Drunken Misconduct?

Nearing Dusk—
The inn Chen Xueli mentioned was Xiangping Town’s famed hot-spring inn, located in the night market district.

Not far—just half an incense stick’s walk.

At her disciple’s insistent request, Su Wanqing was led by the hand—fingers interlaced—all the way.
In the brothel, under clouded mind, it felt nothing.

But now, in public? She felt unnaturally stiff.
Chen Xueli concealed their auras; passersby paid little heed.

Their intimacy was seen merely as sisterly affection.

“Alright, rebel—what torment now?”
Back in Chen Xueli’s room, Su Wanqing collapsed onto the bed in surrender, eyes closed, envisioning her first blood taken.
The rebel had said “serve”—her intent obvious. Today, Su Wanqing would fall completely.

“Tch—”
The thought deepened her flush from the hand-holding journey.
A glance at her arm—the vivid red betrayed her racing heart.

What would losing purity do to her mind? Would her charm become uncontrollable?
Regardless, to Chen Xueli, she was always a lamb for slaughter.

Without momentary mercy, she’d be nothing.
Her guarded chastity was about to vanish.

She knew this day would come—sooner or later.
Little resistance—just unwilling powerlessness against the rebel.

“Master misunderstands again. ‘Serve’ isn’t what you think.”
“I said one day you’ll be willing.”

“Then you…”

Su Wanqing sat up, eyeing Chen Xueli.
She noticed the steaming dishes on the table—speechless at the ploy.

Chen Xueli hadn’t eaten in three years—why this feast?
Freshly delivered—under five minutes.

“Come, eat together.”

“…”
Su Wanqing sat opposite without refusal.
She lifted a bite but didn’t taste—suspicious.

Chen Xueli saw the doubt, assuring helplessly:

“Relax—just normal food, no poison.”

“You… what’s this about?”
The rebel’s odd behavior left Su Wanqing paranoid.

“Consider it jealousy.”
“You drank with those vixens—why not with me?”
“We’ve never shared wine.”
“How could I not mind?”

“Nóu—”

Chen Xueli produced a jar from her storage bag, waving it proudly:

“Top-quality brew—try?”

“You… drinking?”
“Sure?”

Su Wanqing was stunned—like a mouse chasing a cat, or an armed man fleeing a rabbit.

Not that Chen Xueli abstained—but her tolerance was abysmal.
Proposing drinks? Suicide.

“Why not?”

“Forget it.”

Seeing seriousness, Su Wanqing refused—but Chen Xueli pressed, coercing sweetly.

“If Master wants me to act, just leave.”
“Think: sober, would I let you go?”
“Tonight we share the bed—I’ll touch, take advantage, eat tofu. Don’t blame me.”

“Really?”

Su Wanqing was speechless at the bizarre logic, returning to her seat.

Drinking? She feared no one.

“Of course—he who does anything with you, I’ll envy.”

Chen Xueli knew today’s conditioning was enough—more would backfire.

This eased tension—mostly pettiness and jealousy.

Su Wanqing soon spotted the flaw, teasing:

“So if someone slaps me, you’ll copy?”

“Of course not—I’d chop their limbs, feed them to pigs.”

Chen Xueli spoke horrors calmly, pouring Su Wanqing a cup—she intended to down it.

But Chen Xueli intercepted, seizing the cup.

“Hey—forgot how those vixens fed you?”
“They did it; I must too.”

She sat beside; Su Wanqing didn’t refuse, guessing the intent.

A few forced cups? Trivial to her tolerance.

This lightweight’s record was three cups—pre-drinks were warm-up.

Unbeknownst: Chen Xueli meant literal “mouth-fed” wine.

“Just as…?”

Before finishing, Chen Xueli downed the cup, holding it in her mouth.

Before reaction, she tilted Su Wanqing’s chin, pouring from above.

“Mmm…”

Fine wine—but the person? Questionable.

Spicy entry, rich aftertaste.

Odd mouthfeel—perhaps Chen Xueli’s doing.

Her bitten tongue stung on contact.

Rich flavors, but mostly complaints at the rebel’s audacity.

Again—hadn’t biting hurt enough?

Considering wounds, Su Wanqing allowed it despite anger.

No bite—but pushed away after swallowing.

“Enough—one mouth tops five cups.”

Chen Xueli wisely stopped, wiping spillover, returning to her seat.

“Tasty?”

“Tch—shameless.”

Su Wanqing wiped her mouth and neck-trickled wine, scolding without answer.

Expected restraint—underestimated the rebel’s shamelessness.

“No answer means yes?”
“If Master wants more ‘imported’ wine, I’ll oblige.”
Facing rebuke, Chen Xueli smiled carefree, as if praised.

“To you.”

She poured again, raising her cup for a toast.

“…”

Su Wanqing eyed the used cup—wanted a new one, none available—compromised.

Little talk: mission updates on demons, old sect stories.

Mostly Chen Xueli asking—Su Wanqing, as transmigrator, needed no details.

“Mas—ter…”

Thud!

Half-jar in, Chen Xueli collapsed face-down.

Face flushed, drooling gracelessly—out cold.

Su Wanqing, mildly pink, unaffected.

“Heh~ Progress.”

Seeing the rebel unresponsive, Su Wanqing smiled genuinely for the first time all day—gentle, uncold.

Her relaxed self, alone.

“…”

To not waste, she finished the jar.

Three-cup past; this was improvement.

To avoid table-sleep, she carried Chen Xueli to bed.

How long since last hugging her thus?

Pre-collapse actions loosened clothes—collar revealed undergarments.

“Avert eyes, avert eyes.”

Unlike Chen Xueli, Su Wanqing turned to leave, seeking new inn.

Rooms full—else share with rebel.

But first…

“Strong scent…”

She sniffed—booze and brothel rouge.

Needed thorough washing.

Normal inns lacked baths—this one’s fame: private hot springs per room.

Perfect to cleanse and change.

Hesitation…

“…”

Glanced at Chen Xueli—three thoughts.

Drunk senseless—won’t wake; scent unbearable—she stripped, entered the spring.

But as she began washing, a tipsy Chen Xueli stumbled in like a cat scenting fish?!