Shen Yu stepped out of the carriage, the wooden steps groaning softly under his weight.
The cool night air rushed to greet him, a sharp, crisp relief after the cloying, scented suffocation of the cabin. But the chill did nothing to dampen the fire raging in his blood.
As he walked toward the sound of rushing water, he adjusted his trousers with a grimace. He was fully, painfully aroused. The phantom sensation of Meng Yan's hand gripping his thigh lingered like a brand, waking the dragon between his legs.
The Primordial Yin-Yang Scripture wasn't helping; it was howling for the Yin energy he had just walked away from, demanding he turn back and claim it.
He took a deep breath, forcing the cultivation instinct down with an iron will.
'I must be careful,' he thought, his golden eyes narrowing in the darkness. 'She is a Golden Core Matriarch. Despite her condition, she is a tigress sleeping on a pile of treasure. She could turn me into meat paste with a casual backhand if she feels threatened.'
Force was suicide. Seduction was a gamble.
He needed to play the long game. He had to be the slow-acting poison that tasted like sweet wine. He would lower her guard, make her comfortable with his touch, and position himself as her only salvation. He wouldn't ask for it; he would wait until the pain of her condition became so unbearable that she begged for it herself.
He pushed the schemes aside and focused on the path.
The Silver Creek lay ahead, cutting through the forest floor. It shimmered like a vein of liquid mercury under the pale, ghostly light of the three moons hanging in the sky.
He reached the water's edge and untied his sash.
The sodden, muddy outer robe fell to the wet stones with a heavy slap. Then went the inner robe, peeling away the filth of the ruined temple. He kicked off his boots and peeled off his trousers.
He stood there for a heartbeat, completely naked under the celestial light.
The body carved by the original Shen Yu's desperation was a masterpiece of biological engineering. There was zero excess fat; every cord of muscle was defined, twitching with latent energy. It was a body built for survival, now inhabited by a soul built for conquest.
Shen Yu stepped into the freezing water. It bit at his skin, shocking his system, but he welcomed it. He scooped up water and began to scrub.
The mud washed away. The grey grime sloughed off his face and hair, dissolving into the current.
As the dirt vanished, his true appearance was finally revealed. His hair, heavy with water, turned from muddy grey to a brilliant, shimmering silver-white. He pushed it back from his forehead, revealing the sharp, aristocratic lines of his face and the piercing gold of his eyes.
He stood up straight, water cascading down his broad chest, glistening on the ridges of his abdomen.
He waded out of the water and stood on the flat river rocks. He looked down at his pile of muddy robes with a frown. He had nothing to dry himself with, and putting those filthy rags back on seemed like a waste.
Crunch.
The sound of a twig snapping echoed in the silence.
Shen Yu's ear twitched.
He turned around slowly.
Meng Yan was standing there. She had followed him.
She froze mid-step, her hazel eyes going wide. She had come to bring him a towel, a rational, polite excuse to check on him. But now, her rationality had evaporated into the night air.
Her gaze started at his silver hair, traced the sharp line of his jaw, moved down his broad chest and the V-line of his hips... and then went lower.
Her breath hitched.
There, standing proud and unashamed, was a massive weapon. It was thick, veined, and unmistakably heavy, a dormant dragon resting in the grass. It was a spear of conquest that seemed far too large, too violent, for a youth of his age.
Meng Yan's jaw went slack. Her cheeks flushed a deep, violent crimson that was visible even in the moonlight.
'Look away!' her mind screamed.
She jerked her head to the side, staring intently at a nearby tree, her heart hammering against her ribs like a war drum.
Shen Yu didn't cover himself. He didn't flinch. He stood there with the absolute, unshakeable arrogance of a man who knew exactly what kind of weapon he wielded.
He let the night air dry his skin, presenting himself like an offering to a starving deity. He saw the violent flush creeping up her neck, the way her fingers convulsed around the white silk in her hand, white knuckles betraying a mind at war with its own desires.
He smirked.
'She likes what she sees,' he thought. 'Good. Let the image burn into her mind.'
"Lady Meng?" he called out, his voice amused, lacking even a shred of embarrassment.
Meng Yan swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet night. She forced her feet to move, approaching him with a gait that attempted her usual floating grace but betrayed a tremor of agitation. She stopped two paces away, her eyes fixed desperately on the curve of his shoulder, refusing to let her gaze drift lower again.
"Young Master Tang," she stammered, thrusting a white silk towel toward him like a shield. "Take this. Dry your body."
She gestured vaguely at the pile of wet fabric on the stones.
"And... since you are without a fresh change of robes, allow me to cleanse and dry these for you. We cannot have you catching a chill."
Shen Yu reached out. As he took the towel, his fingers deliberately brushed against hers, skin to skin.
She flinched as if struck by lightning, a visible shudder running through her frame, yet she didn't pull away immediately. Her hand lingered for a fraction of a second too long, seeking the warmth.
"You are too kind, Senior," he purred, his voice dropping an octave, wrapping around her flustered senses like smoke.
With a jerky wave of her hand, Shen Yu's muddy robes lifted from the ground and floated into her grasp. She turned her back to him immediately, walking toward the water's edge to wash them, putting distance between herself and his nakedness.
Shen Yu began to dry his hair, his eyes narrowed as he watched her silhouette.
As she walked away, thinking she was hidden by the darkness and the noise of the rushing water, he saw her lift the bundle of his muddy clothes to her face.
A deep, trembling inhale.
She sniffed the clothes he had just worn, inhaling the scent of his sweat, his musk, and his pheromones. Her shoulders shuddered, and even from this distance, he could see her ears turning a bright, burning red.
Shen Yu paused, the towel in his hand. His smirk deepened into something predatory, something dark.
'Oho?' He chuckled darkly to himself. 'The dignified Matriarch... sniffing a man's dirty laundry like a lovesick maiden? It seems the Jade Goddess has a hidden, thirsty side.'
It was pathetic. It was depraved. And it was exactly the crack in her armor he intended to pry open.
His golden eyes drifted down, locking onto her silhouette as she knelt by the riverbank. The moonlight traced the luscious, heavy curve of her hips, straining against the crimson silk with every movement. He licked his lips, the Primordial Yin-Yang Scripture stirring with a conqueror's appetite.
'The fruit is already falling from the tree,' he mused, his gaze burning into her back. 'I won't even have to shake the branch. I just have to catch her.'
Meng Yan knelt by the water, oblivious to the wolf watching her. She waved her pale fingers, and a stream of water rose up in a graceful spiral, swirling through the fabric. Infused with her Qi, the dirt and grime were expelled instantly. Then, with a subtle pulse of internal heat, she steamed them dry in a heartbeat.
She stood up, composed herself, and walked back. She kept her eyes strictly on his face, handing him the warm, clean robes with stiff, jerky movements.
"Dress quickly," she murmured, her voice tight. "We must leave."
She turned and practically fled back to the carriage, still clutching the towel he had just used to dry his naked body, refusing to leave it behind.