Xiao Yan descended into the underground world.
He landed on a protruding rock, surrounded by an endless sea of churning magma. His gaze followed the wounded Fallen Heart Flame as it slowly sank beneath the crimson surface.
"Teacher." His voice was low. "It's gone into the magma. What should we do?"
"What else?" Yao Lao's deep voice resonated in his mind. "We follow it. That beast has been battered to the brink of collapse—this is its weakest state. Strike while it's wounded."
"Alright."
Xiao Yan prepared to move.
"Wait."
His foot paused.
"Someone is descending from above."
Xiao Yan's brow furrowed.
The Fallen Heart Flame? No—I watched it sink into the magma.
Could it be Tian Ge?
"It is not that Xiao Jietian boy." Yao Lao's tone was contemplative. "But this presence… feels familiar. Let me sense it more carefully…"
Xiao Yan tilted his head upward.
A white figure—accompanied by a whistling wind—rapidly grew larger in his vision.
He recognized the face.
And froze.
Crash—
The figure slammed into him.
He hit the ground. Hard.
"Ow!"
A clear, familiar voice.
And a familiar fragrance.
Nalan Yanran.
Xiao Yan turned his head slightly.
Beautiful features. Flushed cheeks. Wide, startled eyes.
They were pressed together—face to face, chest to chest. Inches apart. Close enough to feel each other's warm breath mingling in the narrow space between them.
The atmosphere shifted.
Subtle. Inexplicable.
Their gazes met, and something like an electric current passed between them—lingering, undeniable.
Xiao Yan's voice was carefully neutral.
"…How much longer do you plan to stay on top of me?"
"Ah? Oh—I'm sorry!"
Nalan Yanran's face ignited.
I'm lying on him. My chest is pressed against his chest. I'm LYING ON HIM.
Her ears burned.
She pushed herself up with both hands—
And her gaze dropped.
Xiao Yan was looking at her.
And something in his expression made her hands go inexplicably weak.
No—
She fell.
Xiao Yan's hands shot up to catch her.
"Mm~!"
A strange sound escaped her lips. Her body went limp.
Her head dropped.
Their lips met.
Both pairs of eyes flew wide.
Panic. Shock. A storm raging in their chests.
This is—
We're—
Nalan Yanran's mind short-circuited.
Her tongue, seemingly of its own accord, extended.
And licked his lower lip.
Xiao Yan felt a moist warmth.
…What.
What is happening.
His brain ceased all higher functions. His heartbeat accelerated—pounding, desperate, threatening to burst through his ribcage.
His hands tightened involuntarily.
"Ah!"
Nalan Yanran gasped.
She scrambled upright.
Xiao Yan stared at her, utterly bewildered.
She was frantically smoothing her skirt—dishevelled from her "fall."
His gaze drifted downward.
…Handprints.
Two faint handprints.
On her skirt.
In that location.
His mind replayed the sensation. The softness. The warmth.
Oh no.
I put my hands where they should not have been.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" His voice was rushed, apologetic, mortified. "I didn't mean to—the situation was urgent—you understand—I—"
He rubbed his nose awkwardly with his finger.
Nalan Yanran's mortification transmuted.
He's… smelling his finger.
The finger that touched—
THAT finger.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
Her voice was volcanic.
Xiao Yan blinked.
…What am I doing?
Apologizing?
Is my apology not sufficiently sincere?
He bowed immediately—ninety degrees, absolute deference.
"I'm sorry! It was my fault! You may retaliate however you wish! If you wish to strike me, I will not resist!"
Yao Lao, watching from the ring:
…If you wish to retaliate against him, give him eight sons.
Then beat his sons every day.
He recalled Xiao Jietian's casual joke—spoken lightly, yet somehow prescient.
Xiao Yan, troubled by eight children, standing silently in the corner while Nalan Yanran beats his sons, not daring to speak…
After beating the sons, you can't beat me.
His smile became harder to suppress than an AK-47.
Nalan Yanran heard his apology.
He's apologizing for smelling his finger.
He knows it was wrong.
He's truly sorry.
Her indignation softened.
My charm is still quite considerable. Fortunately, my assets are also substantial—enough to make him secretly reminisce.
As expected, his previous coldness was merely an act.
Hmph, hmph.
"Then… I forgive you." Her voice was soft, her face still flushed. "Do not do such a thing again."
She forced herself to endure the shyness. She could not meet his gaze.
"Yes, yes, yes! Thank you for your magnanimity! It will never happen again!"
Xiao Yan's response was rapid, flattering, utterly flustered.
One was sincerely apologizing.
The other had never been truly angry.
In a haze of mutual misunderstanding, their conversation concluded.
Nalan Yanran studied him.
This Xiao Yan—so different from before. Flustered. Awkward. Endearing.
She found it amusing.
And, perhaps, a little sweet.