Chapter 63: Doll

He wanted to ask why she was looking at him, but his eyes lowered and he couldn't open his mouth. Zora’s question had been so blunt, her eyes still clear and bright. She shifted her posture, resting on her arm, her chin and mouth hidden within her white-and-blue sleeve. With her bright, charming eyes, she looked up at him from below.

In her eyes, he could see his own reflection—and it was merely a reflection. The sound of shattering deep in his bones that he had heard earlier was perhaps, to her heart, only a bubble surfacing on the water; it popped with a soft

pop

and vanished without a trace.

His racing heart gradually calmed. But at least Zora was incapable of treating anyone else differently. By this logic, he was actually the person closest to her. The youth tasted a bizarre sliver of joy once more.

Vane finally managed to lock eyes with her. He even offered a small smile: "What is it?"

Zora was very honest: "Looking at you."

"..." Vane’s smile faltered for a second before he maintained it. "Because my face looks good?"

"Maybe that's part of it," Zora pondered for a moment before saying, "But also because you said you don't hate it. I've never seen that before."

It was novel.

"..."

Invisibly, he had been stabbed once again. The curve of Vane’s lips remained unaffected; even his sharp, dark eyes crinkled slightly, softening their piercing edge. He did not speak.

Neither did Zora. Thinking the conversation had successfully ended after answering the question, she continued to stare at him. She knew that people’s bone structures and features differed. But Zora had never looked closely at anyone. Even her parents had been hurried figures, their faces often stained with dust and blood; she never had the time to sit still and observe a person.

The girl’s gaze circled his face a few times and even uncontrollably scanned his neck, his heart, and all his fatal arterial points. Vane’s body tensed instinctively, sensing the threat with keen precision. He merely flickered his lashes, watching her.

The candlelight was warm, leaving a trace of heat in the cool night. it cast an ambiguous hue over the walls and the room. His face and body were shrouded in shifting orange glows, and the silhouette cast by his lashes clung to his face, swaying.

His gaze collided with hers. Zora stared at him, and he stared back at Zora. Originally, she had no emotion—she looked simply because she wanted to—but being stared back at by Vane, she gradually began to feel things were strange. It wasn't a strange feeling in her heart, but a strange atmosphere in the room.

His pupils were pitch black, the candlelight leaving only a tiny orange spark on the surface of his eyes. Zora blinked. He followed suit, blinking slowly.

Zora straightened her back. She was sitting in a chair, and Vane was standing by the table, separated from her by the narrow round table. She blinked again and suddenly reached out her hand in a gesture meant to pat his head.

Vane was startled. Before his brain could react, his body had already instinctively leaned down. Zora stretched out her arm and patted his head, much like patting a ball.

Vane felt her pat the top of his head twice. Because they were separated by the table, her arm had to be stretched very straight. After two pats, she felt bored and wanted to withdraw her hand.

"..."

He spoke at the right moment: "It's time to change the medicine."

Zora glanced at the sky outside the window: "Right."

Vane approached naturally, walking around the round table and crouching before her on one knee.

Huh? Changing the medicine here?

Zora looked at Vane. This posture put her in a superior position looking down. The youth's hair fell over his forehead and ears, and his brow was relaxed—a state of intentional ease designed not to trigger her vigilance. Zora couldn't see his eyes, only his crow-black lashes.

Fine then.

She held out her arm. Vane looked up and rolled up her sleeve. The thin white cloth on her arm was carefully removed layer by layer. The skin was bruised and purple, but it had improved a lot; the hematoma and gashes were healing rapidly. Once the cloth was removed and the skin was exposed to the air, Zora finally felt the itch.

So itchy, becoming increasingly itchy. Earlier today on the first floor of the inn, she had squeezed her arm through the cloth to relieve the sensation.

Vane first used a spell to wash away the residual ointment on her arm. He only touched the healthy skin around her wounds with his fingertips. The new ointment was gooey, bringing a refreshing, soul-soothing coolness to her skin. The pain was transmitted slowly; Zora remained expressionless, as it didn't even compare to the discomfort of the itch.

