Reborn as a succubus - Chapter 3

Lotus root white as snow, kitchen gauze thin as air.
Who will I share this night with? Call for the jade-like one to join me.

White lotus robe, soft-gold phoenix-feather cloak, cloud-pattern belt, crown of gold and jade… and on top of all that, a face that has always been considered the aesthetic benchmark of the Three Realms—unparalleled in beauty, noble beyond compare.

Who else could this be if not his former colleague, the God of Light?

So, what do you do when you sneak off for a casual hookup and your old colleague catches you in the act?

Xi Che wanted to leave this beautiful world immediately.

When it came to Chu Yan, the first thing people mentioned was his cold, vengeful temperament; his good looks came second.

Only Xi Che could get away with openly admiring his beauty—thick-skinned and familiar with him as he was. Anyone else who dared take an extra glance would be repaid in kind.

After all these years apart, one would think Xi Che should take a good long look.

But now, he didn’t dare look at Chu Yan’s face at all. His throat felt stuffed with cotton; he couldn’t speak.

Since falling into the Demon Realm, not a day had passed when Xi Che hadn’t wanted to see Chu Yan—yet he had never dared. A few times they had crossed paths by chance, and Xi Che had avoided him. Later, when the God–Demon War broke out, there was no chance to meet at all.

He was afraid to see disappointment in Chu Yan’s eyes.

Once, as young men, they had been full of grand ambitions—brewing plum wine in winter, riding fine horses, brewing tea in the snow. They had sworn to become the most powerful gods in the Three Realms, to lead all beings out of suffering.

And in the end, Chu Yan did become a great god. Xi Che, however, became the first Fallen One.

He wanted to run.

It was better for the two of them not to meet.

Unable to break free from the dreamscape he himself had created, Xi Che instinctively chose the stupidest escape method—his hand found the door behind him. At once he turned his back to Chu Yan, fumbling to pull the handle.

The only sound was the clattering of the door’s handle and knocker.

Calm down… look on the bright side—he was wearing another person’s face. There was no way Chu Yan would recognize him. At most, the God of Light might think him some demon trespassing in his dream.

Only succubi could enter dreams to seduce others—Chu Yan would know that.

But no matter how he pulled, the door didn’t budge.

Utterly desperate, Xi Che began to curse the heavens.

Wasn’t this the God of Light? And he, just a low-level demon—how could he so easily intrude into the god’s dream?

Then he heard faint footsteps behind him—each step sounding like water being stirred. Someone was wading closer.

The scene was surely the Bibo Pool of the Jade Capital Palace, with hot spring water flowing through the estate year-round. Once, Xi Che and the others had envied Chu Yan for having it; today, standing here, Xi Che only wanted to die.

Steam rose, curling around his waist. Without turning, Xi Che knew that someone now stood just a hair’s breadth behind him.

Realizing this, Xi Che froze in place, hand still on the doorknob.

Chu Yan was far too close—close enough that his shallow breaths brushed the back of Xi Che’s neck. If Xi Che leaned back just a fraction, they would touch.

…How did it come to this?!

“You can’t get out.”

The voice behind him was calm, as though stating a fact. Xi Che was so tense he forgot to breathe, face flushing red from holding it in.

A soft jingling of metal and jade sounded behind him—Chu Yan had bent forward, and the pendants from his robe clinked together. Xi Che thought, So it really is a dream—I can even hear Chu Yan’s pendants.

These pendants, “jinbu,” were meant to make the wearer mindful of their movements, to remain dignified. Made of gold and jade, even the smallest motion would set them tinkling.

Their teacher used to say: “When the heart is still, the pendants are silent; when they chime, the heart is restless.” For a god, that was a breach of decorum.

Xi Che, a modern soul, didn’t care for such nonsense. Back in school, he’d been the bad example—called “a monkey that gained sentience” and “a disgrace to etiquette” by his teacher, and nicknamed “Jingle-Jangle” by classmates.

Chu Yan was the opposite—top of the etiquette class, never letting his pendants make a sound.

And yet now, here he was, bending down and making them jingle.

While Xi Che was still startled, a hand reached past him, closing over his own on the doorknob. Xi Che’s hair stood on end.

When a succubus seduced someone in a dream, the dream was only the medium—everything felt physically real.

So when Chu Yan’s hand covered his, Xi Che nearly exploded.

This wasn’t right. The charm of a succubus could sway the hearts of mortals, but Chu Yan was the God of Light—the most powerful god alive. How could he be affected?

If he wasn’t under the charm, then why would he hold his hand at all? He should have kicked him out!

Gods had no desires—Xi Che knew that better than anyone.

This must be a fake…

Xi Che snapped out of it, yanking his hand free and running. But after only a few steps, he was seized again—pulled into a tight embrace.

