No Joke

......

The lighting on the third floor had changed from before.

At some point, the candlelight had been dimmed a little, probably by Lin Qingyan with a casual spell.

In her magical treasure, adjusting the brightness of a candle was no more difficult than forming a thought.

The light was murky and subdued, as though veiled by a thin layer of gauze, bathing the entire room in an ambiguous orange glow.

The curtains of the red sandalwood canopy bed had already been lowered. Through the gaps between the half-drawn folds, one could vaguely make out the disheveled bedding and the entwined figures within.

The air was thick with an indescribable atmosphere.

It was neither fragrance nor sweetness, but a scent mingled with body heat, sweat, and something even more private.

It weighed heavily beneath everyone’s nostrils, making each breath feel less than easy.

Luo Zhao sat in a chair beside the bed.

It was a huanghuali-wood armchair, its back carved with intertwined lotus patterns. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the lines smooth and elegant.

But at this moment, she had no mind to admire any of it.

She pressed both hands tightly to her cheeks, as if trying to hide herself.

And yet she could not bear to miss a moment of what was happening, so she left a gap between her fingers.

Through that gap, her eyes remained fixed on the bed without blinking.

Luo Zhao’s face was flushed.

Not merely a faint blush, but a deep red that burned all the way from the base of her neck to her forehead. Even her ears gleamed with a thin sheen of crimson.

It was as though someone had splashed the richest cinnabar across her face, then watched the color slowly spread.

Her entire face had become a scarlet canvas, covered in a painting of emotions too complicated to describe.

Shock, shame, curiosity, nervousness—and excitement.

Luo Zhao’s mouth hung slightly open, forgotten.

At first, she had thought Gu Chengyin was joking.

When Gu Chengyin had said those words, Luo Zhao’s first reaction had been disbelief.

Who was her aunt?

She was Fairy Jingzhe of the Celestial Masters’ Residence, an invincible powerhouse of the Golden Core Realm.

She was Lin Qingyan, whose very footsteps seemed to carry an aura that made all ordinary mortals keep their distance.

Someone like that would cry and beg for mercy?

What a ridiculous joke.

Even if the sky collapsed, the earth caved in, and the sun rose in the west, Lin Qingyan would never cry and beg for mercy.

That was Luo Zhao’s understanding of Lin Qingyan—and everyone else’s as well.

But reality had slapped her hard across the face.

This was no joke.

Gu Chengyin had not been joking.

He had been serious, and he had taken action without leaving room for negotiation.

Luo Zhao had witnessed it with her own eyes: her aunt, Lin Qingyan of the Celestial Masters’ Residence, Fairy Jingzhe, the invincible expert of the Golden Core Realm—

was actually crying and begging for mercy.

It was not the kind of fake crying meant to act coy or coquettish.

These were genuine tears, streaming down without restraint. Her words had become broken and incoherent.

Lin Qingyan’s eyes were red. The tip of her nose was red, and her lips had swollen slightly from biting them so hard.

Her usually cool and aloof beauty was now marked by dishevelment and vulnerability.

She resembled a flower drenched by a violent storm, its petals scattered and battered, no longer able to maintain its former poise.

Her voice came in broken fragments, filled with sobs and trembling, with the unmistakable weakness of someone who truly could not endure any longer.

“Cheng... Cheng, I’m... I’m sorry. I really... really know I was wrong. Please, just let me go!”

Lin Qingyan could barely speak anymore.

Every word had to be forced through clenched teeth, with pauses between them so she could catch her breath; otherwise, she would not be able to get out the next sentence.

Her fingers clutched the sheets beneath her so tightly that her knuckles had turned white, her nails nearly digging into the fabric.

Her body trembled, though not from the cold.

It was the result of something uncontrollable surging up from the deepest part of her body.

Wave after wave, like the tide, crashing against her until her entire body shook.

Even with Luo Zhao watching, even though she had lost all dignity, Lin Qingyan could no longer care.

There was only one thought left in her mind: admit her mistake, beg for mercy, and make Gu Chengyin let her go.

The dignity of a fairy, the image of an aunt—none of it mattered anymore.

What mattered was that she truly could not take it, could not endure it, and was on the verge of breaking down.

If begging for mercy would help, Lin Qingyan would not mind saying a few more apologies, shedding a few more tears, or lowering herself a little further.

Compared to continuing, the price of admitting defeat was utterly insignificant.

Luo Zhao stared in stunned silence.

Her mind buzzed as though ten thousand bees were swarming inside it, making it impossible for her to think.

She could only stare blankly at the scene before her—a scene that had overturned everything she had ever believed.

Lin Qingyan was crying. Lin Qingyan was begging for mercy. Lin Qingyan was saying, “I really know I was wrong.”

Those facts piling on top of one another created a shock no less devastating than a natural disaster.

The statue in Luo Zhao’s heart, engraved with the words “My aunt is invincible,” had been shaken to pieces—crushed into fragments, ground into dust, and scattered by the wind.

How could this be?

Wasn’t Lin Qingyan a Golden Core cultivator?

How could an invincible powerhouse of the Golden Core Realm be bullied into such a state by Gu Chengyin?

Hadn’t she always been powerful?

In Luo Zhao’s memories, Lin Qingyan had always been that lofty and arrogant aunt, looking down on everyone with disdain.

But what about now?

Now her aunt was crying and begging for mercy, crying as she apologized.

She looked like a little girl who had been wronged, with not the slightest trace of Fairy Jingzhe left in her.

And once Gu Chengyin was certain that Lin Qingyan no longer had the strength to resist, his gaze shifted to Shangguan Yunying.

The look was faint—so faint it seemed he was staring at something utterly insignificant.

But Shangguan Yunying understood every bit of the message in it: Your turn.

Shangguan Yunying couldn’t help shuddering.

This wasn’t the kind of shiver caused by cold. It rose from the depths of her bones, an instinctive reaction her body made when confronted with an irresistible force.

Her back went rigid in an instant, and every inch of her skin broke out in fine tremors.

Each hair stood on end. Like a small animal targeted by a predator, her body decided to run before her mind could even catch up.

Shangguan Yunying’s legs moved.

She wanted to flee.

This was the moment in her entire life when she had most wanted to run away.

It wasn’t coyness or embarrassment—it was an instinctive desire to survive.

Shangguan Yunying had even planned out her escape route: from the third floor to the second, from the second to the first, from the first out of the tower, and then sprint all the way back.

She would lock herself in her room, shut the windows, pull the covers over her head, and pretend nothing had ever happened.

But Gu Chengyin gave her no such chance.

His hand shot out and seized Shangguan Yunying’s wrist like an eagle snatching up a chick.

Then Luo Zhao witnessed with her own eyes how her former Chief Lady Official—

the Shangguan Yunying who was poised and measured in court, and effortlessly charming in the Crown Prince’s palace,

the Shangguan Yunying who was always gentle and impeccable—

was utterly powerless.

Compared to Lin Qingyan, Shangguan Yunying’s resistance was practically nonexistent.

At least Lin Qingyan had managed to hold out for a while, lasting until she said, “I’m sorry.”

But Shangguan Yunying?

She hadn’t even lasted a few seconds before her eyes were already rolling back.