The air was thick with the scent of sweat and desire—of hours of sex, rest, and repeat—mingling with the faint fragrance of incense. The only sound breaking the silence was the slow, rhythmic creak of a wooden bed.
Fang Lee sat astride the trembling form of a disheveled girl, her flushed skin glistening in the lantern light. Meng's delicate body quivered, exhaustion weighing down her limbs.
"Young Master, I… I can't keep going… anymore~" she whispered, her voice hoarse and raw.
Fang Lee smirked, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face.
"Nonsense. I know you can—"
Swish!
A blade tore through the paper-thin walls, slicing the air at a speed no normal human could perceive—let alone dodge.
But Fang Lee was no ordinary man.
His instincts flared. In a blur, he shifted, narrowly avoiding the lethal strike. The dagger embedded itself into the wooden bedframe with a sharp thunk!
Before he could react, the chamber door slid open, a gust of cold air whipping through the room.
A girl stood at the threshold. Eyes glistening with unshed tears. Breath heavy with emotion. She wore a flowing green hanfu, its silken fabric shifting with each rapid breath. In her trembling hand, she clutched another dagger—its blade gleaming ominously in the lantern's glow.
"Fang Lee, you bastard!" she cried, voice cracking with betrayal and fury.
She lunged—not at him, but at Meng, still sprawled weakly on the bed.
Fang Lee's eyes flickered with a cold gleam.
Clever.
The attack wasn't meant for him—it was a feint to push him back and create an opening for her true target.
Ting!
Steel met steel as Fang Lee wrenched the embedded dagger from the bedframe and parried her attack mid-air. Sparks flew as their blades clashed.
"Lian Xue?" he murmured, finally recognizing the intruder—his so-called fiancée, within this dream.
He scrutinized her, lips curling in faint disdain.
Compared to even a lowly maid like Meng, Lian Xue's figure was lacking. No curves to speak of. Her features plain next to the breathtaking beauties of the Fang Clan.
His grip on the dagger tightened.
"Lian Xue, what do you think you're doing?" he asked.
She didn't reply.
Her trembling gaze burned into Meng, emotions storming behind her eyes.
Without hesitation, she raised a slender finger, her voice steady—brimming with killing intent.
"Azure Needle Strike."
A pulse of qi crackled through the air as a needle of condensed energy formed at her fingertip. It shot forward like lightning—straight for the defenseless Meng.
Ting!
Metal rang against energy. Fang Lee's dagger intercepted the needle mid-flight, shattering it into harmless sparks.
Annoyance flickered across his face.
With a swift motion, he lashed out with a brutal kick, his bare foot slamming into Lian Xue's midsection, launching her through the delicate paper walls.
Boom!
She tumbled across the wooden floor, knocking over a lantern stand before skidding to a stop.
Fang Lee exhaled sharply, amusement briefly surfacing.
"Ten Sacred Swords."
His inner otaku and Xianxia fan relished moments like this.
Golden qi shimmered above his palm, forming a single glowing sword—then split into ten. Razor-thin blades, each humming with lethal energy, floated around him like celestial instruments of judgment.
He turned to Meng, now trembling as the weight of her near-death experience sank in.
"Get dressed," he ordered, his voice devoid of warmth.
Meng scrambled to obey.
Fang Lee stepped off the bed, eyes already on the broken wall. With slow, deliberate steps, he advanced, qi-forged swords orbiting him like silent sentinels.
Lian Xue's heart pounded like a war drum, her breath ragged as she stood beyond the ruined doorway, dagger clutched so tightly her knuckles turned white. The sight twisted her stomach—Fang Lee, her fiancé, tangled in bed sheets with another woman. A maid.
Betrayal burned through her like molten fire.
"Fang Lee, you bastard!"
She lunged.
But not at him.
She wanted the girl dead.
If she'd struck Fang Lee directly, he'd have been on guard. But by targeting the maid, she forced him to move—forced him to choose.
And just as expected, Fang Lee reacted instantly.
Ting!
His dagger intercepted her blade before his shocked voice followed:
"Lian Xue?"
The way he said her name made something inside her snap. As if she were some distant stranger. As if they weren't bound by a marriage contract. As if she hadn't grown up with the expectation of becoming his wife.
And still—his gaze held no guilt.
Only annoyance.
Her lips trembled. Her fingers tightened around the dagger. She raised her other hand and pointed at the terrified maid.
"Azure Needle Strike."
The words fell from her tongue like a curse. Qi surged like a silent storm. A thin needle of pure azure light formed at her fingertip and launched.
Meng's eyes widened. Her body froze in terror.
It was fast. Too fast to dodge.
But not faster than him.
Ting!
Metal clashed with energy. The glowing needle scattered as Fang Lee's dagger caught it mid-air.
Then—
Thud!
A crashing force slammed into Lian Xue's abdomen. Her breath tore from her lungs as Fang Lee's kick sent her flying backward.
She smashed through the wall—splinters and paper exploded around her—tumbling onto the wooden floor. A sharp pain bloomed in her ribs. Her dagger slipped from numb fingers. She gasped, trying to force air into her lungs.
The faint scent of scorched paper lingered as Fang Lee stepped through the hole, bare feet brushing past debris. Dim lanterns flickered, casting long shadows.
Beyond the broken wall, Lian Xue stood. Battered. Dust-streaked. Torn hanfu, disheveled hair. But her murderous glare remained.
She shifted into a stance.
Shing!
A golden Qi sword zipped forward, halting inches from her brow. A silent warning, humming with restrained lethality.
"Lian Xue, finish that stance and—"
Crack!
Before he could finish, a blazing palm strike exploded from her hands.
A surge of orange Qi blasted forward—hot, unrelenting.
It slammed into the floating sword—
Shatter!
Light burst like a firework. The golden blade fractured into countless sparks—dissolving into the night air.
Fang Lee's gaze sharpened. Surprise flickered across his face.
That sword wasn't ordinary. In his current cultivation realm, one Qi-forged blade could withstand a hundred strikes from a mid-stage Qi Refinement cultivator.
Yet she shattered it in one blow.
A fierce glint burned in her eyes.
Her voice cracked, emotion surging:
"Flickering Candle Palm!"