Flirting Recklessly With the White Moonlight Will Get You Marked - Chapter 3
3:
Yan Qingqiu’s face burned with embarrassment. Every time Song Qingre tried to push her away, she immediately pressed back in.
Afraid Song Qingre might shove her off for good, Yan Qingqiu tightened her grip on her shoulders, effectively pinning her in place—forcing her to endure the kiss.
Yan Qingqiu had never kissed anyone before. She’d only heard others say kissing wasn’t actually sweet, that mouths had no real taste, and the main sensation was just warmth.
But even with just their lips touching, Yan Qingqiu could taste something faintly sugary. Song Qingre must have added plenty of milk and sugar to her coffee earlier—creamy, sweet.
The milky sweetness blended with her citrus fragrance.
Though, kissing someone with such a high nose bridge wasn’t easy. Yan Qingqiu had to tilt her head, making the pose even more intimate, as if pausing to catch her breath before diving back in.
To onlookers: They’re kissing so passionately.
Yan Qingqiu’s brain was mush. She didn’t want to die, but clinging to someone’s lips like this was downright perverted. If roles were reversed, she’d have slapped herself by now.
What to do?
Her hand, resting on Song Qingre’s shoulder, slowly crept upward. She considered pinching Song Qingre’s nose shut, but as her fingers grazed her jaw, Song Qingre suddenly shifted. Yan Qingqiu’s hand slipped around her neck instead.
Too close to see Song Qingre’s expression—too terrified to even look—Yan Qingqiu squeezed her eyes shut, effectively “nestling” into Song Qingre’s arms. The way Song Qingre’s hands gripped her waist only made it seem like she was holding her closer.
This beauty kisses so well.
Some gasped. Others filmed on their phones. Fu Ye itched to intervene but hesitated, not wanting his crooked neck immortalized in the footage. He’d look like a complete joke. Furious, he slammed a fist on the table.
Yan Qingqiu frantically asked the system: [If I don’t kiss her until she’s breathless, do I have to keep our lips glued together forever?]
The system’s voice remained mechanically indifferent: [Please hold on. I’m checking. Your situation is… unprecedented.]
A few seconds later, Yan Qingqiu panicked further when Song Qingre stopped resisting altogether, her demeanor turning icy.
Life hangs in the balance—advance and die, retreat and perish. She asked: [What happens to people who fail this task?]
Song Qingre moved suddenly, fingers digging into Yan Qingqiu’s waist.
“Mmph…” Yan Qingqiu whimpered, trembling.
Song Qingre was about to shove her away.
In desperation, Yan Qingqiu hooked an arm around her neck and crushed their lips together harder. Her pulse and heartbeat skyrocketed.
She asked the system: [Do they really all die? No other way out?]
System: [Host, don’t panic. It’s just… I’ve never encountered someone who answered the questions as wildly as you did.]
“[…]”
No time to argue. Yan Qingqiu bit Song Qingre’s lower lip sharply, mentally cursing herself:
Sorry, I’m a pervert. Sorry, I’m guilty.
But she really didn’t want to die.
[Hold on a few more seconds.]
[3… 2…]
In a daze, Yan Qingqiu felt Song Qingre’s eyelashes brush her eyelids. As she tried to open her eyes, a faint tickle grazed her lips—as if Song Qingre had licked her.
Her body went limp. So soft…
When they finally parted, Yan Qingqiu was left dazed and breathless, as if all air had been sucked from her lungs.
Am I dying?
[1. Congratulations, Host! Mission temporarily cleared. You now have 24 hours of survival time.]
Before the system finished, Yan Qingqiu’s knees buckled. Gasping, she staggered back against an ornate pillar, her hair spilling over her shoulders as she gulped air. A sudden chill on her neck made her slap a hand over it.
Across from her, Song Qingre’s bangs had fallen over one eye, casting it in shadow. Her lowered gaze was unnervingly dark.
Then she blinked, and her expression shifted.
Having caused such a public spectacle, acting timid now would seem bizarre. Yan Qingqiu straightened and lifted her chin, affecting a defiant look.
A faint pink flush dusted Song Qingre’s cheeks. Yan Qingqiu seized on it: “What, can’t handle it? Blushing already?”
Song Qingre’s lips twitched, as if stifling a laugh. “Miss Yan… do you only know how to bite when kissing?”
Yan Qingqiu choked. How was she supposed to respond? She’d never kissed anyone before. “Hmph. I know other things too.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“I can…” Yan Qingqiu blanked.
In a game, she’d have leaned into her instincts—grabbing the other’s chin and purring, “With lips this sweet, you should be mine.”
Stop. Stop imagining that!