His body was pressed against the hard pendants; hot breath at his neck seemed tinged with anger.

“Mmph!”

His hair was grabbed, his forehead slammed against the golden door. Chu Yan twisted both arms behind his back, immobilizing him completely.

It was a hopeless feeling—wanting to run but trapped like meat on a chopping block.

Calm down… Chu Yan didn’t know it was him. He couldn’t know.

Even worse, he couldn’t bear the thought of Chu Yan being “defeated” by a mere succubus.

Fine, yes—the body he was wearing was attractive. But Chu Yan was a god of the highest order. To be moved by mere beauty—what would that make him? A disgrace to the heavens!

Xi Che shut his eyes, emotions tangled. He had sought relief for his physical urges, and Chu Yan happened to be the one there—but he wasn’t happy about it.

Back then, to protect Chu Yan’s purity as a god, Xi Che had given up everything. In the Nine Nether Divine Realm, gods were forbidden to have selfish desires or emotions. No love. No hate. If such feelings arose, they would fall into the Demon Realm.

Gods must remain pure forever.

Xi Che grew angry, forgetting the risk of revealing himself.

“You should go to the Heart-Cleansing Spring.”

The Heart-Cleansing Spring was a divine spring that could wash away all improper emotions in a god’s heart. It was guarded by the goddess Ying Lei.

Even students of the Phoenix Algae Academy, like they once were, had to regularly visit it for self-reflection. If they found themselves developing feelings, they could drink a cup of its water, and all would vanish.

Chu Yan’s grip paused, and his strength eased.

Then Xi Che heard his calm, clear voice: “I will never go again.”

—He really hadn’t changed.

But Xi Che didn’t understand. What did that mean?

Chu Yan’s voice softened: “The Heart-Cleansing Spring has long since dried up.”

…So that was it. Much must have happened after the war. And Ying Lei—was she gone?

Xi Che didn’t get the chance to ask. Taking advantage of Chu Yan’s loosened hold, he broke free and looked back. Chu Yan met his gaze, cold as ever.

Xi Che gave him a deep look, then turned and left—finally escaping the dream.

He awoke, staring at the ceiling, finally at ease. A fluffy tail brushed his face as a tiny black cat padded up his chest.

“How’d it go? Did you succeed?”

Xi Che stared blankly at the ceiling. “Can’t you tell what happened?”

The white tiger nodded. “Yeah, I have no idea why, but none of what happened to you just now reached me. I called and you didn’t respond—I thought you were dead.”

…Good. He didn’t want anyone else, not even the white tiger, to know.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why do you look so dead inside? Don’t tell me you got—well—”

“…Shut up.”

At least the physical problem had subsided. Sitting up, Xi Che realized his shirt was soaked with cold sweat.

Just then, a shriek rang from outside—Xi Luan’s voice: “Get out! One more step and I won’t be polite!”

Frowning, Xi Che rushed for the door—was it those troublemakers again?

Meanwhile, in the Jade Capital Palace, another man opened his eyes. He sat with one hand propping his forehead, a rhombus-shaped purple crystal in his fingers. Inside the crystal were fragments like tiny stars.

It was Chu Yan, the God of Light.

“How was it, my lord?”

An elderly man with white robes and beard stepped forward. His eyes flicked to the crystal. “Did you… see him today?”

Chu Yan slowly turned the crystal, silent for a long while before answering softly: “I saw him…”

A rare smile touched his face. “He ran away.”

The old man’s own smile froze in puzzlement. “That’s impossible. The Dream-Building Stone shapes the dream to the god’s will. If you finally saw him, how could he escape?”

Chu Yan raised an eyebrow. “If he didn’t run, he wouldn’t be himself.”

He even mocked him—told him to visit the Heart-Cleansing Spring.

Incredible.

“Dream Master, leave the Dream-Building Stone here.”

Chu Yan rose, lifted a curtain, and stepped into a small incense hall.

Pale-blue gauze drifted down, shutting the Dream Master outside. Through the veil, the hall’s incense smoke curled upward, but the Dream Master knew he could not follow.

He could only watch Chu Yan’s back with worry. “My lord, forgive my bluntness… The Dream-Building Stone only creates illusions. The man you seek no longer exists in the Three Realms. Now that you’ve truly seen him… please, don’t lose yourself in this.”

Chu Yan seemed to light incense and place it in the burner. He turned back, a hint of anger in his voice: “Stop reminding me that he’s dead.”

—With this, at least he could dream.

Gods could never dream—their power was too great, and a single thought could affect reality. A pleasant dream was fine, but a nightmare could cause disaster.

Even for someone dearly missed, a god could never meet them in a dream.

“But—”

“Enough. I know my limits.”

With a wave of his hand, the hall doors slammed shut. The Dream Master stared at the closed doors, silently cursing—Limits? My ass.