Haven't Been a Senior Sister for Many Years - Chapter 40
Chapter 40: He Missed Chu Zhiqin
“Bang!” Lin Zixiao’s fist, as large as a sandpot, slammed heavily on the table. The sturdy stone table instantly crumbled into powder.
“Damn it! I just got back and already have to deal with this crap. What a bad omen!”
Murong Su swiftly snatched the wine jug before the table was destroyed. “Hey! My wine!”
“Pfft, who cares about your lousy wine at a time like this?”
“Ah, but precisely because we can’t do anything, we should drink,” Murong Su said, gulping down a large mouthful.
“Leng Junzhu clearly set a trap for us with this so-called meeting tomorrow. You’re wasting your energy raging like this. Might as well save your strength—you’ll need it just to survive.”
“That’s what pisses me off the most!” Lin Zixiao snarled. “Tell me—how are we inferior to Leng Junzhu? In strength or brains, we’re not lacking!”
“She’s just a newcomer—how the hell did she become the Demon Lord?!”
Snatching the wine jug from Murong Su, Lin Zixiao took a deep swig and growled, “We only lost back then because we underestimated her. She got lucky, that’s all.”
“And Su Yuqiu and Mo Qianxue? Damn traitors! Turning sides right before the battle? Talking nonsense about ‘Heaven’s chosen one.’ I’ll give them heaven’s chosen! I say I’m the fated Demon Lord!”
“I say we take advantage of this gathering—catch Leng Junzhu off guard, and force her off the throne. Let’s see how arrogant she’ll be then!”
Murong Su: “…”
He had always known Lin Zixiao was brawn over brains, but he didn’t realize the man was this naïve. Murong Su suddenly began to doubt himself—had he actually considered rebelling with this fool not long ago?
Was he out of his mind?
“Brother Zixiao, calm down. This needs a careful plan. Come, let’s sit and drink—figure out a way to survive tomorrow first.”
“I’m just getting angrier the more I think about it,” Lin Zixiao grumbled, finally slumping into his seat. “Fine, fine. Let’s drink. No more talk about that crap.”
“You really shouldn’t be talking about that crap here,” came a crisp voice from behind the rockery.
Out stepped a woman in a red, round-collared robe with arrow sleeves. A whip hung at her waist. Her features were sharp, expression gallant—an aura both dashing and commanding.
“I could hear you two shouting from half a courtyard away. Are you tired of living, discussing this out in the open?”
She glanced at the two burly men, each holding a wine jug but with no table or dishes in sight. “Wait, you guys are drinking with no food?”
Lin Zixiao coughed awkwardly. “What are you doing here? I don’t recall inviting you.”
Murong Su nodded politely. “What brings you here, Lady Luo?”
“Lady Luo” was none other than Luo Qingli, one of the Twelve Demon Generals—like Murong Su and Lin Zixiao, she had once been defeated and forced to surrender to Leng Junzhu. The three had kept decent relations since.
“You know damn well why I’m here. If not for the assembly tomorrow, why else would I come?” she rolled her eyes. “Also, what the hell happened to the table?”
Lin Zixiao glanced sheepishly at the pile of rubble and said nothing.
“We were sparring earlier and accidentally broke it,” Murong Su offered, trying to save Lin Zixiao some face. “Would Lady Luo care to move inside? We can ask the attendants to prepare a proper meal. It’s been a while since we drank together.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lin Zixiao chimed in. “It’s been too long.”
“No need,” Luo Qingli declined. “I didn’t come here to drink. I came to warn you—don’t do anything foolish at the gathering tomorrow.”
Murong Su’s expression sharpened. “Did you hear something?”
Lin Zixiao immediately put down his jug to listen closely.
“Su Yuqiu has emerged from seclusion—and she will attend tomorrow’s meeting,” Luo Qingli said, sitting down.
“For decades, Su Yuqiu ignored the Demon Lord’s summons, never showed up in person, only sent people to represent her. Someone like her suddenly showing up in person? Something’s wrong. There’s a secret we don’t know.”
Murong Su frowned in thought. “Even Su Yuqiu has bowed her head. We’d best tread carefully tomorrow. Don’t forget—we’ve all done things while Leng Junzhu was away.”
Lin “Took Over While the Lord Was Gone” Zixiao: …
“At worst, we fight her again,” Lin Zixiao muttered. “I heard Leng Junzhu was captured and held by Chu Zhiqin for three months. Everyone in the Nine Provinces knows Chu Zhiqin hates demonic cultivators. And Leng Junzhu was the Demon Lord!”
“We’ve all captured enemies before—we know how that ends. Missing limbs are the least of it. You think Leng Junzhu fared any better?”
“Probably tortured day and night until she was half-dead. Escaped by sheer luck.”
