Haven't Been a Senior Sister for Many Years - Chapter 14

Chapter 14:  A Game of Wits

At dawn the next morning, Chu Zhiqin, as usual, wrung out a warm towel to wipe Leng Junzhu’s face.

Unexpectedly, as soon as her hand neared Leng Junzhu’s face, the hands that had been properly crossed over her chest suddenly grabbed her wrist before Chu Zhiqin could react.

Startled, Chu Zhiqin furrowed her brows. It seemed she had let her guard down recently—how had she failed to notice Leng Junzhu’s movement?

“What are you trying to do?”

The eyes that had remained tightly shut for a whole day and night slowly opened. Beneath thick, dark lashes, a flicker of black flashed by—followed by a cold, emotionless golden gleam that Chu Zhiqin was all too familiar with.

Leng Junzhu’s snake-like pupils stared at her icily. Her voice was chilling.

For a moment, Chu Zhiqin didn’t know how to respond.

Ever since their relationship had changed, it had been a long time since Leng Junzhu had spoken to her in such a cold tone. She stammered, “You’ve been unconscious for a whole day. I just wanted to help you wipe your face…”

Perhaps realizing her tone was too harsh, Leng Junzhu rubbed her forehead and offered a vague explanation, “Sorry. I had a dream… I’m still a little out of it.”

“It’s okay.” Chu Zhiqin helped her sit up against the headboard and began gently massaging her swollen and sore temples. “How are you feeling now?”

Leng Junzhu squinted and replied, “I’m fine.”

Chu Zhiqin: “……”

The two fell silent, the room instantly returning to stillness.

After a long pause, Chu Zhiqin finally broke the silence. She couldn’t help but ask, “Do you… still remember the dream you had last night?”

The night before, one of Senior Sister’s memory droplets had successfully merged into Leng Junzhu’s sea of consciousness.

After obtaining the memory, Hua Ling had once told her: once a memory fused into someone’s consciousness, it would appear in the form of dreams. Unlike directly viewing someone’s memories, this method allowed the dreamer to fully experience the memory owner’s emotions and knowledge.

Back then, Hua Ling had planned to absorb the memory into her own sea of consciousness to search for answers she longed for. But before executing the plan, she changed her mind. A single memory droplet could only be used once—if she failed to find her answers, all seven droplets would be wasted.

For that reason, Hua Ling had once advised Chu Zhiqin: as long as the green hills remain, there’s no fear of running out of firewood. If the memories are gone, there’s truly nothing left.

But Chu Zhiqin remained unmoved.

Memories were dead things—people were alive.

Her senior sister was no longer there—what use was a room full of memories? Rather than guarding them pointlessly, she might as well let them serve their final purpose. Besides, the time Master Xuanqing had bought for her was running out.

She had never been one to act timidly. She’d rather gamble everything on a single throw—like a player at the table pushing in all her chips, desperate to win it all.

To her question, Leng Junzhu replied carelessly, “I forgot. Probably nothing important.”

And then, she added, “Just… annoying.”

Chu Zhiqin’s hand paused mid-massage.

How could it not be important? How could that past mean nothing?

Leng Junzhu’s words were like a poisoned dagger, stabbing deep into Chu Zhiqin’s already ravaged heart. The pain was so intense her eyes welled with tears. Her face tightened, and she had to bite her lip to stop the tears from falling.

“It’s alright,” she heard herself say in a trembling voice. “It’ll get better.”

If one droplet wasn’t enough, there were still six more.

“Maybe,” Leng Junzhu said indifferently. She waved off Chu Zhiqin’s hand, her voice slightly irritated. “I want a bath. Go ask them to bring in some hot water.”

“Okay, I’ll go now.” Chu Zhiqin, of course, wouldn’t refuse such a simple request. She quickly wiped away the tears at the corners of her eyes and turned to leave.

The door closed.

Leng Junzhu, who always appeared calm and collected, suddenly slumped against the pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling above the bed.

How could she possibly forget?

The dream was vivid and clear. The acrid scent of gunpowder mixed with bl00d, the dry, straw-like hair, the face smeared with filth—

And those eyes.

Eyes that shimmered with defiance, longing for the sunlight even in the depths of hell.

How could she forget?

But… were those memories truly hers?

Leng Junzhu opened her palm. The fine, curved lines etched into her hand were as tangled as the thoughts in her mind.

Her first memories were of the dark, grim skies of the Demon Realm and its brutal laws of survival—deception, betrayal, survival of the fittest. Everything she had endured told her: trust no one but yourself.

Men couldn’t be trusted. Women couldn’t be trusted. Even the frailest of children or the elderly couldn’t be trusted.

Trust was one of the most worthless things in the Demon Realm.

Unlike the surface-level peace of the Nine Provinces, survival in the Demon Realm meant that even the lowest dregs could betray or grovel to climb their way out. Everyone had sharp teeth hidden beneath a smile.

Ever since she’d nearly died at the hands of someone who appeared gentle but was vicious to the core, Leng Junzhu had learned never to underestimate anyone.

Her whole life had been a struggle to climb out of the mud. Her throne was not built upon flowers and glory—but corpses and rivers of bl00d. The scent of death clung to her so strongly that no fragrance or sachet could cover it up.

She even remembered who the first person she killed was.

The person in the dream, however, was her complete opposite—raised with love, growing up with no turbulence in a smooth-sailing life. The only ripple in that life was… Chu Zhiqin.

