The Maiden and the Tree Demon

The moonlight was frigid, the forest utterly silent save for a few echoing bird calls that stirred a sense of unease.

A cluster of trees stood sentinel, their eerie canopies absorbing the moonlight, casting the immediate area into an impenetrable darkness.

Amidst a faint rustling, vines from the tree descended, gently lifting the unconscious maiden into the air.

The vines brushed against her fair skin, leaving faint, reddish indentations.

As she was hoisted higher, the maiden’s long, raven hair cascaded downwards, smooth and flowing like a dark waterfall.

Yet, her wrists were gashed, and fresh blood trickled down, imbuing this delicate beauty with a chilling, eerie quality.

“Mm~” A soft, delicate groan caused the vines to falter, pausing for a fleeting moment.

The surrounding trees swayed rhythmically, their intertwining shadows dancing like conversing specters.

In the dim forest, Su Mo’s eyes fluttered open, his vision blurry as he blinked, watching the ground recede beneath him.

He attempted to rub his eyes, but a sharp tug revealed aching arms, a searing pain radiating from his joints.

A brief analysis brought a startling realization: he had fallen victim to the “transmigration craze,” and was currently suspended by vines.

“‘This is… a tree demon?'” Su Mo exclaimed inwardly, pulling desperately at his bound limbs, yet utterly helpless against the vines’ iron grip.

As he frantically brainstormed a solution, a torrent of memories abruptly surged through his mind, flashing by so rapidly that his eyes glazed over, his capacity for thought momentarily lost.

This body belonged to the young mistress of a cultivation clan, but her family had been annihilated. The original owner, seeing no hope while evading vengeful pursuers and overwhelmed by her precipitous fall from grace, had ultimately chosen to end her own life.

His own name was oddly similar: ‘Su Mo’, only missing the character ‘Ye’.

‘Yes, he was Ye Su Mo from another world, a male given a feminine name.’

‘If anyone asked, it was merely the orphanage director’s peculiar sense of humor; seeing how adorable he was as a child, resembling a little girl, they had bestowed upon him that name.’

His own life had been unremarkable. After leaving the orphanage, he had self-funded his way through medical school, specializing in traditional Chinese herbal medicine.

He had just left the lab late that night, when he cautiously navigated to a website, intending to read ‘Little Imperial Uncle’.

“‘I really shouldn’t have held out any hope for the protagonist of *Little Imperial Uncle*; he’s truly despicable…'” he muttered, a surge of indignant anger filling his chest.

He was particularly incensed by the character Xu Qingzhu, a true gentleman whose life was utterly shattered by the protagonist’s manipulations. Xu Qingzhu had personally brought ruin upon his own family, decimated his sect, and even unwittingly offered his childhood sweetheart to the protagonist, all while remaining utterly grateful to his tormentor.

Later, upon discovering the truth, Xu Qingzhu had sought revenge against the protagonist, only to meet a tragic, resentful end.

‘How utterly tragic!’

Su Mo believed that while Xu Qingzhu’s life was a tragedy, there was still potential for a reversal.

‘If only he hadn’t been such a naive gentleman, so quick to trust others. If only he had discovered his heaven-defying physique earlier—a poison body that grew stronger by consuming toxins—he surely could have turned the tables.’

‘What truly leaves a lasting impression are often those regrettable outcomes that could have been altered with just one crucial step.’

“‘Wait… wasn’t one of the protagonist’s harem members named Su Mo?'” he mused, a flicker of uncertainty in his thoughts.

As he compared the fragmented memories in his mind, a growing sense of panic seized him.

Even being suspended by a tree demon paled in comparison to the sheer terror of transmigrating into *that* novel.

This body, named Su Mo, had suffered the ruin of her family in the book, endured countless humiliations while wandering, and was ultimately absorbed into the protagonist Xiao Yao’s harem.

Her alluring beauty, akin to that of a nine-tailed fox, had even garnered her a minor notoriety in the book’s comment sections.

‘If this was truly the case, then *this* Su Mo’s first humiliation would be…’

“‘B-bondage play?'” Su Mo shivered uncontrollably, his gaze fixed in horrified disbelief on the vines that were slowly tightening, even beginning to creep towards his nether regions.

In this very moment, he realized the vine’s binding possessed a certain “artistic flair”—truly befitting the world of *Little Imperial Uncle*.

His arms were bound high behind his head, and as the vines coiled, they cinched the loose ancient robe tightly, accentuating the two prominent peaks of his chest.

His legs were bound separately, then pulled wide apart, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable.

He initially couldn’t fathom the tree demon’s logic—why bind someone’s legs so wide apart?

Not until he witnessed the earth churning, as thick, gnarled roots emerged and slowly advanced towards him, did the horrifying truth dawn.

“‘That big… I’m g-g-gonna die! I’m going to die!'” Su Mo shrieked, struggling with frantic desperation.

Though he couldn’t discern the tree demon’s face, he had an unsettling sense that it was growing increasingly excited.

It was as if it whispered: ‘The more you struggle, the more thrilled I become!’

