Late autumn had settled in, and the chill deepened with each passing day.
Where once a thin hoodie or shirt layered with a sweater sufficed, now coats or trench coats were essential—even indoors demanded warmer layers. So Jiang Jiu swapped her garter stockings for thicker white tights, as instructed.
Lady Witch had been very specific: they must be white.
Though she herself wore jet-black hair, dark eyes, and flowing black gowns, she oddly insisted Jiang Jiu wear white. Had a pure-white maid uniform not felt *off*, she might have commissioned one anyway.
Jiang Jiu didn’t understand—but she had guesses.
Perhaps white highlighted her devious mind… or symbolized purity, making its destruction perversely satisfying.
Most likely? Lady Witch still feared her. White tights added a youthful label, making confrontation easier.
After all—mature women wore black stockings; only innocent girls chose white.
Proof? Jiang Jiu’s height: a mere 160 centimeters.
Even in four-centimeter heels, she barely reached Lady Witch’s chin.
But height wasn’t everything. Looks and charm mattered more. Being half a head shorter wouldn’t decide their power struggle.
It came down to *face*—or rather, who had less shame.
And Jiang Jiu’s moral baseline was far more flexible.
She read people effortlessly: sweet words for mature sisters, earnest charm for starry-eyed girls, a glance to make men swoon.
With the repelling barrier lifted, Lilith Bar thrived like never before. Guests flocked daily just to see her. Reservations filled a week ahead. Jiang Jiu had become a minor internet sensation.
Tonight, the bar buzzed.
At the counter, elegant women gathered around Jiang Jiu as she mixed drinks. The shaker spun in silvery arcs—*whoosh, clink*—drawing applause. Phones filmed the flair, then panned to her focused face: lips pressed, brows furrowed.
Serious women were just as captivating. Nearly every guest watched, spellbound.
As the routine neared its end, Jiang Jiu tossed the shaker upward—gasps erupted—then caught it smoothly behind her back. She poured the cocktail into a waiting glass, added a grapefruit slice, and slid it forward with a coaster.
“Your *Summer Night*. Enjoy.”
Hand to chest, a slight bow—graceful, polite.
The blushing guest sipped. “Delicious.”
“‘Delicious’ is a bartender’s highest praise,” Jiang Jiu smiled, raising her own glass. “May your evening be pleasant.”
Flustered, the woman clinked glasses like a shy rabbit before giggling with her friend.
Night deepened. Alcohol loosened inhibitions.
A ponytailed girl asked Jiang Jiu’s real name. A short-haired woman in trousers, eyes hazy, requested her contact. At the edge of the crowd, a weary woman in a black gown and voluminous waves—sipping thousand-dollar whiskey—kept inviting her over.
Young girls. Mature sisters. The “bad woman” with a reserved glass.
Like wolves circling prey.
Yet the lamb remained calm.
To the girl: “Call me Sister Jiu.”
To the older sister: “Bar rules forbid private contact—but I’ll treat you to my signature drink.”
To the “bad woman”: She poured a daunting measure, grinned. “Sister, I’ll down mine—you take your time.” Drained the glass, flushed, then pleaded sweetly: “Today’s too busy! Next time, I’ll drink with you until we’re both satisfied!”
Flawless.
From a shadowed corner, Lady Witch watched—and frowned.
Two whiskey glasses sat before her. One was hers. The other… obviously not.
Yet its owner never glanced her way.
She sat to Jiang Jiu’s left, yet felt galaxies apart.
After closing, staff gone, guests departed, the maid began cleaning.
She raised her Enchanted Wand. Glasses and bottles lined up like soldiers, marched to the sink, dried, returned. Trash cans ejected sealed bags that hopped to the door.
Clinking, clattering—the rhythm felt like music.
Then—dissonance.
Footsteps halted. Sofa scraped. Glasses thudded onto the counter.
The maid didn’t look up.
She didn’t need to.
“So,” Lilith’s voice cut through the quiet, “you’d rather polish glasses than drink with me?”
Jiang Jiu’s hand stilled. She shook her head calmly.
“Work remains—glasses, trash, inventory… It’s tedious.”
“More tedious than those guests?” Lilith’s tone dipped, trembling at the edges. “You handled them effortlessly. Are chores too hard?”
“Guests are guests,” Jiang Jiu replied evenly. “Silly. I’m just being polite. They mean nothing. Don’t be jealous.”
She sighed. “It’s work—nothing shameful. Like Zhang Wuji: I respect you, feel grateful to the girls, compassionate toward the sisters… but for the ‘bad woman’? *Deep, unforgettable love*.”
“You run a bar. This is just business. No feelings.”
She thought it was clear.
Lilith wasn’t listening.
“I feel… uncomfortable.”
“When you flirted with them… when that drunk guest touched your hand… when you didn’t look at me *once* all night…” Her voice grew low, wavering—like storm clouds gathering.
Jiang Jiu froze.
This wasn’t the composed Lilith she knew. This was a differential engine grinding toward collapse—*creak, snap*.
She looked up. Lilith’s eyes were hazy. Face flushed.
*Drunk.*
But witches couldn’t get drunk… unless they *chose* to.
Lilith stood. Half a head taller, she loomed gently. A rare smile touched her lips.
“Jiang Jiu?”
She leaned close, hand resting on Jiang Jiu’s shoulder.
“Do you know what I just realized?”
Jiang Jiu stayed silent, searching for words to pull her back.
But witches were monsters of emotion.
Before she could speak—
Lilith leaned down.
And kissed her.
Time stretched and shattered. A quiet flame ignited.
Jiang Jiu’s breath hitched. Her limbs turned weak. She shifted slightly, eyes glistening.
Lilith pulled back, licked her lips, and smiled.
“Your body is my masterpiece. You cannot disobey me. I can heighten every sensation you feel… can’t I?”
Her whisper curled like smoke:
“You belong to me, Jiang Jiu.”
[To be continued]
