Chapter 86

Every eye in the inn was fixed on them.

Song Qingshi instinctively wanted to deny having a child, but the resemblance was uncanny—the same complexion, facial structure, hair, and nose, while the eyes and mouth were unmistakably Feng Jun’s. From a genetic standpoint, no one would believe the child wasn't his if he tried to claim otherwise...

Feng Jun sighed. He had pitted Indestructible Peak against the entire cultivation world, cleansing corruption and unleashing his rage through bloodshed. He couldn't guarantee success, but it was highly probable that Song Qingshi would return to this world, possibly in a different body. Hao Long, a spirit snake, identified others by scent and soul. Thus, Feng Jun had raised Hao Long into a powerful demon to serve as Song Qingshi’s guardian.

Hao Long was fiercely loyal to Song Qingshi and pure in thought, which wasn’t inherently problematic...

He had intended for the snake to remain quietly at Indestructible Peak until he could hand it over to Song Qingshi as a spirit beast. However, dumb creatures were unpredictable—much like Song Jincheng, prone to wild ideas and crazier antics...

The nerve of this dumb snake to call him "Mother"?

Part of him wanted to seize the opportunity to make their Dao Companion bond official, imprint the Dao Companion Mark, and drag Song Qingshi home.

But once the truth of his male identity was revealed in bed, how would he explain where this "son" came from?

Feng Jun put on his thin gauze gloves again, intending to have a serious talk with this foolish snake.

Hao Long sensed danger and clung desperately to Song Qingshi’s leg, bawling its eyes out. Cursed into silence, it couldn’t utter the name "Yue Wuhuan" and didn’t know this incarnation’s name either. Opening its mouth repeatedly, it could only cry out, "Daddy, save me!"

The crowd whispered, criticizing the irresponsible parents.

Song Qingshi drifted into deep thought...

Song Jincheng cautiously spoke up, "Could it be... Feng Jun is the person you’ve been searching for? You even have a child together?"

Feng Jun paused and looked at Song Qingshi.

Song Qingshi collected himself and carefully studied Feng Jun’s face and figure. Then he reached out, lightly touching those gorgeous features—the tear mole beneath the left eye... Those amber eyes held nothing but his image, tinged with an indescribable complexity. His head pulsed with pain again, as if something was blocking his thoughts...

This patchy memory loss was intriguing.

If his memories resisted something, didn’t that mean it had once existed in his mind?

Was this an attempt to conceal the obvious?

After a long silence, Song Qingshi smiled. He picked up Hao Long and set it on his lap, teasing it gently. "I can’t remember the past. Maybe he really is my son. If no one claims him, we’ll keep him. Perhaps he can help me recover my memories. Child, what’s your name?"

Hao Long, overjoyed at successfully recognizing its master, piped up, "Xiao Bai!"

Feng Jun froze.

Song Qingshi asked again, "Is Feng Jun really your mother?"

Hao Long insisted, "Yes!"

It didn’t care whether Yue Wuhuan’s incarnation was male or female—both were "Mother"! With Daddy around, no matter how mischievous it was, it wouldn’t be beaten to death!

Feng Jun took a deep breath, struggling to control his emotions. Over the years, he had tolerated this stupid snake partly because its sweet face and innocent air vaguely resembled Song Qingshi’s childhood, giving him some comfort.

Back then, Song Qingshi had vanished without a trace, leaving little to remember him by... Feng Jun had privately painted countless portraits and crafted moving illusions with magic talismans, storing them in the Phoenix Terrace. But empty copies could never measure up. Feeling they sullied Song Qingshi’s memory, he gradually destroyed them, refusing to rely on false substitutes.

He forced himself to preserve everything Song Qingshi had loved—the Medicine King Valley, the peach grove, the laboratory, the library, and creatures like Qing Luan, Ming Hong, and Hao Long...

But over time, even these things changed.

Buildings weathered and decayed, their original traces erased through repeated repairs. The peach grove burned when the scum fought back and attacked the Medicine King Valley. Those who had known Song Qingshi died off one by one. Few remained now, having reached the Soul Severing realm.

Song Qingshi had once said that life itself was hope, begging him not to wipe out the world.

He'd followed every instruction.

Yet, Song Qingshi had ultimately returned with a mission—to save others...

He could only force himself to accept it.

God, how he hated it—hated the Heavenly Dao, hated the system, hated everything in this world...

Staring at Song Qingshi, he gnawed on his finger, suppressing all desire. He wanted to lose control—but couldn’t.

Song Qingshi pulled his finger away. "Don’t bite. You’ll hurt yourself."

"My apologies," Feng Jun said with a smile, teasing Hao Long. "Though I don’t remember, this child is truly adorable."

He realized he had overthought things, letting these fools lead him astray. For now, he’d let them play their games and observe Song Qingshi’s true feelings. If the answer wasn’t what he wanted, he’d execute his final plan: destroy this damnable world, butcher every living thing, erase every right and wrong answer, and cage Song Qingshi’s soul in a barrier beyond the system’s reach—where he could choose no one but him.