If the game twisted her thoughts into reality, how would she survive?
“Why should I tell you?” Yan Qingqiu forced haughtiness into her voice. “Your mouth is pretty sweet, though.”
Song Qingre’s gaze deepened. Her narrow eyes, half-lidded, gleamed under sharp cheekbones. The velvet dress hugged her waist, its high slit revealing pale skin—a mix of icy elegance and simmering allure.
She exhaled. “Still, Miss Yan, wasn’t that a bit much?”
Her thumb swiped over her own lower lip, smearing the dampness. Already thin, her lips now looked stained with crimson gloss from the biting. The friction nearly drew bl00d.
Yan Qingqiu couldn’t tell if this was teasing or reproach.
Too guilt-ridden to meet her eyes, she missed the sudden shadow in Song Qingre’s gaze—and the way she subtly closed the distance between them.
Song Qingre stepped closer, voice husky. “You’ll have to take responsibility for this.”
“Huh? What responsibility?” Yan Qingqiu looked up. Was that a faint smile?
Song Qingre didn’t elaborate, brushing past her down the stairs.
Yan Qingqiu exhaled shakily, her face still burning. Catching her reflection in the glass door, she saw her entire face flushed red—only her eyes glistened with unshed tears. The café patrons’ stunned stares didn’t help.
She stiffened.
So awkward. So awkward.
Song Qingre was fetching her car keys.
Yan Qingqiu snapped back to reality: [System, what about after 24 hours? Did I even pass Task 2?]
System: [Currently, it’s considered a provisional clearance—a minor bug in the rules. If it bothers you, we can fix it immediately.]
[NO!]
Gritting her teeth, Yan Qingqiu ignored the crooked-necked male lead and gawking crowd. She hitched up her skirt and chased after Song Qingre. “Wait!”
Song Qingre paused, keys in hand, and turned.
“Yes? What now?”
Yan Qingqiu knew she was being unreasonable, kissing someone and then harassing them further. “Give me your home…” She caught herself and rephrased smarter: “Write down everywhere you plan to go next.”
Song Qingre studied her, puzzled. “You don’t remember how to get home?”
Yan Qingqiu stayed silent, wary of slipping up.
But the wording was odd.
“The way home” was Song Qingre heading to her place?
Digging deeper: Had she, the villainess, somehow coerced Song Qingre into a secret affair? Were they already entangled?
Song Qingre hadn’t fought the kiss much. No slaps afterward either. Their relationship seemed… ambiguous.
Secret lovers?
Do we live together?
Holy sh1t, that’s intense.
Wait, maybe their places were just nearby.
But that kiss… She really didn’t push me away.
We’re definitely involved.
Yan Qingqiu’s mind whirled.
Conclusion: I’ve definitely transmigrated into some kind of adult game.
Song Qingre extended a hand. “Paper. Pen.”
Yan Qingqiu glanced at the butler, who promptly produced a pen and a napkin. Song Qingre wrote swiftly in elegant calligraphy, a refined script that matched her aura. The butler passed the note to Yan Qingqiu.
Unfolding the crumpled napkin, she read: [88 South Gold Street]
“?”
She looked up. Song Qingre was already leaving, sliding into a sleek black car. Before driving off, she swapped her heels for flats.
Only then did Yan Qingqiu realize she was barefoot. One heel lay near Fu Ye’s seat; the other was kicked under the table.
Fu Ye’s neck remained crooked, his fury twisting his face.
Her earlier “unrestrained” behavior had clearly left an impression.
The butler opened the car door for her. Yan Qingqiu climbed in, crossing her legs. The butler retrieved spare shoes from the trunk, meticulously wiping her feet with gloved hands before slipping them on.
The café manager timidly approached, holding her discarded heels. “I don’t want them,” Yan Qingqiu said coldly.
“Please take them,” the manager pleaded, bowing as he handed them to the butler, who murmured, “Miss, these are the limited-edition pair you bought at last month’s show. One million per shoe.”
Yan Qingqiu’s eyebrow twitched.
“One million per shoe? Global limited edition. Best to keep them.” The butler stored them in the trunk, changing gloves before driving off.
“Fine.” Yan Qingqiu fought to keep her expression neutral—though internally, she cycled through shock, anguish, and the urge to cry. Then she spotted Fu Ye on the phone, his neck still askew, and snorted.
Fu Ye: She dares laugh at me?!
The car ride was silent. Yan Qingqiu’s skin prickled with heat.
Too nervous to speak, she fumbled with the seat controls, accidentally reclining it. Ah, lying down feels better.
The butler glanced in the mirror, his face shifting to that infuriating “I understand everything” look.
