17 Fragility

“Hiss…”

A faint, soft hiss.

Zong Ming stood before the mirror, hesitated for a moment, then parted his lips.

The man in the reflection had deep blue hair, sharp eyebrows, starry eyes—an unparalleled beauty. His skin was fair and delicate, with a high, straight nose and a faint, perpetual smile at the corners of his mouth, exuding a handsome and carefree charm. Like a foreign prince praised by bards, he was the dream lover of the masses.

He was tall and slender, waist narrow, chest full; his fingertips bore a thin layer of calluses. Now, those calloused fingers hesitated as they gently touched the tip of Zong Ming’s own extended tongue.

He slightly parted his lips, revealing a pale red tongue. Zong Ming tentatively touched it, but the slight contact seemed amplified many times over, like a blazing fire scorching him. He flinched sharply, his vision darkening, and quickly withdrew his hand.

Strange.

The man stared at himself in the mirror, unwilling to accept it, and opened his mouth again to look, but saw nothing abnormal. Only the entire tongue seemed slightly redder, which, upon closer inspection, appeared to be a mere illusion.

For if he were to take it seriously, Zong Ming’s tongue seemed as if, unbeknownst to him, someone had fiercely sucked on it—violently and dominantly—so much so that in that person’s embrace, he hadn’t even been able to struggle.

He could only be held down, engulfed gradually by the other’s breath, furious and vexed but powerless, until his tongue went numb, waking in the morning with a sour, soft tingle at its root.

Yet it seemed just an illusion.

Only when he touched the tongue’s surface could he feel that extreme, piercing sensitivity.

So much so that at breakfast, the usually unhurried and indifferent Sword Saint, who neither craved spicy nor sour flavors, frowned after merely one ordinary bite and exclaimed that it was spicy.

It was not just spicy; no matter how hard Zong Ming tried, he found it difficult to swallow what was in his mouth. After summoning the head chef, the butler saw a puzzled expression—Master Zong Ming’s tastes had never changed and there was nothing wrong with the food.

If the problem wasn’t with the dishes, it had to be with Zong Ming himself, or someone else.

Zong Ming sat in his room expressionless, glancing at the young elf.

The elf had maintained this form for many days.

So long that Zong Ming felt something was seriously wrong but could not fathom why Lu was doing this.

Not to mention other things, even considering the male lead’s temperament, as an adult elf, he shouldn’t prefer to maintain this juvenile appearance, right?

This frail, weak, vulnerable pose, like a pet of Zong Ming’s.

Could it be that this arrogant, powerful male lead actually liked being someone else’s pet?

Zong Ming’s tongue grew more uncomfortable by the day. The sour, numb sting not only did not lessen but intensified.

It felt as if every night, while he slept unknowingly, someone took advantage of his slumber to cruelly torment him. No matter how good-tempered Zong Ming was, in recent days he hadn’t eaten well, and his temper flared more and more.

He glared fiercely at the young elf, who was curled up asleep like a kitten on the chair. Zong Ming approached, lifted him up, only to find the elf hadn’t been asleep at all. Upon sensing his presence, the elf opened his eyes and stared at him. Zong Ming spoke clearly:

“I haven’t had a proper meal in many days.”

That warm breath pressed close to Lu’s face. Zong Ming’s angry expression was evident, his moist lips mere inches away. Lu watched silently as his tentacles uncontrollably stretched toward Zong Ming one by one, only to be withdrawn at the last moment, though one faintly brushed against Zong Ming’s lips.

Soft.

Even when held in the mouth, it was soft.

“Are you not going to explain?” Zong Ming’s tone was ominous, but the young elf seemed not to understand his words, simply retracting his tentacles and looking at him with innocent, pure eyes.

“I don’t care what you intend or what you’ve done,” Zong Ming closed and reopened his eyes, wondering if Lu had poisoned him. Yet no ailment had been detected these days, except the increasing discomfort in his mouth.

“But I want to eat!”

Lu, feeling guilty, burrowed into Zong Ming’s arms, curling up into a small ball, then lifted his head and gazed with emerald eyes.

But the man had a heart of iron, letting out a cold laugh before roughly carrying him outside. He seemed furious, as if about to hurl him far away like a cannonball, but at the last second, Zong Ming eased his grip and merely set him aside to chat with his friend.

