However, judging by the dress’s exquisite design and premium fabric, what Zila wore was no ordinary luxury—it was undeniably expensive.

Clearly not attire a commoner could afford. Even in its torn state, one could easily imagine its former elegance.

Xia Mo guessed only someone of immense nobility and reverence—a truly exalted aristocrat—would ever wear such garments.

After wrapping white bandages snugly around Zila’s neck and applying ointment, Xia Mo tied a tiny white bow.

Only as the pain faded did Zila’s sobs subside, her small frame still trembling slightly from crying.

Heart aching with guilt, Xia Mo gazed tenderly at the pitiful little one and gently wiped tears from her eyes with a tissue.

“Master, please don’t cry~ It doesn’t hurt anymore! Your disciple didn’t mean it!”

*Is she really my Master?* Xia Mo remained quietly confused.

This fragile, tear-streaked child bore no resemblance to the brave, justice-driven mentor she once knew.

Yet Xia Mo still believed—this was her Master.

“Hmph! Xia Mo’s so mean! Bad disciple! Bad woman!” Zila huffed, cheeks puffed, face turned away.

Her silky light-purple hair tumbled messily yet failed to hide the breathtaking innocence beneath—a beauty capable of toppling nations.

Skin whiter than winter snow; a face like a pear blossom blooming in frost.

Silken strands vibrant as redbud petals framed features like the first lotus rising as snow melts into spring.

Even spring’s full bloom dimmed beside her.

Amethyst-and-gold eyes shimmered softly, captivating all who glanced—impossible to look away.

Two short, delicate curved horns crowned her head, black with elegant violet tracery.

Far from odd, they lent graceful balance, adding exotic charm to her otherworldly allure.

Such beauty could win devotion from any soul—man, woman, even nature itself.

All would surely fall under its spell.

Even Xia Mo, a knight, was no exception. She dropped the remaining bandages.

“Waaah! Master’s so cute! What did you eat?! How’d you get this adorably irresistible?!” Xia Mo cupped Zila’s tiny face, rubbing gently.

Zila’s cheeks were impossibly soft—like jelly, like a water balloon. So soothing, so addictive.

Xia Mo’s gentle smile melted into lovesick daze. Drool trickled as she leaned closer.

Zila, just calming from tears, froze in fresh panic. A choked, tearless shriek escaped:

“Waaah! Xia Mo, don’t come closer! Aaah!”

“Master, I can’t help it! You’re explosively cute! I just wanna hug you tighter!”

Xia Mo, utterly lost, pulled Zila into her arms without permission.

*So cute! What even are you?! Unfair! Too much! Amazing!*

---

“Y-you! Don’t come any closer! Aaah!”

Inside the bedchamber of the current Succubus Empress Bellanite Zi Li, within the Succubus Curse Kingdom—Violet Spirit Domain—a voice rang out, sweeter than a nightingale’s song.

Its melody stirred longing; one note begged for another. Youthful, lively, utterly intoxicating.

Every Succubus Curse guard outside stood entranced, souls adrift.

Royal-trained though they were, discipline barely held.

An ordinary soul would’ve stormed the room mindlessly to claim that heavenly voice forever.

Even these guards wouldn’t last—some drooled openly; others… *reacted* quite strongly below the waist.

“Don’t be afraid, Zila. Granny won’t hurt you again.” Demon Empress Zili’s voice brimmed with tenderness.

She climbed onto the bed—once hers—and slowly approached the trembling girl huddled near the nightstand.

The two Succubus Curses looked nearly identical, cast from the same mold. Only age, height, and spirit set them apart.

Zi Li stood tall like a girl of sixteen or seventeen, on the cusp of womanhood.

Her youthful face contrasted with softly rounded curves that somehow deepened her mature allure.

Zila, by comparison, was petite—no taller than an eight-year-old—radiating innocent, heart-melting charm.

Even Zi Li, the Succubus Empress, felt her resolve waver.

“Who’s your granddaughter?! You shameless old hag!” Zila trembled, clutching the pillow like a ball wedged in the corner.

“Zila… you…”

Zi Li’s expression darkened. She reached toward Zila—a hand seeming aimed at her throat.

“Aaah! No~!” Zila squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for strangulation.

But she was wrong.

The pillow vanished.

Warmth flooded her body and heart—not melting the cold, yet deeply comforting, intimate.

Something soft and springy pressed gently against her chest.

Fear melted away.

She opened her eyes.

Lips parted. Breath caught.

Speechless.

*She… she’s… hugging me???*