The Mirror of Startling Beauty: Her courtiers are everywhere

In the dream, the moonlight was perfect.

A cloud boat floats freely on the lotus pond.

Ripples spread across the water, reaching the gunwale of the cloud boat and the sleeping lotus buds.

Then the lotus flower bloomed.

The petals trembled slightly as they broke free of the calyx, and the golden stamens burst forth, their light flickering.

The light spread from the lotus heart, flowing along the veins of the petals, coloring each petal inch by inch from the tip.

First it was moon white, then crimson, and finally the whole lotus was burned into a warm rouge color.

Snowflakes drifted down, each one soft like a dream.

Snowflakes fell on the petals, causing them to tremble slightly.

It landed among the lotus leaves, which drooped slightly.

The cloud boat swayed gently.

Ripples flowed under the boat, one after another, pushing it deeper into the lotus pond.

The lotus flowers bloom most profusely there, layer upon layer, like a burning cloud.

Snow fell on each blooming lotus heart, piling up into a thin cocoon.

The moonlight bathed everything in a hazy silver glow, and the pool of water, intoxicated by the moonlight, rippled gently.

Amidst the shimmering water, the reflection of the lotus blossoms shattered into countless rosy fragments of light, which were further fragmented by the ripples, scattering like a pool full of stars.

It snowed all night.

The lotus flowers bloomed all night long.

Such a long night.

It grows long enough for the red lotus to bloom from bud to full bloom, and long enough for a snowfall to cover the entire dreamland in white.

It grew so long that one person could possess another, inch by inch.

Until the lotus leaves could no longer bear the moonlight, and the petals could no longer bear the dew.

The heart he held in his palm could not bear so much tenderness.

Xie Jinlian hugged her very tightly.

His breath fell on her hair, hot and disordered, a far cry from his usual composure.

The moonlight gradually softened, from overflowing to tranquil, from intense to gentle.

He wanted to give her all his warmth.

I want to give her everything I have, without holding back a single thing.

The dream in the mirror is no ordinary dream.

When the soul enters a dream, all sensations are real, even more unforgettable and deeply ingrained than when awake.

That night, Yun Boyan was almost driven mad by the torment.

Did his elder brother think that once he closed his eyes and fell asleep, the empathy would also fall asleep?

There isn't one at all.

Not only did not, but because the soul left the body and all senses became unprecedentedly acute, those already unbearable sensations were amplified by more than ten times.

Every touch felt like a direct imprint on the soul, every soft breath felt like a whisper on the earlobe and into the heart.

The string of snow-white Buddhist beads between his fingers was almost cracked from being twisted, barely managing to suppress the gasp that was about to escape his throat.

Unfortunately, Tang Xixue's soft breath was right next to her ear.

You can't avoid it, and you can't cut it off.

Outside the carriage, the night fog was thick, carrying the astringent scent of grass and trees and the fragrance of unknown wildflowers in the distance.

Chao Han tightened his grip on the reins slightly.

He had an extremely cold face, as sharp as a blade.

At that moment, there was no expression on his face, except for a very slight twitch at the tip of his eyebrow.

As dusk settled and the moon hung in the sky, its light tinged with a faint blush, the earlobes were tinged with red.

No one spoke.

The only sound was the clatter of horses' hooves over the snow.

"Weaving."

Xie Jinlian's voice echoed from the depths of the dream, so gentle it was almost unbelievable, carrying a low, seductive tone.

"Call me husband, and I will grant you anything."

"Husband...no..."

Tang Xixue's voice was soft and clear, as if she had lost her voice in a dream.

"Um?"

He chuckled softly, his voice filled with a magnetic tenderness.

"Don't stop? I grant your permission."

Her master, who had promised to listen to her in everything, gently sealed her lips before she could speak.

If she can't express it, then he doesn't need to listen.

That makes perfect sense, doesn't it?

Master has always been the most reasonable person.

