He turned slightly and pulled a small, gilded incense burner from beneath the low table, lit a stick of incense, and set it upright. Thin blue smoke curled lazily into the air.
"One incense stick is the limit," he said. "Please relax and bathe as you normally would—no need to pose for me."
Liu Erlong let out a soft huff and leaned back against the pool wall once more.
She'd see what kind of trick he was up to.
Dai Chengfeng said nothing further. His gaze dropped to the paper, and the charcoal stick in his hand touched the surface with quiet confidence.
At first, Liu Erlong watched him with skepticism and amusement, glancing over every few moments.
But she noticed how steady and natural his grip was—how his eyes moved fluidly between her and the page, his expression focused, his strokes decisive and unhurried. The charcoal whispered against the paper, smooth and assured.
In mere moments, a faint outline had already taken shape.
A flicker of surprise stirred in Liu Erlong's chest.
This didn't look like a beginner at all.
She straightened slightly—but refused to seem too interested. Instead, she truly did as he asked: relaxed, letting herself sink back into the soothing ritual of the medicinal bath.
Warm water caressed her skin; the crisp, herbal scent of Snow Spirit Orchid filled her senses. She lazily poured water over her shoulders and neck, occasionally sweeping her long hair aside or shifting into a more comfortable position.
Yet she could feel Dai Chengfeng's gaze—steady, unwavering, tracing every subtle movement.
Outwardly calm, Liu Erlong felt her ears grow warmer by the second.
Being watched like this—studied, rendered stroke by stroke—was different from their usual intimacy. It was slower, more meticulous… and far more exposing.
She could almost imagine how she appeared through his eyes: damp hair clinging to her cheeks, skin flushed pink, eyes heavy with post-coital languor and bath-induced relaxation, her bare form half-hidden beneath milky-white water…
"Don't move."
Just as she drifted into that thought and instinctively shifted to avoid his gaze, Dai Chengfeng spoke.
His voice was low—but left no room for argument.
Liu Erlong froze mid-motion and looked at him.
He hadn't lifted his head. His eyes remained fixed on the paper, charcoal moving swiftly, brow furrowed in deep concentration.
"The pose you were just in was perfect," he murmured. "Relax your shoulder a bit more… yes…"
"Tilt your head slightly. Don't look at me—just let your gaze drift naturally to the water."
Liu Erlong bit her lip—and, as if under a spell, obeyed.
Only afterward did she snap back to herself, inwardly annoyed. Why am I listening to him?
But the wager stood. He was the "artist" now—and cooperating wasn't surrender. It was strategy.
She soothed her pride and truly relaxed, her eyes drifting lazily to the white petals floating on the water's surface, her thoughts wandering.
Dai Chengfeng drew quickly.
The soft scratch of charcoal, the whisper of friction—constant, rhythmic.
Occasionally, Liu Erlong glanced over. All she saw was his lowered profile—his expression more serious, more absorbed than she'd ever seen.
This side of Dai Chengfeng felt strangely unfamiliar… yet deeply compelling.
Time flowed in silence.
The incense burned steadily, ash falling grain by grain.
Steam curled around the bath chamber; the herbal fragrance grew richer.
Liu Erlong's body softened completely, her soul power circulating gently under the bath's nourishing warmth. She was nearly asleep.
"Done."
His voice pulled her from the edge of slumber.
She blinked awake. Dai Chengfeng had set down the charcoal and was gently blowing across the paper, dispersing excess powder.
The incense had just burned to its end—the last wisp of smoke dissolving into the air.
"One incense stick. Right on time."
He looked up and smiled at her.
Liu Erlong sat up straighter, sending ripples through the water.
Her eyes fixed on the drawing in his hands—curiosity and doubt tangled in her chest.
"Finished? Let me see."
"Not so fast."
Instead of showing it, Dai Chengfeng flipped the paper facedown on his knee and regarded her with deliberate calm. "First, tell me, Sister—how do you think it turned out? Is it even worth a glance?"
His teasing made her itch with impatience. "I haven't seen it—how can I judge? Dai Chengfeng, stop playing games."
"Then please, take a look."
Only then did he turn the paper toward her with a smile.
Liu Erlong's eyes fell upon the sketch—and for a moment, her phoenix-like eyes widened. Words failed her.
Before her was a monochrome composition of black, white, and gray—yet it pulsed with astonishing life and depth.
The background suggested swirling steam and the textured grain of warm jade—a few deft strokes conveying both atmosphere and materiality.
And at the center—herself.
She reclined sideways against the pool edge, most of her body submerged in milky water, only her rounded shoulders, delicate collarbone, and the elegant curve of her back exposed.
Her wet hair clung to her cheeks and neck, while other strands floated on the surface, blending seamlessly with the water's ripples—soft, fluid, alive.
Her face tilted slightly away, eyelids half-lowered, gaze lost in the drifting petals. Tiny droplets seemed to cling to her long lashes.
Her nose was finely arched; her lips parted just enough to reveal a hint of breath, the corners lifted in the faintest trace of lazy contentment.
The expression captured pure relaxation—tinged with post-intimacy languor and gentle fatigue. It was her most unguarded self.
Beneath the water, her form emerged subtly through reflections and light—warm jade, rippling water, and the play of shadow masterfully outlining the dip of her waist and the swell of her hips.
One arm rested casually on the pool's edge, fingers dangling; the other disappeared underwater, visible only to the wrist.
The rendering of light was exquisite—highlights, shadows, reflections, and cast tones layered with precision, capturing the warmth of jade, the shimmer of water, and the luminous sheen of her skin.
Most striking of all was her expression—as if one could feel her quiet ease, her faint embarrassment, even through the paper.
This wasn't a cold portrait. It was a living moment—imbued with warmth, emotion, and story.
Seven-tenths of her essence? This was far beyond that!
Liu Erlong stared at the image of herself, utterly speechless, heart pounding with awe.
She'd never seen herself from this perspective—never imagined someone could capture not just her appearance, but her very mood at this exact instant.
This wasn't mere likeness. It was as if he'd imprinted her soul onto paper.
"You…"
She looked up at him, eyes clouded with complex emotion. "When did you learn this?"
Dai Chengfeng carefully set the drawing aside to dry, brushed charcoal dust from his hands, and chuckled.
"If I told you it was a skill from a past life, would you believe me, Sister?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Liu Erlong rolled her eyes. "If you don't want to say, fine—but spare me the 'past life' nonsense."
Great. Telling the truth and no one believes you.
Dai Chengfeng just smiled and shrugged.
(He hadn't learned drawing in this life—but in his previous one, as a disciple of a Daoist school, he'd spent years painting talismans. Without solid foundational artistry, how could one inscribe divine sigils?)
"Erlong," he said lightly, "I believe I've won our wager."
Liu Erlong snapped back to the present. Meeting his amused gaze, her initial shock faded—replaced by mild irritation at being outmaneuvered… and the grace to accept defeat.
She huffed and turned her face away. "It's… acceptable. Fine. You win."
"What do you want me to do? Just say it."
But Dai Chengfeng didn't rush to claim his prize.
"I'll need to think carefully," he said slowly, deliberately. "An opportunity to make you promise something doesn't come often. I can't afford to waste it."
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