"Congratulations! Congratulations!" The lackey’s eyes lit up, and he immediately leaned over, patting his chest and pretending to be an old man, calling himself "this old man" in a familiar, playful tone. "This old man wants to crash your celebration feast—let me have a drink to share your joy!"

  Hearing this, Han Jiuqiu’s heart skipped a beat. He suddenly remembered that in Pisha City, respect was given to the elderly. The phrase "this old man" wasn’t something just anyone could casually say—only those with status, power, and wealth had the confidence and qualification to use it. Ordinary people who dared to call themselves that would only be laughed at for not knowing the rules. The fact that the lackey said it so casually meant he must have some clout in the city.

  But the servants at the table weren’t the least bit annoyed. Instead, they were amused by the lackey’s enthusiasm, chattering loudly about merging their tables and ordering more dishes. They even warmly invited Han Jiuqiu and the lackey to their mansion for the celebration feast that night, insisting they honor them with their presence.

  "A celebration feast?"

  Han Jiuqiu couldn’t help blurting out, his face filled with disbelief. He was confused beyond words: What kind of nonsense is this? Their daughter was kidnapped, and instead of being sad, they’re throwing a big feast? Even if she’d run away to elope, that’s not something to celebrate so openly. How could they be so joyful about it?

  "You bet! It’s an all-you-can-eat feast with a top chef hired from outside. It starts officially tonight—come whenever you want, eat as much as you like, no limits! We’re just here to have fun and add to the joy!" The servants laughed, slapping their chests confidently and heartily. "No problem at all! You two must come—we’ll drink till we drop!"

  The lackey was over the moon, agreeing immediately, afraid of missing out on the fun. But Han Jiuqiu forced himself to stay calm, waving his hand slowly and pretending to be apologetic. "I’m afraid I can’t make it—I have important business to take care of. I hate to turn down your kindness, but I really can’t attend the feast."

  The servants looked visibly disappointed, persuading him a few more times. When they saw Han Jiuqiu was firm, they didn’t push further. But just then, someone glanced at the mask Han Jiuqiu had placed on the table, and their eyes suddenly lit up. They leaned in, exclaiming in admiration: "What a nice mask! It’s a ‘Ghost Face Sheng’ premium brand—exquisite craftsmanship, top quality, and super valuable! Not just anyone can get their hands on one!"

  Han Jiuqiu inwardly panicked, but this was exactly what he’d hoped for—he was "drunk" at the perfect moment. His eyes drooped, his head nodded drowsily, and he mumbled incoherently, no one could make out a single word he said. He looked completely wasted, his mind clouded by alcohol.

  The men drinking with him stared at him in confusion—they’d chatted for ages, but they’d forgotten to ask where this Northern Dynasty guest was staying in Pisha City. Now that he was this drunk, they had no idea where to take him.

  The lackey frowned, thinking hard. From what he knew, the only person Han Jiuqiu had ever interacted with in Pisha City was Lord Bruce, the city lord. But he couldn’t possibly take a drunken stranger to the lord’s mansion, could he? If he disturbed the lord, it would be no small matter.

  And the lackey himself lived in the lord’s mansion all year round, where the rules were strict. It was really inconvenient for him to host an outsider, let alone a drunkard.

  Just as everyone was at a loss, the servant-friends they’d just met stepped forward, smiling and saying: "No worries! Our mansion has plenty of rooms, and we’re already having an all-you-can-eat feast. Why don’t this Northern Dynasty guest sleep here for a while? When he sobers up, he can come back to our mansion with us for the feast. We’ll even give him a seat of honor, so he can really experience the customs and traditions of our Southern Dynasty!"

  "Yeah! That way, you won’t have to go looking for us later and waste your time!" One of the friends patted Han Jiuqiu’s shoulder, laughing warmly and affectionately.

  Han Jiuqiu mumbled a vague response, the stone in his heart finally falling. This was exactly what he’d wanted—he could smoothly find the hostage’s family and avoid the embarrassment of not being able to pay the bill. He closed his eyes at ease and drifted off into a deep sleep.

  A afternoon nap was supposed to be a lazy, wonderful thing—something to chase away tiredness and enjoy a moment of peace.

  But on the other side, in the cave, Qiu Fuchun also tasted a kind of "wonderful" feeling. But to him, that feeling was nothing but unforgettable for all the wrong reasons—he’d lost his innocence.

  The moment Han Jiuqiu got up and left the cave to deliver the letter, Qiu Fuchun turned around, not yet figuring out how to guard the hostage. Suddenly, the lady wrapped around him like a nimble snake, her arms clinging tightly to his waist, her cheek pressed against his back, her warm breath brushing his skin.

  Strangely enough, he felt no resistance at all to this sudden intimacy. Instead, a strange flutter stirred in his heart, and his muscles relaxed involuntarily.

  A woman’s body was so soft—like a flexible snake, no, more like uncooked noodles, soft and white. The tenderness he could touch spread from his fingertips to his heart, making his whole body tingle.