The snow in Tangxi, half-dreaming and half-awake, slowly emerges from the lingering charm of a dream.

She couldn't tell where she was or what day it was; she only felt a weariness as thick as ink that couldn't be dissolved, enveloping her completely.

Before I was fully conscious, my fingers touched something warm.

She instinctively leaned closer, pressed her face against the man's back, and wrapped her arms around him from behind.

"My husband... I'm tired."

Her voice was as soft as spring water flowing over fine sand, or willow catkins brushing against the water's surface—light, fluffy, and tickling the heart.

"Shall we rest now?"

Yun Boyan was changing his clothes with his back to her, holding a clean undergarment he had just taken out.

That hug came unexpectedly.

He stood frozen in place, like an ice sculpture suddenly thrown into a fire.

Its exterior still retains the cold white color of jade, but inside it is already surging magma.

She called him husband! ! ?

Those two words were like two red-hot branding irons, fiercely imprinted on the softest part of his heart.

With a hiss, it emitted a plume of blue smoke.

It hurt, it burned, and it carried a kind of absurd joy that was almost self-torture yet also sweet.

He hurriedly stuffed the stained garment into the farthest corner of the storage space.

His fingers were trembling, his fingertips were icy cold, but his movements were extremely fast, as if he were destroying evidence.

I wish I could destroy it immediately and erase all traces of it, making it seem as if it never existed.

He dared not move.

I don't even dare to think about who she really thinks of me.

Anyway, at this moment, she was holding him and calling his name.

Then he is her husband!

He thought this way, almost as if he were deceiving himself.

He lay on the couch, his clothes slightly disheveled. In the frantic rush just now, he had managed to put on his undergarment, but hadn't managed to tie the belt properly.

Her collar was loosely open, revealing a glimpse of her collarbone and a small patch of her chest.

But she has really bad sleeping habits.

Perhaps she had exhausted her energy in the dream, for she slept very soundly, but was not at peace.

First, she rolled over and put one arm around his waist.

Then she rolled over and snuggled up to him, her forehead against his chin, her breath brushing against his Adam's apple.

Finally, perhaps finding it not warm enough, she buried her face in his neck, like a cat finding its nest, snuggling into his arms.

He lay there stiffly, like a puppet nailed to a bed.

My hands are hanging in mid-air, with nowhere to go.

He tried to push her away, but his fingers recoiled as if electrocuted the moment they touched her shoulder. He tried to put his arm around her, but he raised it and then lowered it again, over and over, feeling utterly pathetic.

He suddenly understood.

Now I understand why my brother, who was usually so pure and abstemious, went mad that night.

His elder brother, Xie Jinlian, was usually a cold and aloof person.

The Kunlun Sword Immortal always had a thin layer of frost between his brows and eyes, and even when he smiled, the smile never reached his eyes.

When it comes to restraint and forbearance, probably no one in the world can surpass him.

But when faced with this little troublemaker, who could remain calm?

She was just asleep.

She slept peacefully and completely, curled up in his arms, surrendering herself entirely to him.

That's precisely what makes it so deadly.

He is a holy son of Buddhism.

Since entering the realm of Brahma at the age of five, I have upheld the precepts and practiced cultivation.

He thought he had long since cultivated his emotions and desires into nothingness, and that he had long since cultivated his heart into a still, undisturbed well.

But he was not a saint after all.

It wasn't that holy monk.

Where can one find complete detachment from worldly desires?

When I close my eyes, all I can think of are the words from that novel, "The Cold and Aloof Saint, Seeking Pleasure Every Night."

But at that moment, the words suddenly came to life, jumping out of the page one by one.

Line after line of passages, making him blush, formed in his mind.

For a moment, it became even more difficult to calm down.

"good."

He took a deep breath, as if trying to inhale the coolness of the night to extinguish the raging fire within his body.

He leaned close to her ear and spoke in a very low voice.

"Don't move. If you move again—I'll take you again."