He applied it bit by bit with extreme detail, then wrapped it in new cloth. The entire process was fast and cautious, without a single mistake. After finishing Zora's wound, Vane stayed in place instead of walking away.

He suddenly asked: "Was the head-pat just now also a reward?"

Zora looked down. "Mhm... I suppose." Zora had no intention of dwelling on it. In truth, she had just felt like patting him.

He insisted on pressing further, saying softly: "Because I don't hate it, you want to reward me. If I hated it, would there be a punishment?"

As soon as he said this, Vane immediately stopped. "Apologies."

His intent wasn't to "interrogate" her; he truly just wanted to ask what a "punishment" would be. She seemed to never punish; she only gave rewards to her servant.

His tone was actually quite peaceful. Zora didn't feel interrogated and repeated: "Punishment?"

"I don't know. Punishment is about making someone suffer, right? I think death is very painful, but I won't let you die. But if I hit you—"

Her pure eyes looked at him. "You wouldn't find it painful, would you? There's no point."

How could there be no point—

Vane suddenly realized.

Zora didn't know those insidious, "flashy" tricks. Things like cutting out a tongue to prevent speech, poisons that caused uncontrollable bodily outbreaks, or humiliation—humiliating him in public. But then again, she wouldn't want to do those things anyway. She wasn't the type to take pleasure in torturing people, so there was naturally no fun in it. Moreover, it would waste too much of her time and energy. When she punished someone, the intense emotional clash would only make her feel bored, and her gaze would be forced to focus on the same place for too long.

In the end, who would be punishing whom?

Vane still hadn't left. Zora, confused, continued to pat his head. The action wasn't that of a mature master, but rather a child patting a ball.

"I'm going to sleep. You continue breaking the seal later."

"Okay."

Zora directly hogged the only bed and tucked herself in. Only one candle was left on the table. Zora closed her eyes but couldn't fall asleep. In the dead of night, with the window closed, the room gradually became warmer. She opened her eyes and watched the youth's back.

In the weight of the night, Zora couldn't help but wonder why he didn't hate the Master-Servant Oath. Clearly, when they were first forced to sign it, he had been as fierce as a wolf, only forcibly restraining himself.

Does he like being a servant?

[How is that possible—!] The Oracle, awakened by Zora, countered loudly. [He's a villain! A villain! As for why he doesn't hate it... that's the result of your pleasing conquest progress, Host.]

The Oracle was beside itself with glee, thinking it had truly resurrected a natural talent. You didn't even have to exhaust your mind or harm yourself; the villain just came over on his own. Except... its processing slowed for a moment, feeling a bit confused.

Even after all this, the conquest hasn't succeeded?

According to experience, the moment a villain is willing to be bound by the host, it should show a successful conquest. What was going on? Was it still missing one last bit?

Zora watched Vane.

Pleasing conquest progress? To the point of "not hating" the Master-Servant Oath?

She had thought they’d have to get past the Evil Aura plot point and spend a few hundred years together first. But she liked his usefulness, she liked looking at his face, and she liked his "not hating."

Zora remembered her original world. In a room with stone walls on three sides that felt like a prison cell, a person from the neighboring cell had thrown a tattered doll over to her. The doll's eyes had fallen out, its belly was torn open with cotton spilling out, and it was dusty and gruesome.

The man had laughed in the corridor: "Take it. A child's toy. I'm leaving." Then he went to the arena and died there.

Zora picked it up. She had never seen a doll. Curiously, she pulled the cotton out of its belly; it came out endlessly, and the doll's belly instantly deflated as if its organs were gone. She pulled out its only remaining eye and examined it—a round piece of iron. She used it to sharpen her knife once. The doll allowed her to do as she pleased with it, gradually becoming a tattered pile of patched cloth.

It was useless. It was discarded in a corner. Days passed like that, and she never thought of it for a second. But when the guard conducted a search and took the piece of cloth away, Zora felt a bit unhappy. She didn't yet know this was the possessiveness one felt for their belongings.

