But she was too confident.
Overconfidence, however, often bordered on arrogance.
She had underestimated Qing Xinxue’s desire, which had been suppressed to its absolute limit.
She underestimated her own importance in Qing Xinxue’s life.
And she had gravely underestimated Qing Xinxue’s courage.
“Next time? No… I don’t want a next time.”
Qing Xinxue was absolutely certain that if there was a next time, she would no longer be Senior Sister Cheng’s first woman!
Even if this act angered Senior Sister Cheng, she no longer cared.
Everything, under the surge of desire, seemed utterly powerless.
In fact, she was even thinking, ‘Afterward, I’ll just lock Senior Sister Cheng away, and she’ll belong only to me.’
“Senior Sister Cheng…”
“What is it?”
No sooner had Lan Yucheng turned around than Qing Xinxue’s kiss met her lips.
“Mmgh!?”
Lan Yucheng bit her lip, forcefully pushed her away, and sternly rebuked, “Qing Xinxue! You’re insane! If you do this again, don’t even think about staying by my side anymore!”
“Later… later, I’ll just lock Senior Sister Cheng away…”
Qing Xinxue pulled out a fruit knife from somewhere, wiped the blood from her lips, and stared at Lan Yucheng with bloodshot eyes.
“…You need to calm down first…”
Lan Yucheng had finally lost her usual calm and composed demeanor.
“So, do you want me to make the first move? Or…”
“…You do it.”
As if foreseeing her own fate, Lan Yucheng deliberately moved closer to her.
Lan Yucheng’s simple phrase, “You do it,” was like a decree, yet also like a thunderclap. It shattered Qing Xinxue’s last shred of wavering sanity and completely overturned the seemingly stable power dynamic that Lan Yucheng had meticulously constructed between them.
The air was thick with the scent of blood, moisture, and a dangerous, volatile silence.
The fruit knife in Qing Xinxue’s hand clattered to the floor with a harsh clang, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Like a young beast that had finally cornered its prey, she approached, trembling, with a mixture of extreme yearning, desperate madness, and a hint of fear she herself hadn’t detected.
Lan Yucheng closed her eyes, no longer able to look at those eyes burning with destructive desire.
She cast herself into a sensory void, attempting to use absolute reason to sever herself from everything about to unfold.
She told herself it was a necessary sacrifice, for a greater strategic goal, the price to stabilize this variable teetering on the brink of collapse.
However, when Qing Xinxue’s cold, trembling fingertips, with a devotion that bordered on sacrilege, touched the edge of her bath towel, the unfamiliar sensation of being utterly controlled, of being engulfed by a tide of desire, made her shiver uncontrollably.
She instinctively wanted to curl up, to resist, but her body was pinned in place by a deeper, almost resigned sense of powerlessness.
Qing Xinxue’s actions were clumsy, even awkward, yet imbued with an undeniable, desperate resolve.
Every touch seemed to confirm ownership, carrying a scorching heat and a subtle, uncontrollable tremor.
She was like someone exploring a lost and found treasure of unparalleled beauty, both afraid of breaking it and greedily wanting to leave her own mark.
She could feel Lan Yucheng’s stiffness and forbearance beneath her, which stung her heart like needles, stirring immense guilt and unease.
She knew she was making a mistake, trampling over Senior Sister Cheng’s bottom line, pushing their relationship into an abyss of no return.
“I’m sorry… Senior Sister Cheng…”
She buried her face in Lan Yucheng’s neck, hot tears dripping onto the other’s cool skin, her voice choked and broken.
“But I… I can’t help it… I don’t want a next time… I don’t…”
Her apology sharply contradicted her actions; her guilt, far from stopping her, transformed into a deeper drive to fill the gaping black hole of her inner panic through possession.
She continued clumsily, stubbornly, as if only through this ultimate intimacy could she confirm she hadn’t been abandoned, only then could she firmly lock this precarious light by her side.
Lan Yucheng bit down hard on her lower lip, locking all impending sounds deep in her throat.
She felt like a small boat lost in a storm, tossed up and down by Qing Xinxue’s tumultuous emotional waves.
Reason told her she should be angry, she should resist, she should immediately put an end to this absurd farce.
But…
Under the increasingly strong, unfamiliar, and intense sensory impacts, amidst the desperate sobs and persistent touches, a hidden tremor, one she herself was unwilling to admit, quietly burst open in the depths of her cold heart, like bubbles surfacing in a deep sea.
It was a twisted sense of satisfaction, of being needed, of being desired to the extreme.
She had always played the role of controller, of feeder, calmly dispensing ‘rewards’ and ‘punishments.’
But at this moment, the roles were abruptly reversed; she had become the object of desire, of demand, even of ‘devourment.’
This complete, undeniable surrender unexpectedly touched a hidden corner deep within her, one she hadn’t even realized existed, about ‘existence’ and ‘being needed.’
This feeling was fleeting, so quick she thought it a delusion, immediately overshadowed by a stronger sense of loss of control and the frustration of strategic failure.
For Qing Xinxue, the entire process was like walking a tightrope between guilt and extreme pleasure.
She reveled in this longed-for intimacy, yet was tormented every moment by the fear that ‘Senior Sister Cheng will hate me.’
Her satisfaction was like drinking poison to quench thirst, bringing a searing pain that scorched her insides.
For Lan Yucheng, it was more like a punishment where her soul was forcibly stripped bare.
Her body surged and fell with the unfamiliar tide, but her heart remained a cold, barren wasteland.
She clearly recognized that she had underestimated the variable’s power; her supposed control was so fragile in the face of pure, irrational, destructive love and desire.
When everything finally settled into calm.
Qing Xinxue, like a young beast drained of all strength, curled up beside Lan Yucheng, tear stains still on her cheeks, her fingers still tightly clutching a strand of Lan Yucheng’s hair, as if it were her only connection to the world.
Her heart was filled with a bloated, almost painful satisfaction, and a deeper, heavier fear for the future.
Lan Yucheng did not push her away, but lay quietly, staring at the ceiling.
Her eyes held none of the usual calculation and calmness, only a deep, almost nihilistic exhaustion, and a hint of bewilderment she herself couldn’t define.
She thought she was taming a wild beast, but she never imagined that the beast’s fangs had long since pressed against her throat.
And more terrifyingly, for a fleeting moment, she seemed… not to resist the sensation of those fangs.