Leng Junzhu touched her face—it looked almost identical to the one in the dream. Except the eyes.

Those eyes, so similar yet completely different, were clean, clear.

Leng Junzhu didn’t need a mirror to know what her own eyes looked like—cunning, sinister, brimming with malice that had nowhere to hide.

Only a fool like Chu Zhiqin would believe she was her long-dead senior sister.

How could the dead return? That would be pure fantasy.

But this wasn’t bad either. Since Heaven had given her this opportunity, it would be a waste not to seize it and make the most of it. Leng Junzhu was eager to see the lofty Sword Immortal fall into the dust, stripped of her dignity.

Still—

Leng Junzhu thought of Chu Zhiqin’s rose-like beauty. She truly liked that face. Perhaps she could spare her life—for the sake of that face.

Just like what Chu Zhiqin had done to her—

Keep her on a leash. Lock her away. Let her live out the rest of her days, barely breathing.

At that thought, Leng Junzhu couldn’t help but smile, confident and determined.

She would have her.

The door opened.

Behind Chu Zhiqin came a few inn attendants carrying buckets of hot water. Before they entered, she warned them coldly, “Once inside, don’t look where you shouldn’t.”

The attendants all lowered their heads and didn’t dare glance around.

Once the hot water was poured, and the attendants left, Leng Junzhu finally got out of bed.

Her graceful figure became a hazy silhouette behind the landscape-printed screen. Steam rose slowly. A sheer white robe was casually thrown over the top. Chu Zhiqin could hear the gentle splashes of water.

She sat, trying to focus on her tea, eyes downcast, breath calm.

The splashes continued. As Chu Zhiqin reached for her third cup, Leng Junzhu’s voice floated over from behind the screen.

“Can you come help me wash my back?”

“……”

“…Alright.”

Chu Zhiqin set her teacup down and walked awkwardly behind the screen.

She saw a pale, slender arm resting on the edge of the tub, long ink-black hair pushed to one side, revealing a delicate, thin back.

She couldn’t see Leng Junzhu’s face, but she heard a soft chuckle. No doubt the other had noticed her awkwardness and was secretly laughing at her.

“Still not coming?” Leng Junzhu turned her head, prompting her again.

“Coming.” Chu Zhiqin stepped forward, picked up a towel, dipped it in hot water, wrung it out.

The pale back before her was flushed pink from the steam. The graceful shoulder blades were like a butterfly ready to take flight. For a moment, Chu Zhiqin didn’t dare touch her—afraid she might frighten away this elusive butterfly.

“Hmm?”

“Sorry—I’ll start now.”

She wrung the towel again and gently began wiping Leng Junzhu’s back.

The warm towel circled slowly across her back. When Chu Zhiqin’s calloused fingers touched her shoulder, the rough skin slightly rubbed against her smooth one, sending tingles down Leng Junzhu’s spine.

She shrank back slightly to escape the sensation.

It was strange.

She had spent countless years in the Demon Realm, bathed by numerous handmaidens—yet never had she felt such helplessness and desire to escape.

What was worse was the towel behind her, utterly unaware of her torment, continuing its slow, rhythmic motion.

With a sudden splash, Chu Zhiqin, lost in thought, was pulled into the tub by Leng Junzhu’s mischief. Water splashed over her face and soaked half her body. She lay across the tub, hands pressed awkwardly on Leng Junzhu’s bare shoulders to keep from falling in.

Chu Zhiqin: “?!”

Leng Junzhu exaggerated her tone, “Oh my, is our noble Sword Immortal dizzy from the steam? Whatever shall we do?” She caressed Chu Zhiqin’s wet cheek, her voice soft, “Did you want to join me?”

“N-no…” Chu Zhiqin blushed, shaking her head. She tried to pull away, but Leng Junzhu didn’t give her the chance. She held Chu Zhiqin’s chin and forced her to meet her gaze.

“Be a good girl. Look at me.” Pale skin, patches of smoky blue scales faintly visible on her face—her voice was more enchanting than usual, like soft claws scratching at Chu Zhiqin’s heart, making her body go limp.

Chu Zhiqin, as if not seeing the scales, obediently looked into her eyes.

Those golden serpent eyes were no longer frosty—they were like honeyed amber in autumn, sweet and thick, impossible to escape. Chu Zhiqin could only fall deeper and deeper, trapped, wrapped in honey like a prized possession.

“Good girl.” Wet skin pressed together. Gentle breaths exploded beside her ear. Cold kisses landed on her earlobe, her neck and shoulder.

Soft, boneless hands gradually peeled away her clothes, luring her into the warm water.

Half-dazed, a smoky blue tail coiled around her thigh, diving into darker, deeper places.

The snake had caught its prey—stealing her air, drowning her in its embrace.

The bath lasted until long past sunrise. The water had cooled multiple times before Leng Junzhu, finally sated, released the limp and exhausted Chu Zhiqin from her arms.

“I’ll finish the last two medicinal herbs,” Leng Junzhu said, lifting Chu Zhiqin out of the tub. The droplets on their bodies instantly evaporated under her demonic energy. Nestled in the bedding, she brushed her fingers across Chu Zhiqin’s lashes and said softly, “But you have to promise me something.”

“Once I’ve taken them, you must let me go.”

Beneath her fingers, she felt the faint trembling of lashes. The lips, red and swollen from her kisses, were pressed tightly shut. Then, Chu Zhiqin forced out a reply.

“…Okay.”