The Dragon of the Fallen Demon Master Sister in a Book - Chapter 5

“No.” Feng Qingzhuo responded firmly, seemingly afraid that Chris might misunderstand, she added, “It’s not.”

Feng Qingzhuo lowered her head, her nose inadvertently brushing against Chris’s head. The warm breath tickled Chris’s nose, making her rub it with her paw before quickly turning her head to sneeze.

“Achoo—” Along with the sneeze came a small burst of flame.

Chris: !??

Oh no, even her sneezes had become a high-risk event now.

The flame accidentally singed the cuff of Feng Qingzhuo’s sleeve. Chris hurriedly reached out with her paw to smother it, only to see Feng Qingzhuo extend a hand, a piece of ice forming at her fingertips, instantly extinguishing the fire.

Chris: Huh?! Magic!!

Chris found it utterly fascinating. She leaned in, grabbing Feng Qingzhuo’s index finger with her paw, examining it left and right, still unable to figure out where the ice had come from or how a human hand could produce it.

Like an inquisitive child, Chris clung to Feng Qingzhuo, crawling all over her with wide-eyed curiosity. In no time, Feng Qingzhuo’s pristine white training robes were covered in tiny paw prints. The small dragon’s prints were delicate, and against the fabric, they didn’t look messy—instead, they carried a unique charm.

The sudden closeness made Feng Qingzhuo pause. She cupped the little dragon, who was climbing all over her, in both hands and gazed into her eyes, speaking softly, “Chris, do you know? It’s just been too long since anyone called me that.”

“Hearing you say it makes me happy.” Feng Qingzhuo curved her lips into a bright smile—one so pure and sincere, brimming with warmth and contentment, it nearly dazzled Chris.

Chris looked up. Feng Qingzhuo’s smile was radiant, instantly captivating her gaze. Yet, Chris still keenly noticed the redness around Feng Qingzhuo’s eyes, the faint glimmer of unshed tears.

At the sight, Chris felt her heart clench. She had always been terrible with crying children. Back when relatives’ kids would wreak havoc in her home, then burst into tears after misbehaving, it drove her up the wall—so much so that she now had a near-PTSD reaction to children crying.

But Feng Qingzhuo was nothing like those kids.

Her sorrow was restrained, almost like a kitten licking its wounds in solitude—never bothersome. Her words were honest, her gaze clear. This child was so genuine and kind, it was impossible to dislike her… Instead…

Instead, her maturity made it all too easy to feel protective. It made one want… to hold her close, to shield her, to cherish her, to give her all the beauty in the world—simply because… she deserved it!

Thinking about those unruly brats from her relatives’ families—the ones who cried, threw tantrums, and even smashed others’ figurines or stole things—Chris couldn’t help but grumble inwardly, “Really… sometimes the difference between people is even greater than that between humans and dogs.”

A surge of inexplicable tenderness welled up in Chris’s heart, and she comforted softly, “A–Zhuo, don’t cry.”

Unconsciously, Chris rubbed her nose with her paw. Her nose tingled with emotion, and her already awkward draconic pronunciation grew even more muddled, her voice trembling slightly with barely restrained emotion.

Embarrassed, Chris explained, “A–Zhuo, I’ve always had strong empathy. If you cry, I won’t be able to hold back either.”

“Then we’ll just end up hugging and sobbing together,” Chris shook her head and sighed vaguely.

“No,” Feng Qingzhuo turned her head slightly away, defending herself, “I’m not crying. I just… miss those times a little.”

“Just a little nostalgia, that’s all.” After saying this, Feng Qingzhuo lowered her head, “Of course, I’m actually quite content now.”

“Hmm…” Chris thought for a moment before tentatively guessing, “Was it your mother?”

Held in Feng Qingzhuo’s arms, Chris could clearly feel her stiffen momentarily, but Feng Qingzhuo still nodded, tacitly acknowledging it.

“Is she… gone?” Chris softened her voice, speaking as gently and quietly as possible, afraid of startling a frightened little animal.

“Yeah… you could say that.” Feng Qingzhuo responded, suddenly raising her head and murmuring, “I thought I’d never hear anyone call me A–Zhuo again in this lifetime.”

“No one here calls me that.” Feng Qingzhuo stared down at her toes.

Chris fell silent. She’d killed the conversation—damn it!! Why was she so terrible with words?! Heaven gave her such strong empathy but paired it with this awful mouth—what a wretched combination!

Chris remained silent, and Feng Qingzhuo matched her in wordless understanding.

Neither the human nor the dragon spoke.

Feng Qingzhuo moved with efficient precision as she worked. First, she boiled a pot of water, then found a large tub. She mixed cold and hot water, testing the temperature with her hand—adding ice if it was too hot, more boiling water if too cold. After several adjustments, she finally achieved a comfortable warmth.

The water was slightly warmer than human body temperature—something she’d specifically asked the dragons about back in Dragon Valley, the ideal temperature for hatchlings.

Carefully, Feng Qingzhuo placed Chris into the tub. The little dragon instinctively gripped the edge with her claws, slowly submerging her entire body into the water.

“A–Zhuo, I once heard something,” Chris relaxed, settling her whole body into the tub. “A person dies three times in their life.”

Recalling a book she’d read, Chris repeated the concept proposed by Eileen Chang: “The first death is brain death—when breathing stops, the body dies.”