Yan Qingqiu wanted to scream: What exactly do you “understand” now?!
Her mission performance had been humiliating. Most transmigrators at least knew the plot and characters. She’d been thrown in blind, with only deceptive “tutorial questions” to guide her.
Among all isekai stories, hers was uniquely brutal—life-or-death tasks from the start, zero background info.
On the bright side: Song Qingre’s lips were delicious.
“What kind of person do you think I am?” Yan Qingqiu asked coolly.
The butler replied dutifully: “Naturally kind, gentle, generous, considerate—”
“The truth.” She glared. If this was a horror plot, and she’d just assaulted the male lead, she needed to know how fast she’d die next.
The butler hesitated. “You’re… somewhat haughty. A tad overbearing. But only a little bad.”
Good. A villainess could get away with anything.
She exhaled, unfolding the napkin again: [88 South Gold Street]
“?”
She recalled her morning rush, she had noted her surroundings to gauge her identity. She should be the spoiled, tyrannical young mistress of this estate.
“It’s… the exact same address.”
Had Song Qingre written it deliberately?
And why hadn’t she resisted the kiss?
Were we secret lovers? Did I, the villainess, scheme to “keep” the male lead’s beloved, forcing her into a clandestine affair?
She had woken up naked…
Once her mind veered down that path, it conjured increasingly indecent scenarios—Song Qingre crawling into her bed, “servicing” her…
Kissing was one thing.
But if they had to sleep together…
The car stopped. The butler opened her door, but Yan Qingqiu froze when she spotted a familiar vehicle parked nearby.
“Why is she here?” she whispered.
The butler didn’t answer. Song Qingre stepped out and said mildly, “I’ve always lived here. Next door.” A pause. “And I’ll keep living here after returning.”
“!”
The gentle girl-next-door? Childhood friends?
Then it hit her: one of the “preferred archetype” options had been:
A. Gentle (Girl-Next-Door).
She’d assumed the asterisks were just examples. But what if…
Had she unknowingly selected some adult variant of “girl-next-door”?
Song Qingre tilted her head. “Qiuqiu, have you forgotten where I live so soon?”
Qiuqiu?!
Yan Qingqiu’s toes curled.
She defaulted to a haughty “Hmph!”
“Then why write my address?”
Song Qingre: “You seemed unsure of your own.”
“I know it!” She’d memorized it!
This excuse was flimsy, Song Qingre was clearly testing her. Or toying with her.
“Whatever! I was too angry to think straight!” Yan Qingqiu pivoted sharply: “Meanwhile, you sneaked out at dawn to meet that scum! Song Qingre, do you even remember where you live?”
“…” Song Qingre’s lips pursed. “You kissed me just now, yet you’re this harsh?” She touched her mouth. “My lip still stings from driving.”
Her wounded expression made Yan Qingqiu guiltier.
Talking to Song Qingre short-circuited her brain, leaving her flustered and overheating.
“Fine, what’s done is done. Go inside. I won’t fuss over such a small matter.” Song Qingre’s tone softened, so fond it made Yan Qingqiu wonder if they’d been close all along.
Definitely the scumbag’s fault for coming between us.
“Oh, and…” Song Qingre’s voice dipped lower, almost too sweet. “I’ll drop by tonight to fetch something.”
Her gaze trailed from Yan Qingqiu’s neck to her feet before she turned, pushing open the rusty gate with a screech that grated the ears.
As she disappeared into the shadows, her silhouette seemed to darken.
Tonight? My house?
Huh?!
Yan Qingqiu’s mind shorted out.
[System, what is our relationship?!]
System: [Unclear. But all options were generated from your subconscious. We didn’t interfere. Keep exploring for rewards!]
[You’re useless!]
System: [Consider what “girl-next-door” archetype you prefer. What desires lurk in your mind?]
Yan Qingqiu pondered. “A… pervert?”
The system stayed silent.
Was that a yes? You like “perverted big sister” types?
The butler held the gate open. “Miss?”
“Nothing,” she muttered.
[Think back. If you saw a naked beauty, could you resist? Is it so wrong to imagine them being a little wild with you?]
System: [We never saw any “naked beauty,” host. Focus on surviving.]
Weird. The system didn’t see it?
Walking inside, Yan Qingqiu racked her brain: What kind of “girl-next-door” could escalate to levels? Sultry? Scheming? Obsessive? Or just insatiable?
God, this line of thinking is dangerous.
She realized with horror that she’d fantasized about all of them.
Yan Qingqiu, you’re disgustingly horny.
And criminally young!
Worst of all: she’d been oblivious to her own depravity.
Shameless.