Fucang’s fingertips lightly wiped the wound on his neck. He looked down at the blood on them, then raised his eyes to look at her.

That extremely rare tender and sorrowful gaze condensed again in her eyes.

Don’t look at him like that. He never pursued and protected her in order to make her sad. It had always been this way—in his love for her that was so profound and extreme, there would always be mixed hatred. Now this thread of hatred was overflowing in his chest. He detested her willful selfishness, yet this tender sorrow made him detest even more.

Fucang suddenly covered her eyes, the blood from his fingers staining the corner of her forehead: “…Don’t look at me like that.”

The dragon princess didn’t speak. Her eyelashes trembled in his palm—ticklish and tingling. With her eyes covered, only the lower half of her face was visible. Her full, beautiful lips were slightly pressed together. This appearance of hers made Fucang involuntarily recall the scene of her first arrival at this courtyard. Everything was different from that time, yet somehow exactly the same.

The willful, indulgent, and selfish dragon princess still made him sink deep and detest.

The pain of his wounds made him bold and direct again. Fucang reached out to support her shoulders, his fingers closing together, but then quickly sliding down to her waist. With a forceful pull, this slender and graceful body fell into his embrace. He lowered his head and bit down hard on her soft lips.

A pained gasp escaped from the dragon princess’s breath. She immediately began to struggle, her hands pressing on the wounds on his chest. Then, as if frightened, she hurriedly withdrew them, bracing against the ground to push her body backward.

What he needed least was her heartache and pity at this moment, as if reminding him again and again that he wasn’t strong enough yet, still couldn’t imprison and protect her in his palm. So she was hurt again and again, cruelly throwing him far away.

Fucang pressed her back to make her cling tightly to him. The hand covering her eyes pushed her head back, tilting it. He seemed to want to vent all the resentment in his heart, entangling endlessly with her trembling lips, deeply exploring past the barrier of her teeth, not allowing any evasion or avoidance.

Embrace him—that would be true pity and tenderness.

Yet her hands were still dodging backward, her body retreating back, her head trying hard to move down. Fucang’s hand covering her eyes slid down the back of her head and grasped her hair, forcing her to look up, her whole body trembling from being kissed by such a fierce kiss.

Her panicked and rapid breathing sprayed on his face, her exhalations cold, yet her skin touching his was already burning hot, their temples rubbing together, as tender as flower petals. Fucang couldn’t help but release her hair, his fingertips exploring toward her cheek, along the arc of her jaw, caressing her slender neck.

At this moment, Xuan Yi couldn’t tell whether it was ticklish sensitivity or passionate confusion. A string in her mind remained taut throughout—she couldn’t struggle and resist as willfully as before. If she accidentally pushed somewhere, the wounds would bleed again.

She felt herself incredibly busy yet incredibly at a loss. Her two hands didn’t know how to position themselves, sometimes instinctively pushing, sometimes hurriedly withdrawing again. Finally, she could only grip tightly onto the robe at his shoulder. The silk fabric was all wrinkled by her grip.

The robe on her body was already oversized and loose. The collar had somehow completely opened. The skin on her back was being pressed by his palm. Xuan Yi suddenly extended both arms, tightly embracing Fucang’s neck, not letting him look.

According to past experience, basically at this time he would very considerately stop. Xuan Yi used all her strength to hold him tightly, not letting him look down. She was almost hanging on him, the robe nearly sliding off her arms.

Fucang’s burning breath sprayed on her ear. He indeed didn’t continue further. She quickly found her voice again and called to him: “Senior Brother Fucang.”

Help her close her garment, and then however he wanted to scold her or reprimand her, she decided to sit obediently and listen to it all, absolutely not saying a single word.

But in the next moment, his lips fell on her ear, his two hands unhesitatingly passing through the gaps in the long robe, grasping her porcelain-like, silk-like body. Xuan Yi gasped and struggled hard to sprawl on the ground.

