Chapter 758: The Faithful Screenwriter

Heimu reached her hand toward the direction of the teacup.

When her fingertip touched the cup wall, she found the tea had already cooled.

She lifted the cup and set it down again; the gesture was meaningless, merely buying herself a few seconds of reaction time.

She turned her head, preparing to deliver to XiaDie the standard reply she had rehearsed in her mind countless times: "You are saying this now simply because you were influenced by the entry; I have deleted the entry, so calm down, this is not you."

She opened her mouth.

At that moment, a pair of arms reached out from behind the chair, gently encircling her shoulder.

The white‑and‑lavender gloves, with their asymmetrical design, displayed a subtle visual tension under the warm yellow light.

XiaDie's chest pressed against her back.

Through a thin layer of dress fabric, Heimu could feel the girl behind her body temperature—cool, not the warm heat of a normal person, like the slight chill of someone who has stood too long in a flower field and become damp with dew.

Yet the breathing was warm.

Every breath that brushed her earlobe carried warm humidity, creating a tingling temperature contrast with the slight coolness on her shoulder.

"Your Excellency."

XiaDie's voice slid from behind her right ear to behind her left ear, as if someone were drawing a circle around her ear with sound.

Lavender strands slipped from her shoulder, a few tips brushing Heimu's cheek, cool and smooth, exactly the same as when they brushed her hand back earlier.

"Now you may order me to sit back down. With your authority, a single word is enough for me to obediently return to the soft couch opposite. You could even make me forget everything I just said, turn me back into that poised, quiet XiaDie who would cause you no discomfort. But you do not."

Heimu let out a swallow in her throat.

A feeling she refused to define.

XiaDie moved around to the right side.

Her movements were slow, like a ritual dance, each step landing on a silent beat.

The floating ribbons traced two arcs in the air as she moved, and buds swayed gently on the hem of her skirt.

She leaned down, her lips almost touching the edge of Heimu's right ear.

Lavender lashes drooped, casting a faint shadow in the light.

"His Majesty Ke Lv De La is the same in front of Miss HaiSeYin. He says 'no' with his mouth, but his body is honest. I wrote four whole chapters about His Majesty's reactions in the bath; each chapter's plot is drawn from real bath conversations."

Her voice was light and slow, as if sharing a secret known only to the two of them; her pale‑lavender pupils tilted slightly, looking at Heimu's profile through the lashes, "Your ears are red. Just like His Majesty Ke Lv De La. After Miss HaiSeYin called his name in the bath, His Majesty's ears also flushed from the root."

Heimu's right ear reddened visibly as the words fell.

XiaDie circled back to the left side.

This time she drew even closer, so close that the tips no longer brushed lightly but hung directly on Heimu's shoulder, a few strands of silver‑lavender hair slipping into her ash‑white long hair.

The embroidery on the left glove caught a faint glint in the light, while the white tassel on her right wrist brushed the chair backrest, producing a fine rustle.

"I only want this replica Weng Fa Luo Si to be better. In your Script you always focus on the grand events—Star God's games, the convergence of destinies, the tightening of world lines—yet you rarely pause to look at the people you recreate; they too have their own little stories."

She lifted her hand from the chair back and placed it on Heimu's shoulder.

Her fingertips lightly rested on the edge of the epaulet, the pressure of her five fingers just enough to be felt, "Is my hand cold?"

Heimu said nothing.

Because she was using all her willpower to keep her shoulder from trembling.

It used to be her who did this to others.

Aisida. Ruan Mei. Xi Lian—no need to mention Xi Lian, the recent events are still fresh and hot.

She always felt she was the one holding the initiative.

Letting breath sweep over someone else's ear was her business, making them stiff and then secretly enjoying it was also her business.

Now a cool‑bodied, flower‑scented silver‑lavender girl was pinning her to the chair with the same method.

This Black Curtain Lady now stiffened in the chair, unable even to muster the strength to turn her head.

She didn't want to admit that this feeling was pleasant.

But it truly was pleasant.

Being pressed step by step by a beautiful girl in such an aggressively intimate way, with whispers at her ear so gentle they were almost hypnotic, each sentence precisely stabbing the corner of her heart she dared not acknowledge.

When she used to do this to others, she enjoyed the sense of control.

Now that she is on the receiving end, the feeling is completely different.

It's not control, it's being controlled.

Being controlled is surprisingly enjoyable.

When that thought surfaced, Heimu rang an internal alarm, suppressing it—absolutely suppressing it.

She usually kept her defenses too tight; suddenly someone pried open her guard with such precision, her mind still trying to organize resistance, but her body had already given in.

"Your Excellency."

XiaDie's voice slid from the left side to directly ahead.

She released the hand that had been looped around the chair, walked slowly to Heimu's front, and sat on the edge of the low table.

The buds adorning her skirt hem dangled over the table edge, and the tip of her purple high‑heel just brushed Heimu's boot tip.

She leaned slightly, aligning her gaze with Heimu's at the same level; her pale‑lavender pupils stared directly at Heimu's violet‑black eyes from a very close distance.

She extended her hand, her slender pale fingers pinching the edge of the stack of papers on Heimu's knee, gently pulling it away and placing it on her own knee.

She tilted her head slightly, her ponytail sliding from the shoulder to the back, "One can replicate Weng Fa Luo Si, and also replicate anything. This stone tower, this flower field, even the distance between us right now—all lie within a single thought of yours. I am jealous. So jealous that I keep dissecting your silhouette in this manuscript, pondering what expression, what voice you would use for each scene in these stories. I feel we are very alike. You will be the sole deity, the sole audience, and I am merely your most faithful screenwriter."

"So, can you trust me?"

XiaDie extended her hand, hovering before Heimu, pale and slender, motionless.

Outside, the An Ti Ling flower field trembled gently in the cool white glow; the collective rustle of petals passed through the window frame into the room, like an entire sea breathing slowly in the distance.

The cocoon‑shaped chandelier in the living room still emitted warm yellow light, stretching XiaDie's shadow and Heimu's shadow into two long strips on the floor, nearly overlapping.