Fang Lee's breath trembled against her lips.
His hand still cradled her cheek—rough, gentle, trembling not from fatigue but fear, or at least what he wanted to portray—as he felt the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers, the fragile rise and fall of her chest, the flicker of life in her Qi as it continued to unravel.
And yet, he leaned in again.
Not hesitantly this time.
Not soft.
But raw. Messy.
His mouth crashed against hers—mouth open, urgent, desperate in a way that shattered Lian Xue's suicidal calm. His lips parted wider as he pressed deeper, and his tongue met hers in a clumsy, fevered clash.
Her lips were cracked, bleeding, but still they parted slightly under his pressure—and that was enough.
His tongue slid against hers—
Their mouths moved without grace. Not like lovers who had rehearsed this before, but like two souls trying to claw back something that had already burned to ash.
He tilted his head, pressing in harder. A groan escaped the back of his throat—quiet, muffled, not of lust, but of a grief so tangled it could only come out through touch.
Her lips twitched beneath his.
And then—hesitantly, just barely—she kissed him back.
Not because she forgave him.
Not because it made sense.
But because some memories don't die cleanly. Because pain and love, once entangled, don't unravel without tearing.
Their tongues met again, wet and frantic—his mouth moving over hers with abandon. No restraint. No poise. Saliva mixed—his and hers—and spilled from the corners of their mouths, slicking their chins as the kiss grew more desperate.
His hand slid from her cheek to her jaw, thumb brushing her neck. The angle shifted. His teeth grazed her bottom lip before his tongue pushed deeper, messier, chasing something unspoken.
Her breath caught—then hitched again as her fingers curled into his robes. Not pulling him closer. Not pushing him away. Just holding on.
Like she didn't know what else to do.
Their mouths never stopped moving—messy and wet, breath mingling, fire still smoldering faintly between them. His tongue slid past her lips again, slower this time, tracing hers, tasting sorrow. Her own tongue met it—hesitant, but responsive—their kiss growing sloppier by the second.
Her breathing slowed. Her heartbeat faltered. Her dantian became volatile. Cracks ran along its surface.
Was this the end? Lian Xue thought, the pin to her own distraction already pulled. She wanted to say one final goodbye. It was over for her, after all...
I—I don't want to die...
Those were her last thoughts, his saliva mixed with hers, as she became whole.
Then—
Brilliance erupted.
A glow, faint at first, shimmered where their lips met—a pale, luminous blue flickering like a candle in the wind. It was subtle, unnoticed in the haze of their fevered kiss. But it pulsed once… then again… and then it began to spread.
Fang Lee's saliva shimmered.
Not the warmth of passion. Not some fever dream born of closeness and pain.
A hidden Qi.
Water Qi.
His body—steeped in cultivation—was lightly infused with the element. And now, mingled with Lian Xue's flame-tainted breath, it slipped past her lips, uninvited and unstoppable, drawn into the heart of her unraveling self.
Down her tongue.
Down her throat.
Into her lungs.
Into her dantian.
And it ignited not a fire—
But a collision.
Her body arched violently as the first ripple of resistance slammed into her gut. Blue met red—cool against searing heat—and in that instant, her cracked dantian shattered.
No blood was spilled.
No scream left her lips.
Only light.
It started in her core, a radiant fusion of opposites—the water Qi he'd unknowingly fed into her clashing violently with her fire Qi, but not extinguishing it. Instead, the two energies coiled together, entwined like serpents in heat, battling, blending—
Bonding.
And then—
Boom.
A ring of raw power burst from her chest—blue and red—spiraling out in all directions.