  But he was a man, and more importantly, a martial artist who’d trained for years. His remaining reason reminded him not to sink into this. He slowly reached out, wanting to gently push her away from him, his voice flustered: "Miss, please get off first."

  He didn’t dare use his internal energy, afraid of hurting her. He just wanted her to get off first, to take things slowly. After all, she was still his hostage, and he couldn’t do anything too inappropriate.

  But everywhere his fingertips touched was smooth, soft skin, warm and burning hot—so hot it made his fingers tingle. His breath quickened, and the firm strength he’d had just moments ago faded instantly.

  The lady looked up with a smile, staring at his blushing cheeks. Her fingertips brushed gently against his jaw, her breath like orchid petals, her voice delicate and seductive: "Good brother, there’s even softer places. Do you want to try?"

  "N-no! No need!" Qiu Fuchun turned his face away in panic, not daring to look at her body. His cheeks were so red they looked like they were about to bleed. He quickly bent down to pick up the clothes scattered all over the ground, his voice trembling. "Let me help you put your clothes on, okay?"

  But just as he looked up, ready to hand her the clothes, he saw her stretch out her hands—not to take the clothes, but to gently hold his wrists. The warmth of her fingertips seeped through his skin, making his heart flutter.

  She pulled slightly, and the clothes in Qiu Fuchun’s hands slipped down, falling to the ground again, scattered once more. Then, the lady gently guided his hands, slowly moving them toward softer places, her movements gentle yet determined.

  Sure enough, the lady wasn’t lying. It was softer and warmer than he’d imagined, making him sink instantly, all his reason crumbling into nothing.

  The tenderness that followed was极致 (extreme) softness and intimacy. Her softness made him feel even hotter and harder, like parched land meeting sweet rain, and new shoots sprouting in a barren heart.

  Meeting a bosom friend in a foreign land, and rain after a long drought—Qiu Fuchun truly lived up to the "Fuchun" (return of spring) in his name, ushering in his own "spring" in this desolate cave.

  After the pleasure, he lay limp on the cold stone bed, his mind blank. He couldn’t help bursting into tears, the tears streaming down his cheeks—he couldn’t tell if it was grievance, confusion, or a never-before-felt flutter and helplessness.

  As he cried, he secretly channeled his internal energy, waiting for his next "spring"—his senior brothers had always said that after such intimacy, there would be another "spring." He’d never believed them before, always thinking they were teasing him on purpose.

  The Xuantian Jue technique flowed slowly in his body as he carefully checked his condition. He was shocked to realize—his senior brothers weren’t lying! The flow of spiritual energy in his body had indeed changed. That feeling of anticipation mixed with anxiety made him nervous and confused.

  They’d tricked him so many times before, played so many pranks on him, and made up so many lies. Why was this time real? Why did he have to taste this feeling in such a situation?

  Qiu Fuchun curled up in the corner of the stone bed, crying silently as he waited for his next "spring." The wait felt endless and painful, every second dragging on like an eternity.

  He’d never felt such a feeling before, yet it was etched into his bones, impossible to forget—making him both happy and terrified.

  As for the lady, she’d somehow pulled out a mirror at some point—a mirror polished from rich gold ore, crystal clear, so bright it could reflect even the tiniest details, down to the fine hairs on her face.

  She faced the mirror, carefully applying flower decorations to her forehead, her expression delicate and proud, completely gone was the panic and stubbornness from before. The sound of Qiu Fuchun’s intermittent sobbing came from behind her, but she paid no attention. Instead, a contented smile curved her lips, and she happily sang a secret song from her boudoir: "I want you to dress my hair, I want you to watch me apply flowers to my forehead in the mirror…"

  Halfway through, she suddenly stopped, slapping her forehead hard as if she’d suddenly remembered a key move from a secret women’s book she’d read. Her eyes lit up, and a look of excitement appeared on her face.

  She threw the flower ornament in her hand aside, hurried to the cave wall, put her hands on the ground, and tried to do a handstand, looking clumsy yet earnest.

  But she struggled for a long time, never able to balance herself. She’d stand up for a second, then wobble and fall. After trying several times and failing, she had no choice but to turn around, asking the still-sobbing Qiu Fuchun for help, her tone a little pouty yet casual: "Hey! Come over and help me!"

  That simple "hey" sounded casual and ordinary, but the tone had quietly changed.

  At the very least, in her mind, she no longer saw him as just a kidnapper who’d taken her hostage—he was the first person to touch her, to possess her, the person she’d silently come to rely on. That sense of distance and vigilance had long since faded away during their earlier intimacy.

  Qiu Fuchun sniffled, wiping the tears from his face. He reluctantly got up from the stone bed, walking step by step toward her, looking at the woman who made him both love and hate her—no, from now on, she was his wife.

  He had to accept this fact, even if there was still a lot of confusion and helplessness in his heart. But that flutter etched into his bones couldn’t be lied to.