Comparing Dogs to Dogs, the Salacious Thoughts in Xiao Li's Mind (Updated)

Alright, asking was probably pointless—when it came to unreliability, Master had always been reliably consistent.

Li Mo turned his gaze to the stage, adorned with intricate carvings of dragons and phoenixes, where ethereal melodies drifted through the air.

Wanchunting, the extravagant pleasure den nestled at the feet of the Son of Heaven, was already a gathering place for the nobility and the wealthy. Now, paired with the celestial music of the Penglai Sect and the seductive dances of Tu Yan and Hua Nongying from the Hehuan Sect, the atmosphere grew even more intoxicating.

It was... high society steeped in debauchery, a vibe that was downright lethal.

Yet, young Li Mo yawned. They were only rehearsing the first performance, and he was already bored. His mind abruptly conjured an image of the ice block—Ying Bing—earnestly teaching him martial arts.

So, even though Li Mo wasn’t paying the slightest attention to the show, his expression remained one of deep, feigned immersion.

Before long, Song Baiyue and a group of officials from the Ministry of Rites arrived.

"Brother Li, who is this?"

Minister Song greeted him, then asked curiously.

He was surprised that the person sitting beside Li Mo wasn’t the Frost Fairy.

"My master."

"Ah, so this is your master! A pleasure, a pleasure!"

Song Baiyue offered a polite greeting.

Shang Wu responded with a rather impolite yawn.

Li Mo cleared his throat, steering Minister Song’s attention back to the stage. As everyone knew, his master had long harbored rebellious ambitions—often fantasizing about him becoming emperor while she played the role of retired sovereign, with Elder Han He as crown prince.

Moreover, aside from her sole devotion to him—her sole provider—she was famously egalitarian toward all living beings.

If she decided to beat someone up, the victim could only console themselves by pretending they’d been bitten by a dog.

"Ah, Brother Li, I’ve always trusted your judgment."

Song Baiyue chuckled warmly. "Here, let me toast you."

As he reached for the wine jug—

"Grrrrrrr..."

Song Baiyue: "?"

What was that growling sound?

Li Mo: "..."

Turning his head, he saw his beautiful master baring her teeth, her expression downright ferocious as she glared at Song Baiyue.

How ferocious?

The colleagues and guards Song Baiyue had brought instinctively took two steps back, shielding themselves behind their superior.

"Ahem, this is Minister Song, the Great Yu’s Minister of Revenue and a renowned figure in literary circles."

Li Mo blinked, then produced another jug of wine.

"Minister Song is a scholar—he can’t drink much anyway. It wouldn’t even fill the gaps between your teeth, Master. Surely you can spare a cup or two..."

"Tch, I suppose."

Shang Wu gave Song Baiyue a once-over, reluctantly granting her precious disciple some face.

"Hey—!"

Song Baiyue drew out the syllable, abruptly standing up with wide eyes.

"What nonsense is this? In my youth, I was known as the ‘Wine Madman’! I could compose a hundred poems in a single drinking session! Brother Li, didn’t you praise my bottomless capacity last time? What’s the meaning of this? What meaning is this?!"

The truth was, Song Baiyue hadn’t touched a drop since their last meeting.

Fearing that alcohol might interfere with his duties during the grand Flower Festival, he’d abstained for days.

Now, with the music, the dancing, and his colleagues’ constant praise of his drinking prowess, being looked down upon by a woman as if he were some lightweight—

Could Minister Song tolerate this?

Li Mo: "..."

He couldn’t bring himself to tell Song Baiyue that his "drunken praise" last time had been pure acting—devoid of sincerity—because he’d just wanted to go home and sleep with the ice block.

Shang Wu waved a disinterested hand. "For my disciple’s sake, I’ll spare you today."

"Thank—wait, that’s my line!" Song Baiyue shot to his feet. "If anyone’s sparing anyone, it should be me sparing you!"

"Oh? And what do you propose?" Shang Wu frowned.

"I challenge you to a drinking contest! The loser barks like a dog!" Song Baiyue rolled up his sleeves, fully succumbing to the first principle of the Brawler’s Creed.

Li Mo’s forehead creased with exasperation.

Really, Minister Song? Competing with a dog to see who’s more dog-like? Why torture yourself?

"Heh... Hahahaha!"

Shang Wu’s laughter started small but quickly escalated, her grin turning wild as she slammed a hand on the table.

"Fine! I’ll give you this chance. Lose, and from now on, every time you see me, you’ll call me ‘Grandpa’!"

"What kind of nonsense is this? This is chaos!"

Li Mo was utterly bewildered.

He and Song Baiyue were sworn brothers. If Song lost and had to call his master "Grandpa"...

Wait, no—scratch the "if."

How would they even address each other after this? His master called him "precious disciple," while he called her "Great-Grandma"? And they were drinking his wine?! So no matter what, he was the one getting shortchanged?!

"How does this work?" Elder Han He chimed in, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

"You’d have to call Master ‘Ancestral Grandma.’" Li Mo explained.

"Excuse me?!"

Elder Han He’s beard bristled as he drew out his words. "How did I get dragged into this?!"

He was the eldest at the table, with his snow-white hair and beard—now he’d be the lowest in seniority?!

But what could he do? He was the crown prince, after all.

So, Minister Song and the beautiful master began their drinking duel.

Young Li Mo and Elder Han He debated their familial hierarchy.

The entire audience’s attention shifted to them, to the point where the dazzling performances of the Flower Festival were completely ignored in favor of their antics.

The performers: "..."

Amidst the music, they stood there in utter confusion, their minds filled with existential questions: Who am I? Where am I? Why am I here? Should we just leave?

"Pfft..."

Upstairs, leaning against the railing, Ying Bing’s eyes sparkled like autumn water as she failed to suppress a laugh.

A pity that this fleeting thaw went unseen—had anyone witnessed it, even the most radiant flowers would pale in comparison, and the performances would’ve lost their last remaining audience.

It wasn’t that she was deliberately avoiding the commotion. Being by his side was enough.

But...

Ying Bing lifted her head.

Wanchunting’s central atrium design allowed a clear view of the moon at its zenith.

It was almost midnight.

Time to draw a new reward—no, punishment.

When the moon reached the center of the sky, at the peak of lunar energy...

Ying Bing retreated to her room, just as the system’s prompt chimed:

[Congratulations, Host. The next system ranking is approaching, and the system has screened all available punishments.]

"Screened?"

Ying Bing reclined against the soft couch, her slender legs—ivory pillars under the moonlight—crossed elegantly.

To an outsider, unaware of her circumstances, the scene might’ve resembled the breathtaking beauty of the Moon Palace itself.

She pinched the head of the oversized doll, her lips pressing together as she recalled the contents of his mind.

What was there to screen?

[Last time, the system realized that certain punishments no longer serve their purpose for you, as you’ve begun treating them as rewards. Thus, those have been removed.]

[However, a select few have been retained—so you’ll always remember which ones originated from Li Mo’s imagination...]