He leaned forward, growing more convinced of his theory. “You see? That’s why Su Yuqiu is attending—just to see Leng Junzhu’s miserable state for herself! She used to be the uncrowned queen of the Demon Realm—biggest influence among us all, like it or not.”
“And Leng Junzhu just came in and took her throne. How could she not hold a grudge?”
“Which is why I still think we should attack tomorrow. Catch her off guard, take her out!”
Murong Su: ?
Luo Qingli: ?
Luo Qingli buried her face in her palm. “Please. Just promise me you’ll never try to think again.”
God help her. Was it too late to change teammates?
She had thought with Murong Su present, Lin Zixiao—though impulsive—could be managed. But clearly the man was just a brute with no strategy at all!
With Mo Qianxue in Leng Junzhu’s corner, anything the three of them had done during her absence could be uncovered. Tomorrow’s meeting was a trap—they just had to deny everything, blame their subordinates.
Given their years of contributions, Leng Junzhu might spare their lives—even if they were punished.
But if they followed Lin Zixiao’s suicidal plan, even ten lives wouldn’t be enough.
Lin Zixiao felt vaguely insulted, but since Luo Qingli was his equal in strength and he couldn’t beat her, he decided to let it slide. “Still think my idea’s not that bad…”
“Forget that,” Luo Qingli cut him off. “Just remember this: tomorrow, stay calm. We were the ones who made the most noise when Leng Junzhu was gone. She’s not the forgiving type.”
“Those who opposed her before? Most ended up miserable. We surrendered early enough to avoid the worst. Not like Shi Hexuan—ended up a mutilated, half-dead human pig. Died in agony.”
Murong Su nodded. “She’s right. As long as we live, there’s hope. Life is the most important thing.”
Lin Zixiao sighed. “If only we had joined forces back then to crush Leng Junzhu. Instead, we let her take us out one by one. Now look at us—taking orders.”
Among the Twelve Demon Generals, none had been willing to submit. When Leng Junzhu attacked, they were still busy stabbing each other in the back—until she conquered them all, one by one.
If their old enemies were still alive, they’d be laughing their heads off.
“It’s too late now,” said Luo Qingli. “All that matters is surviving tomorrow. I’m leaving. Don’t drink too much, or you’ll ruin everything.”
“We’ll be careful,” Murong Su assured her. “You have my word.”
Lin Zixiao nodded beside him.
Seeing that they’d finally taken her advice to heart, Luo Qingli left. After she was gone, the two men drank a while longer before heading back to their quarters.
…
In the Demon Lord’s Hall
Mo Qianxue stood staring at the patterns on the floor. “At the hour of the dog, Murong Su entered Lin Zixiao’s palace. At the hour of the pig, Luo Qingli joined them for less than half an hour. Murong Su didn’t leave—he stayed the night.”
Cold moonlight poured over Leng Junzhu’s face as she stood by the window. The patterns on her metallic mask seemed to come alive under the light, writhing eerily.
She looked out over the bone-strewn, fire-lit Youming Mountain and murmured, “I see. You’ve done well. Go rest.”
Mo Qianxue couldn’t tell if Leng Junzhu was pleased or angry. She bowed and quietly left.
Once alone, Leng Junzhu stared out the window. Her golden serpent-pupiled eyes shimmered with an unfamiliar emotion—confusion, loneliness.
She had regained her freedom, reclaimed her throne.
So why did she feel nothing but emptiness?
Her chest ached—tight, suffocating. Her heart felt as though it were being carved apart with a blade.
The bone piles and ghostly flames outside blurred and shifted—transforming into the figure of Chu Zhiqin.
The deliberately serious brows, the cute smile that bloomed when praised, the round eyes curving with laughter…
Those same eyes could cry too—rainy, dreary, pulling at the heart. She would’ve plucked the sun from the sky if it could have made the rain stop.
Chu Zhiqin’s body had been so soft—flexible in the most unbelievable ways. Her flushed cheeks would hide behind her arms, revealing only the tips of red ears and lips swollen from kisses.
Leng Junzhu could no longer suppress the longing roiling inside her.
In just a few days apart, she missed Chu Zhiqin terribly.
She missed her eyes, her lips, her whispers, her smiles, her tears, her madness.
For those three months, Chu Zhiqin had loved her “senior sister” with pure, fervent passion—undeniable and consuming. It was addictive—impossible to let go.
But Leng Junzhu had lost.
Chu Zhiqin had only ever loved her true senior sister.
That love had conditions. Leng Junzhu was not her senior sister, and could never possess that love.
When Qing Shuang Sword pierced Chu Zhiqin’s heart, Leng Junzhu had wanted to stop it—but there was no one left to stop.
Chu Zhiqin’s silhouette had vanished, replaced by laughing bones under the moonlight—mocking her for destroying the one she claimed to cherish, now mourning her like some tragic heroine.
Leng Junzhu clutched her aching chest. The flickering firelight reflected in her golden eyes.
She missed Chu Zhiqin.