off.
Lu Chuning lifted her calf slightly.
Her dainty feet, sheathed in white ankle socks, slid slowly up Luo Qingchuan’s thigh—soft, deliberate, cotton-soft.
“Speak,” she murmured, eyes crinkling with gentle coyness, voice delicate as an orchid in a quiet valley. “Were you the demonic cultivator at the bar?”
Luo Qingchuan stayed silent. Only his demonic hand rose toward her.
The moment her little foot pressed against him, his heart jolted uncontrollably.
*Seize it. Peel the sock off. Caress every inch. Toy with those translucent, pearl-like toes.*
In that instant, he funneled every ounce of desire for that exquisite foot—shifting from wanting to defile Lu Chuning’s body to becoming an extreme foot fetishist.
He bent and grasped her slender ankle.
Lu Chuning’s face flushed crimson to her eartips. A stifled gasp escaped—soft, enchanting, like a nightingale’s chirp.
Luo Qingchuan’s gaze burned as he gently cradled her smooth foot. Each tiny toe gleamed like a dewy pearl. The delicate sensation soothed his feverish craving… *just barely.*
*Not enough…*
Seizing a sliver of clarity, he snatched her fallen heel.
“Your shoe dropped. Let me help,” he said, crouching. He cradled her ankle and slipped the heel onto her delicate foot.
To break the spell, he met her eyes. “Teacher Luchu Ning… did you hear anything just now?”
“No. You misheard.”
Her skirt askew, the girl had already sat up.
Hands braced on the desk, cherry lips pressed tight, spine rigid as if electrified—her face burned like it might bleed.
The moment he’d touched her foot, a tingling current had surged from her hypersensitive sole through every limb. Heat flooded her cheeks; bones turned to jelly; her frame trembled faintly.
Luo Qingchuan smiled faintly at the flustered girl perched on the desk. “So *this* is Teacher Luchu Ning’s weakness.”
“W-what weakness!? I don’t know what you mean!”
Flushed, she curled her feet against the desk edge, hugging her calves, trying to hide her dainty feet under her dress hem—but even balled up, the fabric fell short.
The Bewitching Heart Technique had shattered in her panic. Her pupils trembled wildly; maintaining the art was impossible now.
Curled tight, she looked utterly helpless.
Luo Qingchuan’s back was drenched in cold sweat.
“Anything else you’d like to ask, Teacher Luchu Ning?”
He rose with a faint smile, feeling like he’d just finished a marathon—relieved, drained.
Lu Chuning stopped hiding. Huffing, she muttered, “Not asking anymore.”
She seemed quietly vexed.
Her ponytail undone, dark hair spilled loosely over her shoulders. Cheeks puffed, she glared at him. Sunlight filtered through her delicate, faintly translucent ear.
Luo Qingchuan wiped his tears and smiled. “Teacher Luchu Ning… thank you for the emotion.”
“Emotion?”
She turned away, eyes fixed on the window. “W-whatever. You can go.”
“Goodbye, Teacher Luchu Ning.”
He stepped outside, closed the door, and strode away—pace quickening with every step.
Far enough, he patted his chest, wiped his brow.
*Lu Chuning dug such a deep trap…*
He’d nearly spilled every secret. Every single one.
*So close… so close…*
Lu Chuning never sought him out again that afternoon. He felt—he’d passed.
The autumn sky hung low and dim.
Luo Qingchuan gathered his things and descended with the crowd.
“Luo Qingchuan.”
Su Yingsnow waited at the stairwell, smiling warmly.
They walked out together. Crimson-tinged twilight draped her in liquid gold.
“I won’t walk with you tonight,” she murmured, dimples catching the sunset, cheeks softly flushed. “Giving you… a two-day break~”
*The sunset is beautiful.*
“Head home,” he said gently. “Don’t worry your parents.”
“Mm.” She pressed her lips, gaze downcast. “I want to talk to them about you.”
A tightness gripped his chest. “Mm.”
She looked up, smiling. Her jet-black hair danced in the breeze.
“I have dreams now. Someone I like. A place I want to go. A future I believe in. I’ll show them their child has grown.”
She winked.
His heart hammered. He nodded, smiling like warm sunlight. “Xiao Xue… may your path open with victory.”
She hid the worry in her eyes, waving with a gentle smile.
He watched her go.
After she vanished, a pitch-black sedan glided beside him. The door opened—
as if it had waited all along.
A man’s voice reached him: familiar, yet distant.
Surprise tangled with old sorrow.
“I’ve never seen you smile like that before.”
The man approached—sharp suit, thick brows, dignified features. Youthful, yet carrying middle-aged gravitas.
His eyes, usually cold with disdain, now held flickering complexity. “Seeing you like this… I never imagined it.”
Luo Qingchuan faced the person he dreaded most lately.
His elder brother. Luo Changsheng—a distinguished man who married young, built a career… and had always been ashamed of his younger brother.
Luo Qingchuan’s lips parted. Flatly: “Bro. Need something?”
“Come home tonight,” Luo Changsheng said, gaze piercing the gloomy youth. “Mom misses you.”
*He wanted to say yes. To feel warmth. To mend what was broken.*
Then he remembered the murderous eyes watching his back that morning.
His lips trembled. He shook his head.
“Never mind.”
Because tonight’s darkness felt anything but gentle.
...
