9. The Veil of Mist

Xie Wuji looked down and, good heavens, that little tiger was truly despicable, cunning, and deceitful—and it had chosen its spot well. It had actually driven its venomous barb into Song Xiaoyu’s lower abdomen. Through the pale skirt, blood had already begun to seep, but it was black, acrid blood, giving off a pungent, stinging odor.

“Don’t worry about me... I...” Song Xiaoyu’s words were slurred.

“I—I’ll suck the poison out for you!” Xie Wuji exclaimed in a panic.

The moment she heard this, Song Xiaoyu felt completely flustered. There was nothing particularly wrong with having the poison sucked out, but the place she’d been stung by the scorpion-tailed tiger was mortifyingly awkward!

She bit her lip, both embarrassed and angry. “Brother Wuji, you’re such a scoundrel! Are you trying to take advantage of me on purpose?”

“Don’t say that!” Xie Wuji replied. “If I don’t draw out the poison and carry you back to the village now, it’ll take two hours—by the time we get there, you might... it could be too late.”

“But...” Song Xiaoyu felt as if she wanted to die, yet her feelings were complicated. If anyone else tried to suck out the poison, she would rather die than let them. But if it was Xie Wuji...

The more she thought about it, the more her cheeks burned. She wasn’t a noble lady from the city, with layers of self-imposed etiquette, but she was still an untouched maiden. Her ear had once been touched by a stranger, but she’d chalked that up to a beautiful misunderstanding. But now, if she let Xie Wuji draw the poison from her abdomen—wouldn’t that be...

Her embarrassment ran so deep the base of her neck flushed red. If not for the pallor of her poisoned face, her shame would have been even more pronounced.

She looked at Xie Wuji, then at the snarling little tiger cub, and her heart was a tangled mess.

“You—cover your eyes!” Song Xiaoyu said, pulling a silk kerchief from her bosom.

Xie Wuji sighed inwardly. He was already twenty-eight—there was little he hadn’t seen. Still, it was only natural for the young girl to feel shy.

He placed the silk kerchief over his eyes.

Seeing him do so, Song Xiaoyu breathed a little easier. If he couldn’t see her, she could relax a bit.

But she had no idea that Xie Wuji’s heart was pounding out of his chest. The kerchief was made of real silk—so thin it was like a cicada’s wing. Even folded twice, he could still see everything clearly!

Xie Wuji dared not confess this; he was afraid Song Xiaoyu would kill him. Yet, right before his wide-open eyes, Song Xiaoyu began to undo the buttons of her skirt.

He felt his head spin—if this went on, something was bound to happen.

He could already see her collarbones—delicately carved, perfectly shaped, and the skin around her neck was as lustrous as mutton-fat jade, tinged with rosy warmth.

Song Xiaoyu glanced at him. “Brother Wuji, are you having a hard time?”

“No, it’s just that this blindfold is so dark, I’m a little afraid of the dark,” Xie Wuji fibbed.

She stifled a laugh, but lacked the strength to truly smile, so her expression resembled Lin Daiyu from “Dream of the Red Chamber”—a fragile, sickly beauty that left Xie Wuji momentarily entranced.

Song Xiaoyu hesitated, but undid all the buttons. Underneath, her pale blue undergarment was embroidered with a blooming lotus—beautifully and exquisitely crafted.

Xie Wuji had seen many people’s skin and collarbones—though mostly on computers or television, where the so-called goddesses’ collarbones always seemed so ethereal.

But Song Xiaoyu’s were not only delicate, but possessed the rare scent of a maiden. That likely came from the era’s similarity to ancient China, where women were reserved and modest in matters of affection.

Her current posture and exposed skin had already awakened a hungry longing in Xie Wuji’s heart.

Song Xiaoyu did not remove her undergarment, but rolled up a corner beneath it. She bit her lip, wanting to speak, then mustered her courage and said, “Come here...”

That invitation nearly undid Xie Wuji, but he managed to swallow and lean in.

The moment his lips touched the wound, Song Xiaoyu squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed his shoulder, as if words were about to burst from her throat. She bit down hard, refusing to utter a sound.

Her grip tightened so much that her nails dug into Xie Wuji’s shoulder.

For a while, Song Xiaoyu’s body writhed like a water snake. When Xie Wuji had finally sucked all the bitter blood from her wound, she let go, gasping for breath.

“Ah... ah... ah...”

Sweat had drenched her undergarment.

Seeing the marks on Xie Wuji’s shoulder, Song Xiaoyu’s heart ached. “Brother Wuji, I’m so sorry!”

She already felt much better.

But just as she leaned forward, Xie Wuji’s blindfold slipped off, and the two stared at each other, wide-eyed—the moment thick with embarrassment.

“Ah! Brother Wuji, you big scoundrel!”

She tried to push him away, but then a mournful cry caught her attention.

The scorpion-tailed tiger was dying. Lying on its side, panting, its clouded eyes fixed on its cub.

“Meow...” The cub’s cry, so much like a kitten’s, cut straight to the heart.

Xie Wuji hurriedly took a flask of aged wine from his bracelet and rinsed his mouth vigorously. The scene had been stimulating, but he had no desire to swallow the venomous blood, so he braved the burning alcohol to cleanse his mouth and teeth.

Song Xiaoyu’s lips were still pale—after all, the poison could never be entirely removed—but she was clearly much improved. With a couple days’ rest, she would recover.

“Wuuu...” The dying tiger let out a low growl, looking from Song Xiaoyu to its cub.

Song Xiaoyu suddenly remembered the day she parted from her mother, and tears streamed down her face. Shaking her head, she said, “Are you asking me not to blame your child? Don’t worry, I won’t... Your baby just wanted to protect you, and mistook me for an enemy...”

The great cat’s head lolled to the side, its chest still faintly rising and falling.

It licked its cub, then, mustering its final strength, let out a roar at the little one.

The cub was reluctant, still wanting to burrow into its mother’s side, but under her insistence, it whined a few times, then crept into the forest, glancing back at its mother with every step.

“She’s sending her child into the forest, to fend for itself...” Witnessing this, Xie Wuji felt a pang in his heart and sighed, not knowing what to say.

At that moment, the dying tiger arched its back, as if trying to expel something. From its throat, it coughed up a fist-sized, pale yellow orb.

“That’s... the scorpion-tailed tiger’s demon spirit?” Song Xiaoyu gasped.

The tiger gave her one last deep look, then collapsed, her body utterly lifeless.

“She’s thanking you for saving her cub. Now that she knows she can’t survive, she’s given you her demon spirit as a last gift,” Xie Wuji explained.

Song Xiaoyu cradled the demon orb, her tears blurring her vision.

Meanwhile, Xie Wuji was muttering inwardly; when he’d absorbed the phoenix’s demon spirit, it had gone straight into his...

He dared not dwell on it—the image was too vivid, too scorching for the eyes. He wondered, would Song Xiaoyu have to...

He knew a few things about demon spirits. A new one could replace an old one; if you’d absorbed a small animal’s spirit before, absorbing the scorpion-tailed tiger’s spirit would erase the previous one.

And since the tiger had offered it willingly, the spirit’s purity would be exceptionally high—a rare opportunity for Song Xiaoyu.

Absorbing such a spirit would grant her significant cultivation, perhaps even special abilities.

As for Xie Wuji, he sensed that the phoenix had bestowed a special power upon him, though he had yet to awaken it; he would need to continue practicing the phoenix’s art to do so.

“I’ll stand guard. Absorb it quickly,” Xie Wuji said.

Song Xiaoyu’s gaze turned resolute. “I won’t let her down. I swear it.”