Chapter 773: Xi Lian, Be Good

The hem of the skirt covers up to the middle of her thighs, revealing a pair of fair, slender legs; her knees are slightly pressed together from tension, the calves are smooth and graceful, and her ankles are delicate.

Her bare feet are slipped into a pair of light‑purple slip‑on sandals, the toes gently curling from nervousness.

Heimu's gaze moves slowly over her, as if admiring a work of art, and as if measuring a seal about to be broken.

Finally it rests on her lips.

The damp bite mark on her lip glistens under the light.

Oye~

Xi Lian feels that gaze fall on her, and she involuntarily shivers.

For some reason, where that gaze passes, a fine layer of gooseflesh rises on her skin, spreading from her neck to her shoulders, and finally her fingertips tingle slightly.

The lady is looking at her.

She looks terrified.

She doesn't know what it is; heat and cold swirl together, coiling around her waist, pressing so hard she can barely breathe.

Heimu stands up.

The movement is slow; the soles of his boots touch the carpet silently.

She lifts her hand and pushes the crooked hat brim back into place, then takes a step toward Xi Lian.

The system remains motionless beside the sofa.

Her joint Damage Degree is still flashing in the backstage data; the current status is that only her head and right hand remain movable.

She turns her head to look at Heimu's slowly approaching silhouette toward Xi Lian, and silently lights a candle for Xi Lian in her heart.

Wishing her good luck.

The system quickly scans the backend database and retrieves all predictive models of Heimu's current suppression index on behavior patterns.

All models point to the same conclusion: it will not become extreme enough to start tearing people apart.

At most, it will just make the opponent blush.

She logs this conclusion, then continues to push the residual influence removal process with a blank expression, slower than ever; the progress bar seems stuck to the screen, unable to move at all.

Someone is messing around.

That thought flashes in the system's logical core.

But now is not the time to investigate.

Heimu walks over step by step.

The boot soles land on the carpet, each step silent, but with each step closer, the pressure on Xi Lian's chest grows heavier by a point.

That suppressed, almost solidified aura builds layer by layer as Heimu approaches, making the carriage air thick and scorching.

Xi Lian lowers her head, still apologizing in broken fragments; her voice becomes ever softer and quieter, the final note almost inaudible.

Heimu smells the scent on her, a blend of the fragrant laurel leaves of the mournful Secret Pavilion, the sweet grape blossom honey of the Lost Labyrinth, and the faint milky aroma naturally emitted from the girl's skin.

The scent pours up her nasal passage, then pours a ladle of hot oil onto the suppressed images deep in her consciousness.

She pushes the hat brim down another half‑inch; her face remains expressionless, but the dark‑purple in her eyes is about to spill out of her sockets.

Xi Lian's words finally stop.

Because she sees Heimu's boots.

Black thigh‑high boots, the toe of the boot stopping less than three inches in front of her own toes.

Then Heimu's thigh, the black silk‑wrapped line showing a semi‑matte texture under the carriage's warm yellow light.

She lifts her head slowly along the thigh, meeting Heimu's face, half hidden by the hat brim's shadow.

The dark‑purple eyes are bottomless, the gaze burning as it looks at her.

The three‑dimensional white skull accessory on the black matte neck strap is within arm's reach, glimmering a forest‑cold sheen in the shadows.

Xi Lian's apology gets stuck in her throat; not a single word can come out.

Her eyes widen more and more, the blue rhombus pupils reflecting that face ever clearer.

Silence.

Too quiet.

The whole carriage is left only with her own breathing and the aura emanating from Heimu, which is completely different from his usual calm, restrained pressure wrapped in a faint aloofness; this is heavy, scorching, a terrifying power that, once unleashed from extreme suppression, could engulf the entire world.

Her instinct screams for her to run, but her legs won't obey.

Heimu lifts his right hand.

Reaching toward her face.

Xi Lian's eyes snap shut.

Her eyelashes press tightly under her eyes, shoulders hunch, both hands clench into fists against her chest, her whole face contorted into an expression awaiting a blow.

She is scared.

She doesn't know what the lady intends to do.

The lady has never been angry with her, never looked at her with that kind of gaze.

That gaze, more terrifying than Rage, seems to want to peel her from head to toe to see everything beneath each inch of skin.

A hand gently rests on her crown.

The temperature is scorching.

Hotter than any usual touch on the head.

Little Xi Lian trembles.

Her tightly closed eyes open a sliver, and through the gap between her lashes she sees Heimu's chest; because she is bowing, the tip of her nose is only a palm's length from his chest.

Heimu leans forward, his hat brim touching Xi Lian's bangs, the distance between them shrinking to an extremely dangerous intimate proximity.

Xi Lian can feel Heimu's breath sweeping over her earlobes, scorching and suppressed, carrying a low rumble forced Lock deep in his throat.

Then Heimu's lips pressed against her ear.

"Rest here for a while."

The voice was so light it was almost a breath; each word seemed to be forced out of the throat only after exhausting all Reason String, wrapped in scorching heat, pouring straight into Xi Lian's ear.

In that instant, Xi Lian's ear tips turned from pale pink to bright red, and the base of the ear and half of her neck were also stained crimson.

Heimu's fingers gently massaged the pink short hair on her crown, his thumb brushing her temple, the motion slow—so slow as if handling something that could shatter at any moment—"I'll be back soon."

Heimu straightened, withdrew the hand that had been rubbing her hair, and his gaze under the brim lingered on her face for a moment, "Good."

As the whisper fell, Heimu's figure vanished from the spot.

The carriage fell silent again.

Xi Lian stood alone where she had been, keeping the same pose, motionless.

Her eyes were still wide open, lips slightly ajar, and a fine layer of sweat beaded on the tip of her nose.

Her ear still throbbed, the spot on her crown where he had massaged remained numb, and Heimu's final "Good" seemed to stick to her ear, pierce inward, then explode like a tiny firework in her chest.

She slowly raised both hands to cover her flushed face.

Only when her fingertips touched her cheek did she realize how high her body temperature had risen.

Just now— the lady— the lady had been that close, her lips almost pressed to her ear.

She could even feel the shape of Heimu's lips—soft, slightly warm, the sensation as they brushed her ear tip when they moved.

Xi Lian's throat let out a whimper.

She had originally come to apologize.

Now her mind is even more chaotic than when she arrived.