“‘No way! I’m a transmigrator, and I haven’t even touched myself yet, and I’m about to lose my virginity!'” Su Mo’s eyes were wide with terror, his face a ghastly white, his lips drained of all color.

All thoughts of defying fate after transmigrating, of brutally beating the scum protagonist, were instantly cast aside.

If, less than five minutes after transmigrating, even his dignity as a man was gone, he couldn’t bear to imagine what his future would hold.

“‘That’s right! The original Su Mo had dismissed others before attempting suicide. If I can attract their attention…'”

The thought ignited a desperate resolve, and he immediately tore open his throat, screaming:

“‘Help me!!! Save me… Mmph mmph…'”

His cries were abruptly cut short as several vines coiled around, sealing his mouth and nose.

A wave of suffocation washed over him, blood rushing to his head. Su Mo’s face flushed crimson, his cheeks a vibrant red, and his half-lidded, alluring eyes seemed to invite illicit thoughts.

His vision began to blur, and in those critical moments, he felt his body grow scorching hot, his skin burning a fiery red.

‘Perhaps it’s just poor blood circulation affecting my judgment?’

“‘I’m going to… die… still thinking… about medicine…'” Su Mo felt a profound sense of powerlessness, realizing this was likely his end.

Tree demons drew spiritual energy from cultivators and absorbed Yin energy from females, and they always preferred to do so while the body was still warm.

How the original “Su Mo” had survived, he neither knew nor had the strength to ponder.

But without a doubt—

“‘Whoever saves me… I am willing to…'”

He couldn’t complete the thought; his mind was shutting down, and images involuntarily flashed before his eyes.

He was experiencing his life’s fleeting ‘carousel of memories’ ahead of schedule.

So many ambitions remained unfulfilled, so many regrets festered in his heart.

Who, in their early twenties, could truly accept such an end?

‘Is this truly how it all ends…?’

****

“‘Slash!'” A flying sword, sharp and swift, cleaved through most of the entangled vines before embedding itself deep within the tree demon’s body.

Azure lightning crackled and flashed, searing the trees black. Unable to withstand the assault any longer, the tree demon finally relinquished its hold, flinging Su Mo downwards.

“…” The weakened man looked up, his gaze fixed on the “heaven-sent” maiden plummeting towards him.

After only a few more exchanges, his spiritual energy completely depleted, he leaned heavily on his long sword, finding even a single step a monumental effort.

“Splat!” She landed squarely, his face breaking her fall.

With the maiden’s posterior firmly planted on his face, the man’s vision swam with darkness, and he frantically slapped the ground with one hand.

As moments passed, his hand grew increasingly weak, until only a few fingers managed a faint tremor.

“‘Cough, cough, cough!'” Su Mo gasped, the air feeling acrid and burning his lungs for the first time.

He gulped down air, his face still flushed, breathless, yet he frantically searched for his savior.

He glanced left and right, seeing charred, broken tree trunks and vines strewn across the ground.

A long sword was embedded in the earth beside him, and following its line downwards, his gaze fell upon a limp arm, its palm loosely holding a few blades of wild grass.

“‘Could it be possible?'” Su Mo muttered weakly, carefully shifting his body.

His eyes trailed downwards, and beneath his posterior, a strikingly handsome male face emerged into view.

Yet, the man’s gaze was hazy, clouded with a mixture of humiliation and resentment.

“‘Oh, damn it!'” Su Mo gasped in alarm, his hand losing its grip and falling squarely onto the man’s chest.

The damp, foul-smelling red garment clung to his hair, and only then did Su Mo realize the man was gravely wounded.

“‘Brother? You weren’t… sat to death by me, were you?'” he inquired cautiously, his gaze darting away from the man’s feeble breaths.

‘What if he had just accidentally sat on and killed his savior? He needed an answer, and fast!’

After another moment, the benefactor seemed to have ceased breathing entirely. Su Mo cautiously extended a finger, placing it beneath the man’s nose.

“‘Brother, you’re quite skilled at holding your breath,’ he chuckled awkwardly.”

Just as he was contemplating finding a suitable spot to bury his benefactor, Su Mo detected a faint, almost imperceptible breath.

“‘Hm?'” He peered down, his eyes locking with the man’s.

They were strikingly indifferent eyes, utterly devoid of emotion, so chilling that a shiver ran down his spine.

In those eyes, he was not a person, but a fragile ant, utterly devoid of worth.

“‘Brother, you…'”

“Slam!”

The man swiftly rolled over, pinning Su Mo beneath him.

The long sword, retrieved at some unknown moment, was now clutched in his hand, its sharp edge pressed against Su Mo’s throat.

Just half an inch separated him from a lethal wound.

Swallowing hard, Su Mo cautiously inquired:

“‘Bro… benefactor, why are you holding a blade to my throat?'”

“‘Silence,’ the man stated flatly. ‘Come back with me. We’re getting married.'”

The man’s voice was utterly devoid of emotion, as if simply stating an undeniable fact.

What Su Mo didn’t know was that this man was precisely the gentleman he had pitied so deeply: Xu Qingzhu.