Zora’s "liking" was also different from ordinary people; it was cold and capricious. She liked her mother and father; she approached them when she wanted and did what she felt like, but it wasn't intense. It wasn't the "I want to save you" or "I want to be good to you" of common folk. Instead, it was "I want to do what I want" and "When you threaten me, I will kill you."

And so, she killed her father. The instinct for survival would bypass her emotions and make the best choice for her. That was why Vane realized she was the type who could kill her lover. She was a beast living in the jungle; she might return a favor and keep her promises, but she was not a martyr for affection. If you wanted to harm her, she would naturally kill you. Life was above all else.

Facing Vane's back, Zora thought naively:

It would be nice if he were a cloth doll too.

The thought came out of nowhere, and she didn't realize anything was wrong with it, belatedly and slowly supplementing her idea.

Completing the mission would be very easy then. And there would be no need to worry about determining intent or hidden threats.

...

Vane felt the gaze behind him vanish. He waited patiently for a while before turning around. Zora was asleep. She was, as always, not vigilant. Vane checked the security of the barriers around the room, then approached her to tuck in the corner of the quilt.

Her outer coat and jade pendant had been removed and placed by the pillow. Vane took a look; the fish in the jade pendant was bumping against the edge of the jade with its mouth over and over, right at Zora's position. It seemed to have sensed its master's emotional changes earlier, but having no negative emotions to absorb, it settled down.

Her Snow-Mud Fish was exactly as it had been at the start, without a single change. Just like her state of mind—steadfast as ever.

Vane let out a short laugh. He was so perceptive of human hearts that he naturally knew Zora was becoming curious about him. That tiny bit of care was a massive breakthrough for Zora. To him... it seemed like a delusion.

Sometimes he was also curious: what would it be like if she loved someone? It certainly wouldn't be like an ordinary person. That was fine, because an ordinary person's love represented sharing; while gaining, one was also giving away their own things. He didn't mean mundane objects like pastries or jewelry, but rather more significant cultivation interests like treasures or opportunities in secret realms.

Why not just gain without losing?

Vane watched her for a long while. When it was time, he returned to the table to continue breaking the runes on the wooden box. The youth was intelligent; he had mastered quite a bit regarding arrays. Initially, his movements in breaking the runes were slow and unfamiliar, but then they grew faster and faster.

Click.

The lid of the wooden box popped open. Vane calmly browsed through the letters and tokens inside.

Mhm. Drunken Lu Bay indeed had a mole who wanted to collaborate with the demonic cultivators in the Bright Mirror Sea to deal a heavy blow to Drunken Lu Bay, rescue the trapped demonic cultivators and monsters, and increase the power of the Demon Realm.

The youth's face was calm. It was something that could be deduced just by using one's brain. But had the high-ranking members of the Demon Realm not reformed themselves after all these years? So foolish and clumsy—being discovered so easily. There was an incredible amount of useless waste among them.

He restored the box to its original state, to be given to Zora for a decision the next morning. He felt no urge to sleep. Vane blew out the last candle, plunging the room into darkness. He sat by the table with his eyes closed to rest.

Zora happened to turn over. Vane watched her for a few moments in the darkness, then took the jade pendant from his storage bag. The moment the Snow-Mud Fish reached his hand, the ink-color began to darken.

The youth wasn't annoyed; instead, he smiled silently. What was he thinking about now? Thinking of the Demon Realm, or was his delusion expanding?

Her emotions were unfathomable, like the wind; he couldn't catch them, nor could he rashly take another step forward. When you care about someone, every step is a walk along the edge of a cliff—especially with Zora; once she eliminates you, she will never look back.

The youth let the jade pendant hang before his eyes. His dark eyes blinked slowly. In that moment, stripped of all disguises, emotions, and shells of thought, his expression actually appeared quite pure.

...Since she was curious about him and asked him so bluntly, would she care about him just a little bit more?

Just as she would kill her lover. He wanted to be threatened too.