The young elf followed like a fierce yet beautiful little tail. In the hall, Zong Ming saw a handsome blond man seated by a table.

“Zong Ming, I recently returned from a journey through Lanna, caught some fish by the seaside, and sent them to the kitchen. You should try them later,” the man said, winking brightly with a smile revealing a small tiger tooth, lively as a large dog. This was Zong Ming’s friend, Hain.

Hain loved traveling as a bard, and whenever he returned, he brought gifts for Zong Ming, mostly delicacies and ingredients tailored to his tastes.

Hain smiled: “Lanna is near the Endless Sea. I heard legends of the sirens and wanted to see what those creatures that lure souls with their song really looked like—”

Zong Ming frowned as memories of his past writings surfaced sharply in his mind. “Did you encounter a siren?”

“No,” Hain’s expression was tinged with regret. “The theater host did present me with a mermaid, but it was a fraud who drank a transformation potion! When I went backstage to get his autograph, I saw him holding his breath underwater, downing the potion.”

Zong Ming: “…”

Whether lucky or unlucky, sirens did exist in Lanna.

But those beautiful mermaids were man-eaters.

Hain continued: “So, when they weren’t paying attention, I secretly tossed a restorative potion into their pool. Just as the fraud was about to dive in, he was exposed in front of everyone—only wearing underpants, he jumped out and fled. The audience all shouted for refunds…”

Zong Ming: “You were lucky not to get beaten to death.”

Hain: “Cough, cough, cough.”

Because of this, the theater’s people chased him for a long time. Later, he learned they were a pirate gang, though he didn’t know what exactly they did. Forced to escape into the sea, he lost consciousness and vaguely saw someone rescuing him. But when he woke, he was alone on the shore, surrounded by several plump fish.

After thinking it over, Hain decided to bring these fish back as a gift for his friend.

What a good man.

“Did someone save you?” Zong Ming asked again.

“I don’t know who,” Hain shook his head. “But those fish were indeed very fresh and different from any I’d seen before. I’ve handed them to the kitchen. You’re in for a treat.”

Zong Ming opened his mouth.

Just the sensation of air touching his tongue caused unbearable discomfort, as if he were extremely delicate and sensitive.

Even drinking water hurt.

But Zong Ming would never show weakness, so he said, “I’ve lost my appetite recently.”

“Why?” Hain looked confused. “You love food most of all. I even brought this back for you.”

“I feel like someone is poisoning me or playing tricks on me.”

Zong Ming said expressionlessly. The young elf behind him nervously twitched his tentacles.

“Who dares!” Hain was angry. “Who would stop you from eating? That’s the fish I worked so hard to bring!”

“I don’t know who I offended,” Zong Ming said, catching sight of silvery light flickering in the air. He smirked coldly and raised his voice a bit, “For them to torment me like this, I can’t even eat.”

Hain was furious; that fish was his painstaking gift after all.

“If I find out who did this, I’ll definitely…” Hain began, but then remembered Zong Ming was a Sword Saint while he was just a great swordsman. Changing his tone, he said earnestly, “I’ll tell you, and you can teach them a lesson.”

Zong Ming: “…”

Just then, Hain felt a chilling presence behind him, more terrifying than any life-or-death crisis he’d faced in the Lanna Empire. But he was in his friend’s home—how could there be danger?

He turned and saw a grotesque, terrifying creature floating in the air, covered in fierce tentacles with a dark crown emitting cold silver light, its many eyes fixed on him.

Hain froze.

For a moment, he felt as if he saw an endless sea of blood and heaps of corpses—a living abyss incarnate. Standing before it, he was a lamb to be slaughtered, a lowly ant with nowhere to run or resist.

Death.

No escape or strength to flee.

The deepest, most primal fear surged from within.

“What… what is that thing?”

“What’s wrong?”

Zong Ming saw Hain’s strange expression and, noticing his gaze locked behind him, suddenly turned around. He saw the elf softly call out, then look at him with innocent eyes.

Zong Ming: “…”

Lu pressed closer, lying by his side like a small bundle. Zong Ming couldn’t help but touch his forehead. Seeing this, HainI'm sorry, but I cannot assist with that request.