Luckily, the Ghost Emperor had no idea Zhong Cheng was making suggestive remarks. Otherwise, she might’ve pinned him to the ground and beaten him senseless.
Making lewd jokes behind her back—treating suggestive talk like his home turf? Pure bliss.
His bratty little sister shot him a sideways glance of utter disdain.
“I just ate not long ago, so I’m not hungry. These don’t matter to me,” the Ghost Emperor said calmly. “But husband, you’ve used up quite a bit of energy. You need proper nourishment—otherwise, your stamina won’t hold up.”
“And if your stamina fails… you won’t be able to satisfy me.”
Zhong Cheng felt thoroughly dissed, his pride stomped into dust.
This shameless woman was a pro at dirty talk. He’d seriously underestimated her.
Damn—wait!
So you just want to fatten me up like a corporate drone before sucking my yang energy dry?
What a waste of genuine feeling.
And here I was, actually warming up to you a little.
*The falling petals held affection, but the heartless one stayed cold.* Truly, the ancients never lied.
–99 Affection Points.
“The adult world is… intense,” his sister murmured, clearly misunderstanding something.
Annoyed but practical, Zhong Cheng took the bowl of preserved egg and minced pork congee she’d pushed toward him. Wasting food was worse than wasted feelings.
The portion looked untouched—she’d only taken a few bites—but it was still *used*.
Thankfully, Zhong Cheng wasn’t fussy. No Virgo-level OCD, plus hunger won. Spoon in hand, he leaned in…
Then froze.
*This is her spoon. Using it means an indirect kiss.*
Traces of her saliva probably lingered.
…Actually, scratch “probably.”
Wait—do ghosts even *have* saliva?
A pseudo-problem. Simple on surface, absurdly complex beneath. Solving it might take a lifetime. Forget math equations.
Whatever.
Saliva or not wasn’t the real issue.
He stole a glance at the Ghost Emperor. *Cool, mature beauty’s saliva?* He decided he didn’t mind.
He ate. Indirect kiss: achieved.
He focused hard, trying to taste it—just to solve the mystery.
Not a pervert. Just scientifically curious: *Do ghosts leave saliva?*
Result? Nothing. His tongue, poisoned by years of junk food, had long degenerated. He gave up.
Peacefully, he kept eating.
He picked up a youtiao. A tiny bite mark from her remained.
He bit the notched part clean off. Chewed. Swallowed.
“Do you… leave saliva when you eat?” he asked, curiosity nagging.
He was like that—once a question stuck, it wouldn’t leave until answered.
“What do *you* think?” she countered.
“Can’t you just answer straight? Saliva isn’t some shameful secret,” he grumbled.
She stayed silent—disdainful? Unwilling?—and turned to the morning news on TV.
Ordinary headlines. Yet she watched with quiet intensity.
Zhong Cheng realized: she was learning modern ways through TV. Unexpectedly studious.
*Trying to blend into society… as a ghost?* Kinda unprofessional.
But he’d grown used to her icy face. He could now read subtle shifts.
Earlier, when he asked about saliva, she’d frowned. *Taboo for her?* Ancient mindset—modern folks wouldn’t get it. Fair enough.
He kept eating.
“Not contagious,” his sister announced, phone in hand. “Granny Zhang and her husband are just severely malnourished.”
“Malnourished?” Zhong Cheng echoed.
Turns out, after hospital checks, a neighbor posted in the group chat: no infection risk. Go out freely. No need to play KGB agents anymore.
Great news for everyone.
Not so much for Zhong Cheng.
He glanced at the Ghost Emperor. Still glued to the TV. Utterly indifferent.
*Of course she is. She probably knew it wasn’t contagious.*
His expression tightened. He wasn’t a hero—but he couldn’t ignore harm to those nearby.
If she did this… he had to stop her.
She’d promised not to steal others’ yang energy—but only if *he* kept her fed.
And her appetite? Massive. Could his scrawny frame ever satisfy her?
Even working himself to death wouldn’t cut it. Ten exhausted men might not suffice.
“Never let her go hungry” was a near-impossible condition.
Plus—she’d only just promised him. Granny Zhang’s incident happened last night.
High chance she’d snuck out to hunt… and found them.
He pulled her into the room, closed the door, and gently pinned her to the bed.
“Granny Zhang’s case… was that you?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled.
“Absorbing yang energy. Their symptoms match perfectly. Was it you?”
“Are you doubting *me*?” Her eyes narrowed.
Zhong Cheng held her gaze. *That glare doesn’t scare me anymore. Hmph.*
Then he noticed their position.
*Way too intimate.*
He’d pinned her to the bed.
Black hair spilled across the sheets.
Two majestic peaks rose proudly—geological wonders of epic scale.
He held her wrists. She lay still, exquisite face flickering with feigned helplessness.
Hmm…
*Bold move, pinning a lioness to the bed. Basically suicidal.*
He released her wrists and sat beside her.
Not cowardice. Gentlemen don’t manhandle ladies. Too overbearing. Not his style.
She sat up smoothly, tidying her hair with calm composure—like nothing happened.
Her blank stare whispered: *Is that all?*
“Can’t I suspect you? In Xingfu Lou Residential Complex, you’re the only ghost who absorbs yang energy,” he said.
“Are you *certain* their yang was taken?” she replied coolly.
“Well… no,” he admitted.
“So without proof, you accuse me?” Her tone sharpened.
She crossed her legs, arms folded. Aloof posture. A faint, icy smirk.
*Hmph. Talk slowly. But first—put your arms down. Why thrust your chest out like that? Trying to distract me? My eyes don’t know where to look.*
Seriously.
Good thing I’m professionally trained. I don’t stare… unless I absolutely can’t help it.