Feng Qingzhuo was very quiet, holding a piece of soapberry in her hand as she gently washed the little dragon’s paws, creating a lather. Though she didn’t speak, Chris always felt that the other was listening—and listening very attentively at that.

“The second time is the funeral, which means this person is socially dead.” Chris narrowed her eyes, thoroughly enjoying being bathed by someone else. So comfortable was she that her tail couldn’t help but sway slightly. She lifted a pawful of water, watching it naturally trickle through her claws, utterly content.

“And the third time…” Chris blinked suddenly and grasped the hand that was scrubbing her tail with her claws. Staring into those pitch-black eyes, she said earnestly, “The third time is being forgotten, when no one in the world remembers you anymore.”

“So…” Chris spoke slowly, “A–Zhuo, do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Chris scratched her head with a claw. She wasn’t very good at comforting others, and this kind of comfort was more about sensing than explaining. To put it simply—she was bad with words, really bad with words.

Feng Qingzhuo shuddered. The only sound in her ears was the howling wind, and the scent of wintersweet filled her nose. Her hand trembled slightly—Chris’s beautiful dark red dragon eyes were breathtakingly gorgeous at this moment. For some reason, the soapberry slipped from her grasp into the water. Startled, she reached to retrieve it.

Truth be told, Chris wasn’t entirely sure if Feng Qingzhuo could comprehend such profound concepts. After all… the other was still just an eleven or twelve-year-old child.

By the time Feng Qingzhuo fished the soapberry out of the tub, Chris had already averted her gaze, and she never saw those beautiful eyes again.

“Mhm.” Feng Qingzhuo responded softly. Though somewhat confused, she diligently continued washing the little dragon. “I really like that name. No one has called me that since my mother passed away.”

Feng Qingzhuo’s gaze softened. “My mother’s voice was very similar to yours. I can’t remember many details anymore, but I know when she spoke, it sounded just like you—always with that strange dialect and unclear pronunciation.”

Chris’s heart clenched. So… this was why Feng Qingzhuo could understand every word she said? Behind it all lay a child’s longing and love for her departed mother?

According to Feng Qingzhuo, her mother must have passed away when she was very young. Chris knew most young children don’t retain clear memories from that age, yet Feng Qingzhuo could still vividly recall how her mother used to call her name and the tone she used. Chris hardly dared imagine—had this child lain awake countless nights, straining to hear that familiar “A–Zhuo” from her mother’s voice?

“Tsk—” The more Chris thought about it, the more her scalp prickled. She didn’t dare dwell further. Covering her face with both claws, she knew letting her imagination run wild would only upset her own emotions, leaving herself distressed in the end.

Feng Qingzhuo reached out and lifted Chris from the bath, drying her thoroughly with a clean cloth. Noticing Chris’s drooping eyelids, she quickly carried her to bed and tucked her in.

“A–Zhuo…” Chris murmured with her eyes closed, “Can I call you… A–Zhuo?”

Feng Qingzhuo gently ruffled her hair and said, “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight.”

Summoning her courage, Feng Qingzhuo stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on Chris’s forehead. Her mother had once told her that a forehead kiss symbolized affection and fondness. She liked this dragon—simply because… this dragon was the only thing she truly possessed in Tianxuan Sect.

Feng Qingzhuo pressed her lips together, gazing at the slumbering little dragon, her voice as faint as a mosquito’s hum, “Could you… always call me A–Zhuo?”

With that, Feng Qingzhuo turned and left the room.

She still had unfinished business.

Chris was carried to bed by Feng Qingzhuo with an indescribable emotion swirling within her. After all, she was still just a newly hatched dragon. Dragons had always been fond of sleep—napping for a century or two was hardly unusual, let alone for a juvenile like her.

Thus, before reaching adulthood, Chris had pitifully little time to herself each day. It felt like the day had barely begun, and she hadn’t even done much, yet her body’s internal clock was already signaling exhaustion. Her eyelids grew heavy, trembling with the need for sleep once more.

No sooner had Feng Qingzhuo placed her on the bed, her feet barely touching the sheets, than Chris collapsed instantly into slumber. Just before losing consciousness, a meme from her past life flashed through her mind—”Youth is great, you can fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow.jpg.”

Now, if she had a phone, Chris mused, she could probably become the subject of a new meme—or even a GIF—of a little black dragon face-planting into a fluffy quilt, captioned: “Young dragons have it good, passing out the second they hit the bed.”

–

“Not this dream again.” Chris walked through a sea of crimson flames, but this time was different from the last. After mastering a technique she dubbed “idealism,” the blazing inferno in her dreams could no longer harm her in the slightest.

In her dragon form, Chris traversed the fiery expanse. Wherever she passed, the flames parted before her as if she were their sovereign—the daughter of fire itself. She wove through the conflagration, searching for the Eastern dragon she had glimpsed in her previous dream.

Chris firmly believed that everything happened for a reason. Nothing in this world occurred without cause. She was convinced fate existed, and so she sought the reason for her arrival here.

And that reason… Chris instinctively felt it was tied to the small Eastern dragon she had seen before. She wanted to wake it, to ask why she had appeared in this place.

Or perhaps the Eastern dragon knew even more?

Having been Eastern in her past life, Chris was naturally more familiar with Eastern dragons than their Western counterparts.

At the heart of the flames, Chris saw the Eastern dragon once more.

But this time, it wasn’t asleep.

Its golden eyes were open—it was awake.

Somehow, Chris felt as though it had been waiting for her all along.