Fucang scooped her up in one motion, imprisoned in his embrace, turned around and returned to the bedchamber. Xuan Yi simply didn’t know what to do. She hurriedly climbed up to continue embracing his neck, racking her brains and could only tearfully recite an excuse that had long been overused: “I, I’m hungry… Wait!”

Wait? And then let her run far away again? Why was she always hiding? Since she always wanted to hide, he would pursue from behind; since she had already been caught by him, did she think he would let go again?

The skin he grasped in his palm was clearly hot—why must she flee? The cyan gauze curtains engulfed her slender figure. Fucang leaned down and kissed her enticingly, from the left corner of her lips to the right corner, slowly caressing against her soft lips, bit by bit prying open her lips and teeth to taste the delicacy inside, his tongue touching hers then immediately withdrawing.

The cumbersome, loose robe was stripped away bit by bit. Burning kisses traveled downward, tossing and turning. Her jade porcelain and frosty skin was bitten, licked, and suckled between his lips.

As if covered by overwhelming cloud patterns, dizzy and heavy, his burning body touched hers. Xuan Yi felt she was about to sink into this bed again. The bedding rolled and pressed beneath her, tangling with her toes. She didn’t know if she couldn’t shake it off, or couldn’t shake him off.

The crow-blue, sweat-dampened robe fell beneath the cyan gauze. Fucang leaned over her, brushing her disheveled long hair that covered her face onto the pillow, gazing at her flushed, misty face like a flower about to bloom fully—his dragon princess. This was his courtyard, his room, his bed. He was truly imprisoning her.

The long twenty thousand plus years—knowing her, resenting her, loving her—like three cycles of reincarnation. Each time, he fell in inextricably.

Let him fall even deeper. Don’t flee.

He lowered his head, kissing her moist, half-parted lips again and again, then hooked her knee bend—open for him.

The dragon princess’s boneless-soft body began to stiffen again, then kept dodging upward. The gold ring fell beside the pillow. His long hair suddenly merged together with her long hair. He lowered his head and kissed gently on her slightly sweat-dampened face: “Don’t hide.”

Her breathing became more and more intense. Her calves kicked against the bedding, desperately hiding all the way to the furthest corner of the bed. Yet he pressed forward step by step, finally forcing her with no escape route, her body falling into his palm. No way back? Then entrust it all to him.

A droplet of sweat slid from his jade-like chin. The cyan gauze swayed endlessly. Each movement made severe pain and extreme pleasure coexist within him. Fucang looked down condescendingly at the dragon princess. She was in pain—hurt a little more then. This way she wouldn’t be so willfully indulgent. He deeply detested this willfulness, yet he had also always been deeply attracted by it.

The dragon princess seemed to have endured to the extreme. Her hands reached out intending to push and scratch him. She was tormented to the point of seeming to go mad by his not-at-all gentle, even violent intense movements. Yet when her hands reached out, ultimately she didn’t scratch at the wounds on his body, only grasping tightly onto his bare, firm shoulders, opening her mouth to bite down hard on a place without injury.

Until she tasted blood, she released her hands again, her arms blocking her eyes, tossing and turning on the bedding, releasing rapid and intermittent gasping sounds.

Fucang grasped both her wrists, spreading them open and pressing them into the bedding. Let him see her.

Her long hair covered her face again. The misty flush lingered on her neck. Her face and lip color had both paled from pain. Fucang couldn’t help but cradle the back of her neck, leaning down to embrace her gently.

“Hold me,” he said in a low voice.

Her tender arms finally encircled his neck. Fucang slowed his movements, kissing her sweat-dampened forehead, going down along her cheek, slowly and enticingly suckling her lips. Her petal-like skin in his palm was carefully caressed, finally becoming hot and burning again. Short, urgent breaths sprayed by his ear. Even her breathing became hot. Her body opened, becoming soft, charming, and dependent.

Breaths intertwined, long hair intertwined. He gradually became completely immersed, unable to extricate himself.