Chapter Thirty-Five: You Are of the Sinful Clan!

Golden persimmons hung from the tree like lanterns, weighing the branches so low it seemed as if they might fall at any moment…

Bang.

A persimmon struck Xiaofeng’s head, who was bound beneath the tree. The trunk was dry, rubbing his skin raw and red.

Hearing Ziyan’s voice, the two shifted their gaze.

“Senior Sister, it’s really not what you think.”

“Junior Sister, would you like to join us?”

Xiaofeng and Zhou Lingya exchanged conflicting glances. Ziyan quickly covered her eyes, stammering, “Senior Sister… you two are… really bold… I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Zhou Lingya hurried to the main door, ushered Ziyan inside, and slammed it shut.

Inside, the two began to talk, while Xiaofeng seemed forgotten, like a statue left in the wind.

“Ziyan, you’re truly lucky this time. The disciple you’ve brought in is no ordinary one—he possesses a nine-star bloodline, something unseen in a century.”

Ziyan’s large, shimmering eyes were slightly distracted, revealing a mind consumed by other concerns.

“Senior Sister, this time he’s gotten himself into terrible trouble,” Ziyan said, pointing at Xiaofeng’s sturdy frame.

Zhou Lingya merely shook her head, unconcerned, a cold smile on her lips. “What’s there to fear? What could possibly go wrong? Hurry and savor this boy’s essence with me—he’s truly the finest among the finest.”

Bound to the persimmon tree, Xiaofeng heard this and regretted everything. He had been assured it wouldn’t hurt, but Zhou Lingya had used her fangs to drink his vital blood. The feel of the tree was also terribly uncomfortable.

Still, no matter how embarrassing the act, having promised Zhou Lingya, he would not go back on his word. A man of honor never breaks his vow.

“But… but… the trouble Xiaofeng caused this time is truly grave,” Ziyan said, unable to mask her lingering anxiety.

Zhou Lingya took Ziyan’s delicate hand and strolled over, pointing at Xiaofeng. “This boy’s vital blood contains a spiritual essence purer than even that of the royal clans!”

“What? Senior Sister, is that true?”

“Of course. Why would I lie to you? Taste it for yourself.”

An awkward silence fell.

Kneeling before Xiaofeng, Zhou Lingya tugged at Ziyan’s sleeve, drawing her down as well. She pointed at the prominent vein on Xiaofeng’s leg, explaining, “Draw from here. This is all Xiaofeng’s discarded blood. It’s perfectly safe—his blood brims with the energy of heaven and earth.”

She rolled up Xiaofeng’s tattered pant leg, exposing a streak of crimson. Zhou Lingya extended her tongue, her expression melting into one of pure satisfaction.

As if Xiaofeng’s leg was a succulent sausage, Ziyan licked it, and with just one mouthful, her mouth filled with the precious blood, as if she had discovered a rare treasure.

Mumbling with her mouth full, Ziyan managed, “Senior Sister, his blood is so pure… but why does it taste so much like the blood of the Sin Clan?”

Zhou Lingya, greedily devouring, said nothing.

It felt as if tiny chicks were pecking every part of his body. Xiaofeng straightened his leg. Though a strange pleasure coursed through him, the tearing pain of his ruptured vein made him grit his teeth and endure the agony of the mortal world.

What he had promised Zhou Lingya, he would fulfill.

Zhou Lingya’s tongue was deft and clever—first licking, then sliding nimbly over the wound.

Ziyan, too, was quite skilled—she must have practiced blood drinking often.

For a moment, their greedy feasting made Ziyan forget her troubles.

“This feels so strange. Why can’t I feel pain anymore? Instead, there’s this indescribable sensation replacing it. How odd. What’s happening?” Xiaofeng wondered why the pain had vanished from his leg.

Their lips stained crimson, Ziyan stood satisfied, casting Xiaofeng a gentle smile. Then she knelt again to examine his wound, a trace of guilt in her voice. “Let me heal you. You haven’t recovered from the beating you took earlier. Your blood is extraordinary—its spiritual energy is so dense.”

Hearing her affirmation, warmth blossomed in Xiaofeng’s heart. Looking at Ziyan crouched below, he felt a quiet gratitude.

Zhou Lingya ceased her greedy drinking and staggered unsteadily away. She hadn’t consumed much, yet lay on the rocking chair, clutching her stomach as it creaked beneath her.

Perhaps Ziyan was more adept at healing, for Xiaofeng’s injuries slowly faded away under her care. He had to admit, Ziyan’s skill was impressive, making his whole body quiver.

When she finished, Xiaofeng realized his old wounds had vanished completely.

Draped in a gauzy robe, Ziyan stood, and their eyes met.

“Why don’t I feel pain anymore? Was it you? Senior Sister, did you heal me?” Xiaofeng asked in surprise.

Ziyan braced herself against the tree, her cheek only inches from his, her warm breath brushing his face. Xiaofeng’s heart pounded wildly.

What was Ziyan doing? Was it…?

As her soft lips drew closer, Xiaofeng, flustered, squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself.

“No, Senior Sister, we can’t. I haven’t reached the Foundation Establishment stage yet—I can’t lose my purity. Please, Ziyan, don’t…”

He knew his limits and resisted, but the ropes were too strong to break.

Why was Ziyan doing this? He was nothing special.

Then, remembering something, Xu Xing glanced down and smiled.

Indeed, he did have something exceptional—but even so, what Ziyan intended was simply not right.

This was a violation of all moral principles!

Ziyan’s face drew closer still, her breath warm against his cheek. Her elegant, intoxicating scent made Xiaofeng almost forget to resist.

Had he not been pre-Foundation, he might not have tried to resist at all.

“What are you doing?” Xiaofeng shook his head frantically, swallowing nervously.

Ziyan pressed her soft cheek against his, so delicate it felt like holding a boiled egg. Resting her head on his collarbone, she began to weep softly, her tears flowing like rain.

“Junior Brother, I’ve suffered so much… my life has been so hard. I’ve been like a dried-up lake, with no nourishment for years, never knowing the era when our ancestors tamed the waters. Can’t you pity me…?”

“Huh? Senior Sister, what’s wrong? What are you saying? For the record, I am not a frivolous man.”

With that, Xiaofeng’s clothes were slowly peeled away, revealing all his injuries—no open wounds remained, but the bruises were still apparent.

Barely covered by a few tattered scraps, Xu Xing watched as Ziyan bent lower, savoring the unique flavor of the Bashu people.

“Hey, I’m warning you, Senior Sister, don’t do anything rash. My heart belongs to the world—I can’t give you a home. My dream is to save all living beings, so please, don’t be reckless.”

Faced with her assertiveness, Xiaofeng could only sigh in resignation, his voice timid.

Ziyan paid him no mind, rubbing her face against his skin, her touch gentle and soft.

Some things are hard to grasp, some fates impossible to avoid—like a sponge swelling when soaked.

But if some things can’t be avoided, why not close your eyes and enjoy them?

With a sigh, Xiaofeng shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “Go ahead. A true man doesn’t fear suffering. Just remember—think carefully before you act!”

A slap landed on his muscular chest, sending a fiery jolt through his body.

“All you do is let your imagination run wild. I’m just checking your bloodline—hold still,” Ziyan said flatly.

She pressed her head to his waist and ribs.

Suddenly, she coughed up blood, her legs buckling. As she collapsed, she grabbed his thigh for support.

Nearby, Zhou Lingya was flushed and feverish, her head lowered, while Ziyan seemed weak and pale.

“Senior Sister, what’s wrong?” Xiaofeng asked nervously.

“You are of the Sin Clan!”