A woman’s flirtatious giggle. A man’s carefree laugh.
A young man in white robes strolled into view, arms around two beautiful women. Several maids followed behind, joking and chatting. One carried a small table and stools, others held wine pots and platters of fruit. The women were certainly lovely—but the man was even more striking.
He was tall, with an easy, indolent air, and a face so handsome he would stand out in any crowd. He exuded an innate elegance and wealth, as though born into luxury.
The saying went: “Of the eight directions of wealth in Ganzhou, nine-tenths lie in the hands of Master Duan.”
And wherever the charming Master Duan appeared, beauties were sure to follow.
The little demon scrunched her nose. This mortal is nowhere near as handsome as Lord Divine.
Lord Divine only hugs me. He’d never hold so many women at once.
(Though come to think of it, she had never actually asked whether he’d ever hugged someone before her… and now it felt too late to care.)
“That camellia’s blooming beautifully,” one of the women cooed. “Let’s set the table here.”
“Wherever a beauty says is best, is best,” the young master replied with no hesitation, waving for the maids to begin setting up the wine banquet.
…
The flower bed grew even livelier.
The two women took turns drinking with him, admiring the camellias, occasionally leaving their seats to dance and delight him. The little demon shut her eyes and decided to ignore it all, basking in the sun.
A moment later, music began to play.
It wasn’t like the serene and ethereal melodies of the Flower Dawn Palace. This was more spirited, a touch flamboyant—a little worldly, a little seductive.
She didn’t need to guess who was playing. Of course, it had to be him.
Curious, the little demon opened her eyes.
So it turned out that, watching the two women dance, the young master had been thoroughly entertained. He ordered a fragrant table set up beside the camellias, sat down in the shade of the flowers, and began playing a qin [a traditional seven-string zither], smiling as he watched the beauties dance—clearly in a very good mood.
The music became more spirited, the dancers more delighted.
The vibrant notes mingled with laughter, and suddenly, the little demon felt the weight of the last five hundred years of austere cultivation rise unbidden to her mind. A strange wave of loneliness stirred within her.
She had always disliked cultivating. How many times had she looked down from the heavens and longed for the splendor of the mortal world? But for the sake of becoming the Divine Consort, she had suppressed all such desires. And now—at last—she was by his side.
Someone once said: Loneliness is like spring grass—the more it grows, the more it spreads.
If she truly had to become a lesser celestial to be allowed into the Heavenly Court, then so be it—she’d cultivate for it. But the thought made her all the more melancholic. She couldn’t help lowering her head, burying it in her arms, and sighing aloud.
Thank goodness he’s with me, she thought, comforting herself. Otherwise, I’d have to endure tens of thousands of years of loneliness alone.
Just then, she heard a voice say,
“That camellia is beautiful. Why not cut it and put it in a vase?”
“Better yet, wear it in your hair!”
All her melancholy vanished in an instant. Alarmed, the little demon’s head shot up.
One of the beautiful women turned to Duan Fei [the young master] and said sweetly, “Shall we pick a branch? Just one?”
No no no!
The woman was pointing at her actual body—her camellia form!
The little demon nearly burst into tears. If even a single branch were clipped, she’d lose ten years of cultivation!
She quickly turned her gaze to the young master, praying he’d stop them.
But Duan Fei, oblivious to the silent plea in her expression, waved casually and said without hesitation,
“If the lady wants it, by all means, pick one.”
The little demon ground her teeth in fury. She was this close to revealing her true form and giving him a good beating.
Fortunately, the beauty changed her mind, and with a flirtatious pout, said,
“Forget it. What’s the point of wearing flowers, even real ones?”
Duan Fei, pretending to be serious, gently touched a blossom and replied,
“How can you say that? These are real flowers.”
The woman turned away, feigning a sulk.
Smiling, Duan Fei put his arm around her and asked,
“Then what do you want?”
She immediately brightened and leaned in to whisper something in his ear.
Duan Fei nodded. “I’ll have someone buy it for you tomorrow.”
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