Queenie stared into John's eyes, unwilling to back down.
She knew perfectly well that he couldn't actually do anything to her right now, so she leaned in close—deliberately provocative.
Her lips brushed near his ear, her warm breath tickling him, making his entire body tense. He turned his head sharply, locking eyes with her.
Even at such an intimate distance, Queenie's beauty was flawless. Her creamy white skin looked like it had been sculpted from the finest marble. Her long lashes trembled subtly, and her bright, round eyes shimmered like rippling water.
John's face flushed. He quickly averted his gaze to hide it—but unfortunately, his eyes landed squarely on the curve of her chest beneath her nightgown.
Her skin was so pale, so flawless, it dazzled him. Like polished porcelain.
And she knew it.
She didn't move to cover herself. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and smirked.
"Hmph. What's the point of staring?" she sneered. "You can't even touch it, you big eunuch."
Big eunuch?
What the hell?!
John's jaw clenched. Humiliation surged through him—but a second later, he forced a grin onto his face.
"Queenie," he said smoothly, "how about a little game?"
"What kind of game?" she asked warily.
"Cultivation aiding."
Queenie rolled her eyes. "Please. I can last over twenty minutes now. Don't waste my time with this childish stuff."
"Oh really?"
John's grin widened into a wicked smirk. "Then let's raise the stakes. How about... we do it with Kate lying next to us?"
Queenie froze.
"What? No witty comeback this time?" he teased. "Didn't you say you could endure twenty minutes? Then it should be no problem keeping quiet enough not to wake her, right?"
"Well?" he added, baiting her. "What's wrong, Queenie? You scared?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"Scared? You wish! Let's play. I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget!"
John chuckled inwardly. He knew Queenie's pride would never let her back down from a challenge.
She stomped into the bathroom first. When she emerged, she followed him to his room.
"Hush—walk quietly. Don't wake Kate," John whispered.
"Yeah, yeah," Queenie muttered.
They tiptoed into the room like teenagers sneaking around behind their parents' backs. Once they were on the bed, the cultivation aiding began.
Determined not to be outdone, Queenie bit her lip and focused, doing everything in her power to suppress any sound. Kate, asleep on the other side of the bed, remained undisturbed.
Ten minutes passed.
Queenie's breathing was shallow and erratic, but not a single sound escaped her lips.
Fifteen minutes.
That was when Queenie realized why John had been so confident.
Kate stirred. Then she rolled over.
Her hands reached out blindly… and landed squarely on Queenie's chest.
"Oh my god—" Queenie gasped, eyes going wide.
She was on the edge of collapse.
But she still didn't dare make a sound.
When it was all over, Queenie flatly refused to leave John's bed. He had no choice but to retreat to the sofa for the rest of the night.
The next morning.
Kate woke up to find Queenie sleeping beside her. She frowned, confused.
Wait… wasn't I with John last night? Where did he go?
Queenie said nothing. She just kicked Kate out of bed and hurriedly gathered the sheets, tossing them into the washing machine like there was some enormous secret she had to erase before it was discovered.
John, meanwhile, had already left.
He had business in Rochester.
Officially, it was for a guest lecture at Providence University. But in reality, it was an escape. He hadn't slept properly in four nights. If he stayed any longer, his health would collapse.
Better to get some distance from Kate before he completely lost his mind.
At the university, he ran into Emily again.
Poor girl still hadn't succeeded in refining her vital energy. Even John was starting to feel anxious for her.
"Miss Wood, you're wasting your time. Honestly, you should just find a man and get married already," he sighed.
Later that afternoon.
John returned to the River Apartment.
He took a long shower, ready to finally enjoy a full night of uninterrupted sleep.
But the moment he stepped out of the bathroom, he froze.
An alluring beauty was sitting on his living room sofa, watching him with smoldering eyes and a teasing smile.
"John," she purred, "Kate's been hogging you lately. I haven't had a single chance to conduct cultivation aiding with you. But today—today is my turn. I'm not letting you go."
"Get out!" John snapped, slamming the towel against the wall.
Elsewhere, in New York State.
A dim, torch-lit hall.
The air was thick with the stench of blood. In the center stood a black altar, surrounded by large vats brimming with bright red liquid—human blood.
A naked man sat submerged in one of the vats, his body cloaked in a swirling mist of blood.
His voice was a snarl: "Useless fools! You couldn't even capture a little girl! And the tomb keepers! They don't even realize the bishop's tomb was breached!"
"Bring them in. I want them all dead."
"Yes, Bishop!"
Moments later, several terrified men were dragged in by a Grand Protector of the Demonism.
They fell to their knees, trembling. "Please! Please have mercy!"
"Mercy?" the man in the vat growled. "How can I face the old bishop in death if I let traitors like you live?"
He extended one hand. Blood from the vat coalesced into a thin, sharp column.
With a flick, it shot through the air, skewering the men through their chests.
"Drain their blood. Add it to the vats."
"Yes, Bishop!"
Soon after, a man in a black robe entered the hall.
"Bishop, we've located the tomb robber. She's at Greenland Villa in New York."
A slow, perverse smile spread across the Bishop's face.
"Perfect. Take some men and bring her to me."
"I'll make her my maid."