Ripples

Having just recovered from his injuries, Qi Yuan was ordered to rest and recuperate.

Jiu Che visited every day, always through the swaying beaded curtain. He didn't stay long, sometimes leaving a dish of rare spiritual fruits from the immortal realm, sometimes a pot of warm, nourishing immortal wine. Today, he brought an ancient book made of animal hide.

“The Commentary on the Spiritual Pivot of Herbs.” His voice was clear and gentle, less icy than usual, and more warm through the beaded curtain. “It is not an orthodox classic, and much of what it contains touches on unorthodox topics. However, all things have their own principles, and one may be able to understand them by analogy. Since you have a talent for plants, you may gain something from reading it in your spare time.”

His wording was cautious, referring to it as "drawing inferences from one instance" or "possibly gaining something," thus cloaking the act of gifting it in an objective, almost academic, guise. It was as if this wasn't a special favor, but simply that he felt the book happened to suit her.

Qi Yuan leaned against the soft couch inside the curtain, not getting up, and only lazily replied, "Thank you, Your Highness."

Only after the snow-white figure had disappeared did she slowly rise and walk to the door. The animal-skin scroll on the stone table exuded an ancient aura. She picked it up casually and opened it. Between the pages, besides the original text, there were several neat and concise annotations. They weren't instructions, but rather the reflections of a bright student reading, occasionally raising questions, occasionally marking "this principle may be worth considering," and even next to a shocking statement about using malevolent energy to cultivate ferocious plants, it was written: "Although the method is dangerous, the principle remains, and it cannot be completely abandoned."

He looked at these unorthodox words with neither contempt nor fear, but rather pondered their underlying "reason".

Qi Yuan's fingertips lingered on that line of annotation for a moment. This book, these words, like an insignificant speck of dust, fell into the lake of her heart, which had been dead for a thousand years. Without stirring up any ripples, without even making a sound.

However, the frozen landscape at the bottom of the lake, which had remained unchanged for millennia, seemed to have been pressed into a barely perceptible trace by this speck of dust.

She closed the book, her expression indifferent.

What a pointless act. She scoffed inwardly. Such unguarded kindness, in this dog-eat-dog world, is no different from foolishness. He might give her a book today because of a little "talent," but tomorrow he could be devoured to the bone for the same reason.

She tossed the book back onto the table with a soft thud.

The sudden noise startled her slightly. What was she doing? Was she getting agitated over such a trivial "dust"?

absurd.

Qi Yuan turned away, no longer looking at the book. She was the Demon Lord, her path paved with bones and blood, her heart tempered to be harder than the black iron of the Demon Realm. This small, almost laughable "kindness" was not even a speck of frost on her icy defenses.

However, as she sat back on the couch and closed her eyes to regulate her breathing, a thought unexpectedly flashed through her mind:

If he knew that the person he was giving the book to and showing concern for was the Demon Lord, whose hands were stained with blood and who was about to bring destruction to him and the entire fox clan, what kind of expression would appear in his clear eyes?

Was it shock? Was it hatred? Or... the despair of being utterly defiled?

This thought, carrying a familiar, cruel pleasure belonging to the Demon Lord, quietly emerged.

However, deep within this pleasure, there seemed to be a very faint, even imperceptible, sense of stagnation.