Chapter 745: Kiss Fu Xuan

One hand grasped Fu Xuan's cuff, the other hand pressed against Fu Xuan's back of the neck.

The movement was crisp and decisive, without a hint of hesitation, smooth as if rehearsed dozens of times.

Indeed it had been rehearsed dozens of times; in those dream‑within‑a‑dreams that were Shuhuo‑slain, she always found Fu Xuan with this opening move.

Fu Xuan's pupils contracted sharply; she saw Qingque's face rapidly enlarge in her field of view, close enough to see the curve of the other's eyelashes, close enough to feel the warm breath exhaled from the other's nose tip.

The Divination Eye flashed a hurried cold violet light at the center of her forehead, and the last clear thought her brain produced was: This guy's eyelashes are rather long.

Her lips parted slightly, and the word "you" was stopped before it could leave.

Qingque kissed her.

The entire Shen Ce Fu council hall froze in absolute stillness at that Shana.

Bai Lu covered both eyes with both hands, but kept her fingers spread wide; her blue pupils stared round behind the gaps, flashing a light somewhere between shock and excitement.

Longwei's tail stiffened behind her for a moment.

Yan Qing stood rooted, mouth slightly open, his hand instinctively reaching for the sword hilt at his waist before stopping halfway; he was probably about to draw his sword, but what would he do with it?

His brain hadn't worked out the answer yet.

The other hand still held the pose as if trying to pull Qingque, and his whole body seemed struck by a petrification spell.

Han Ya's gray pupils finally stopped looking like dead fish; she widened her eyes, the scroll in her hand slipped from her left hand, clattered onto the floor, the pages fluttered a few times and settled on a certain page, yet she made no effort to bend down and pick it up.

Yukong's expression in his violet eyes shifted from confusion to a subtle hint of "perhaps I should step back."

Walther lifted his glasses slightly, nudged the bridge of the frame upward by an inch with his fingertip, and his eyes showed no shock, only the calm of someone who has seen the world.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

He had indeed seen this scene before; back in his hometown, several people would go through almost the same sequence of quarrel and reconciliation, only the setting wasn't so public, not so formal.

Then—never mind, I won't recall it.

Walther adjusted his glasses, speaking with a seasoned, slightly world‑worn tone, and whispered a sentence only he could hear: "Youth is wonderful."

He then shifted his gaze to the ceiling.

And Xing had already taken out his phone.

Holding the phone in landscape, both hands gripping, his thumb pressed precisely on the record button.

The motion flowed like clouds and water, seamless in one breath.

The camera zoomed to 1.5×, exposure lowered by half a stop to give the image more texture.

Her mouth curved upward in an extremely subtle arc, amber eyes staring unblinking at the screen's image.

Her facial expression switched seamlessly from the bewildered onlookers of a gossip crowd to the professionalism of a war correspondent.

The lazy Qingque who took her, Walther, and Black Tower to stroll Luofu in Jinren Alley yesterday, and the Qingque in front of her now force‑kissing the Acting General—are they really the same person? That question flashed through her mind, then she instantly categorized it as "unimportant."

"Tai Bu Si Acting General and subordinate Diviner's office romance confirmed,"

She muttered in a voice only she could hear, amber eyes flashing a light that could be called "this trip to Luofu wasn't in vain."

The perspective returned to the parties involved.

Fu Xuan's brain had already stalled.

The Divination Eye on her forehead continued to flash mechanically, yet she couldn't even run the simplest deduction.

The temperature on her lips came from another's lips—cool, soft, with a hint of lingering moisture from a just‑finished yawn.

Heaven and earth calculations aside, she had calculated the Giant Tree Rebirth cycle, Luofu's weak points, the movements of the various sects after Jing Yuan's coma, even how many times Qingque would skip work this month, but she had never calculated this.

Qingque's lips were soft.

That information barged into her brain in the most brutal way, crashing every running program inside.

She stopped thinking.

Qingque closed her eyes, eyelashes trembling lightly, breath steady and focused, as if savoring a freshly brewed cup of tea.

Fu Xuan could smell a faint scent from the gap where their lips met—not perfume, not tea aroma, but the unique blend of paper ink and old wood that Qingque carries, a scent that pervades the Tai Bu Si library.

She was far too familiar with that scent.

Every time Qingque was caught skipping work and she reprimanded her, Qingque's body exuded that scent.

Each time Qingque fell asleep while copying files at the desk and she woke her, Qingque also carried that scent.

She had smelled it countless times and never thought it special.

But now the scent was so close she could discern a layer of Qingque's own aura beneath the paper‑ink smell.

Fu Xuan's fingers froze at her sides, fingertips gripping the edge of the desk, nail plates digging into the wood grain.

She tried to push away; the muscles in her arms had already sent the command, but the signal was cut off halfway by something.

At that moment the brain's programs ran three hundred mutually contradictory commands, each vying for control of the body, resulting in the whole body freezing, motionless.

On Qingque's side, she closed her eyes, lips pressed against Fu Xuan's, diligently following the repeatedly verified standard procedure of "exiting the dream by kissing Fu Xuan."

A few seconds passed; she slightly opened one eye, scanning the surroundings through the slit of her narrowed sight.

Xing held up the phone, the lens reflection flashing at the corner of his eye.

Bai Lu covered her mouth but kept her fingers spread; Yan Qing's mouth opened even wider.

Han Ya's book fell to the floor. Yukong stared at the ceiling. Walther was already looking at the ceiling.

The hall was still the same hall, Fu Xuan still the same Fu Xuan, and the surrounding furniture, people, and the ceiling's chandeliers remained intact in their original places.

Her brows twitched slightly.

She didn't return to the fish's back.

No Bubbles.

No Giant Tree.

No blue moon.

Nothing around her was shattered.

Could it be that my own kiss still wasn't good enough?

She thought for a moment.

When kissing Fu Xuan in a dream, sometimes one kiss wakes me up, sometimes it takes two, and the longest one required three kisses to shatter the dream.

It seems this time I've caught a rather stubborn version.

So she closed her eyes again, tightened the hand pressed against Fu Xuan's nape a bit, her fingertips sinking into the scattered strands of his hair on his neck, while the other hand slipped off Fu Xuan's cuff and wrapped around her waist.

She pulled Fu Xuan a inch closer to herself, then opened her mouth and slipped her tongue in.

Fu Xuan was originally in a forced‑shutdown blank state, his brain automatically cutting off all advanced Cognition functions to prevent a crash.

But the moist, soft sensation on her lips struck the blank like a bolt of thunder, yanking her consciousness back forcefully.

She snapped back to awareness, realizing what Qingque was doing, realizing how many people were watching, realizing that Xing was still holding up a phone.

Her first reaction was to open her mouth and scold, using her authority as head of the Tai Bu Si to shatter this absurd scene.

"Qing— uh!"