Chapter 850: Boundless Myriad Blossoms

Ying's hand paused on the hilt, her finger joint stiffened for a moment.

And Kesi Mo was still standing beside the Big Yellow Duck, not yet fully stepping forward; the armored foot had dug a deep pit in the sand, the warm orange visor's pattern ceased its light‑and‑dark shift, and the whole armor seemed suddenly cut off from power.

Heimu lowered the arm that had been crossed over his chest, a flash of glittering light passing through the dark‑purple eyes beneath the brim; he even instinctively rested his thumb on his chin, assuming a standard human spectator pose.

Su's smile froze on her face, as if someone had pressed pause on her with a remote.

Those wine‑rose eyes trembled violently, the lashes flickered twice, the lips still held the curve of a smile, but that curve no longer meant "friendly"—it was the expression of facial muscles locked from extreme terror.

What should I call her?

Sister Su?

Not "May I ask who you are," not "You seem…," not even "Are you…"—but "Sister Su."

It was direct and certain, the tone no different from addressing someone known for years.

But how could they recognize her?

In her current form—female figure, wearing a back‑less swimsuit and flip‑flops—she herself couldn't recognize herself at a glance in the mirror.

Yet the other side looked at her for only a few seconds, tilted their head, and called out the name.

Su's mind went completely blank.

But her mouth kept moving out of habit; since her lips still formed a smile, the voice emerged automatically from that curve.

"... Su...? Who...? Little sister, did you mistake me—"

Ge Lei Xiu shook her head.

The golden hair accessory swayed by her ear as she shook her head, and the ice‑blue tips of her hair brushed her shoulder.

"It's Sister Su."

The tone was exactly the same as before—softly certain.

Su's smile completely collapsed.

She even instinctively stepped back half a pace, her bare heels sinking into a deep hollow in the sand.

The gilded ring on her right thigh struck a metal clasp on the strap as she retreated, emitting a crisp "ding" that rang sharply in the quiet air.

Ge Lei Xiu's lips moved again.

Her light‑purple eyes stared straight at Su, the pupils reflecting the face that oscillated between coolness and panic.

"It's Sister Su."

She said it a third time, as if stating an indisputable fact.

Heimu finally couldn't hold back, using the Witch Hat's brim to shield the lower half of his face, his shoulder trembling silently.

Perspective shift.

Qingque crouched in the innermost corner of the room, curled into a ball like a cat frightened by a cucumber.

Her back pressed hard against the wall corner, knees drawn up to her chest, the crumpled skirt pressed under her legs, the bare foot resting on the dorsum of the other foot, toes whitened from the strain.

She pricked up her ears, listening through the wall to the neighboring noises—the thuds on the floor, the rustle of rummaging a wardrobe, and that voice that made her soul feel like it would fly out, humming an off‑key melody.

Then she heard the door of the next room slam shut with a boom, shaking loose a few clumps of old dust from the cracks in her wall.

Soon after came footsteps in the hallway, pat‑pat, fading as they turned a corner and were swallowed by the hallway's end.

Qingque didn't dare move immediately.

She crouched in the corner, hands covering her mouth, silently counting sixty heartbeats.

Thump thump thump thump thump, each beat striking her throat.

When her heartbeat finally dropped from flight mode to ordinary tension, she slowly released her hands and exhaled the air she had held in her lungs.

"You scared me to death—!"

She lowered her voice, squeezing it out between her teeth.

The palm print on her face still burned; she brushed her cheek with her sleeve, the cuff scorching her skin, making her grimace.

Qingque lowered her head to look at her hand.

The details of that rapid series of motions replayed slowly in her mind; she was lying under the bed when Jing Yuan's voice pressed against the back of her neck, her blood instantly turning to icy shards, then her body sank as if turning into warm liquid, slipping through the wood grain like a fish gliding through water‑grass gaps, silent and undisturbed.

When her consciousness caught up with her body, she found herself lying on the floor of the neighboring room, the wood grain under her palm solid again—firm and icy.

"Boundless Myriad Blossoms."

Qingque silently mouthed the words.

In the dream, the self that stood on a fish's back and duelled with Shuhuo was the one that broke matter into Bubbles and re‑formed it.

That sensation of passing through the floor just now matched exactly the feeling in the dream when turning the jade token into water droplets—warm, wet, slippery—causing the whole world to loosen briefly, letting her slip through the gap.

Qingque spread her hands, palms up, held her breath, desperately recalling in her mind the feeling of twisting all things from the dream.

Her fingertips tingled slightly, as if something in the air was gently vibrating, then—nothing.

There was nothing.

Only a few red imprints pressed by the floor and a thin layer of ash remained on her palm.

"Damn."

She withdrew her fingers and rubbed them on her knee.

Bringing the dream skill into reality, it fizzles after one use—so perfectly aligned with her life's Script: it fails at crucial moments, yet overperforms when goofing off.

If that dream state could output steadily, would she now be terrified enough by a clamping‑tone general to burrow into the floor?

She had long—

Forget it.

Don't think about it.

In this situation, overthinking damages brain cells.

Qingque refocused her attention on the more pressing issue before her.

"General, what on earth is happening?"

Each word bore all her bewilderment and collapse at this moment.

Even though she had just caught a glimpse of him dancing through the door crack, she endured it.

She understood—big pressure, being bottled up for a long time, needing release.

But that throat‑clipped, feminine tone, that string of sticky, cooing questions, has completely exceeded the limits of her understanding!

Could Lord Bai Lu have added something to the medicine?

Of course there is another explanation.

The Jing Yuan in front of her was experiencing something even more absurd than a demonic Yin body, and the whole Dan Ding Office seemed to have no one notice, or rather, noticed but could do nothing.

Qingque leaned against the wall and stood up.

Her thigh was still a bit weak, and the bare foot she had on the floor felt the wooden chill crawling up from the sole, making her a little more alert.

She brushed the dust off her skirt, smoothing the teal ripples, then hunched, reached the doorway, pressed her ear to the door panel and listened for a full ten seconds.

The left corridor, no sound.

The right corridor, also no sound.

She pulled the door open a crack.

The corridor was empty.