He wouldn't accept failure.

Hao Long went rigid under Feng Jun’s increasingly gentle smile, sensing danger.

Feng Jun leaned close and whispered, "Want rats or carrion?"

"Mice—" Hao Long caught itself and backpedaled fast, "No, Xiao Bai wants meat..."

Feng Jun plucked some vegetables from the table and, with saccharine sweetness and iron determination, fed them bite by bite into its mouth. "Children shouldn’t be picky."

Song Qingshi nodded. "True."

Too afraid to resist, Hao Long choked down until tears came.

...

Night fell. Song Jincheng, exhausted from being chased by the snake, turned in early.

Feng Jun declared that children slept with their "mother" and hauled Hao Long off to his room despite its protests. When it tried to beg for help, Song Qingshi, nose-deep in a book, simply said, "No father dares disobey the mother. Be good."

Two heavy thumps came from Feng Jun’s room before a soundproof barrier descended, silencing everything.

Song Qingshi lay on the recliner, holding a book but miles away, lost in thought about the notebook’s contents, not turning a page for a long time.

Feng Jun entered with a plate of frozen desserts and set them on the low table. Noticing Song Qingshi’s distraction, he sat opposite and drank in the sight... After all these years, he was crazy about this person—eyes, nose, lips, body, skin, personality, even every strand of hair...

His lips quirked mischievously as he quietly slipped off his wooden sandals. Bare toes peeked out from under the red gauze skirt, lightly brushing against Song Qingshi’s calf. His toes climbed skillfully upward, light as a moth's wing. Reaching the thigh, he pinched lightly in irritation when Song Qingshi remained oblivious, then swiftly withdrew and sat primly.

Song Qingshi winced and jolted back to the present, finding Feng Jun seated across from him. His freshly washed hair, still damp, spilled loose over his shoulders, nearly reaching his ankles. His delicate frame was draped in an oversized red brocade robe, loosely belted to accentuate long legs and a slender waist... Yet his expression was dignified, eyes aloof, as if he hadn’t just misbehaved.

The air was chilly—too little clothing would be uncomfortable.

Without hesitation, Song Qingshi wrapped him tightly in a white outer robe, leaving no skin exposed. Then he took an ice cake, paused at the familiar taste, and praised, "Delicious."

Feng Jun hadn’t expected him to understand flirtation so easily. Leaning on the table, he smirked. "Fathers must obey mothers? Will you listen to me?"

Autumn’s whispers stirred restless heartstrings.

Flustered under that gaze, Song Qingshi murmured, "Yes..."

Feng Jun leaned closer. The carefully draped robe slipped halfway down somehow. His breath, sweet and familiar, tickled Song Qingshi’s ear as he whispered, "How will you listen?"

Lightheaded from the sweetness, Song Qingshi murmured back, "How do you want me to?"

No sooner had he spoken than the tip of a tongue gently traced his earlobe.

Song Qingshi couldn’t suppress a low, pleasurable moan. He hadn’t known his ears were so sensitive, sending unexpected sensations coursing through his entire body.

Unnerved by the sensation, he tried to pull back, but his hands were seized in a firm grip.

Feng Jun’s strength was immense, pulling him into an embrace so tight he couldn’t move.

Then, his entire earlobe was enveloped by warm lips, skillfully teased until the tingling became unbearable…

Song Qingshi was brought to the brink of tears, his eyes glistening as he bit back begging for mercy.

Finally, Feng Jun released his earlobe, taking the hand that had just held the ice cake. He studied it briefly, inhaling the pleasant medicinal scent, then examined each finger. Softly, he asked, “Why didn’t you use Mystic Fire to burn me?”

Released at last, Song Qingshi exhaled in relief. “You’d get hurt. I don’t want to harm you.”

Feng Jun chuckled, murmuring, “You’ve got crumbs on your fingers. Let me clean them for you.”

Assuming he meant to wipe them with a handkerchief, Song Qingshi obediently offered his hand—only for Feng Jun to take his fingertips into his mouth instead. With moist heat, he traced every inch of skin, savoring the lingering sweetness. Yet his phoenix eyes held an unmistakable hunger, as if tasting something far more enticing, stirring endless fantasies. Stunned, Song Qingshi tried to pull his hand back. But a mere Foundation Establishment cultivator, untrained in body refinement and unwilling to unleash the twin flames within, was powerless to resist. His feeble resistance only seemed like coy reluctance, further provoking the cruel predator’s interest.

Their fingers interlaced, pressed against the chair’s backrest, unyielding.

Feng Jun leaned in, his breath nearly brushing Song Qingshi’s lips, mere half an inch away, and said, “You’re delicious.”

After a moment’s thought, Song Qingshi asked, “Feng Jun, when is your birthday?”

Feng Jun paused, puzzled. “February fourteenth.”

A ravenous kiss descended, forcefully parting his lips to seek more of that sweetness.

Song Qingshi gave up struggling, attempting to endure everything. As the familiar sensations washed over him, he gradually relaxed, submitting to—and even beginning to enjoy—the intoxicating kiss.