Chapter 157: Lips
Qingxue
The steel of her sword had always been enough. Every trial, every wound, every battlefield — all she needed was her blade and the discipline that bound it to her hand. But discipline could not erase what she had seen.
Hei Long’s lips on Yuran’s.
She replayed it again and again, each repetition sharper, crueler, until the blood from her clenched fist began dripping onto the tiles of her room. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cut the world in half. Instead, she sat alone in the dark, her reflection staring back at her from the blade across her lap.
"I will not lose," she whispered, her voice steady even as her chest burned. "Not to her. Not to anyone."
The night gave no answer, but her sword gleamed as if it understood.
Yexin
For Yexin, it was not pain. Not yet. It was fury wrapped in laughter.
She lounged across her cushions, wine spilling from the cup she twirled lazily in her hand. When the servants came, she smiled too sweetly, dismissing them with a flick of her wrist. Alone again, she laughed — once, twice, until the sound cracked.
"So the healer thinks she can play quiet and steal him out from under us?" Yexin whispered, eyes flashing. "Good. Let her taste victory once. It will make her downfall sweeter."
She licked the wine from her fingers, her lips curving into a grin that promised fire. The kiss Yuran had stolen was not an ending. It was the start of a game Yexin had been born to win.
Yuran
Her lips still tingled. Her heart still raced. But Zhao Yuran sat in the silence of her quarters with her hands folded tightly, trembling.
It had been real. Hei Long had kissed her. Not like mercy. Not like accident. Real.
And yet — his words rang louder than his touch.
"Because they’ll feel it."
Her chest tightened. That kiss was hers. But it had been a blade as much as a gift. She knew Qingxue and Yexin would not forgive it. She knew Hei Long had no intention of softening the storm.
Still, she closed her eyes, pressed her fingers against her lips, and whispered to the empty room:
"Even if it breaks me... I’ll bear it. I’ll stay."
Hei Long
Hei Long stood alone on the highest balcony, the night wind stirring his cloak. He had seen the kiss break them. He had seen how Yuran wept, how Qingxue bled, how Yexin laughed like a cornered fox.
He had wanted this. Not for cruelty. Not for amusement.
Because loyalty bound by comfort was fragile. Loyalty tested by jealousy, by desire, by fire — that was unbreakable.
He closed his eyes. The city below burned with lanterns, but all he saw were three women, pulled tighter into his orbit with every fracture.
When he spoke, it was to the night itself.
"Burn brighter."
The wind carried his words away.
By the third night, the palace itself seemed to know something was coming. Servants walked quicker, whispering less. The courtyards were left half-lit, lanterns kept at a careful distance. Even the guards chose their posts far from the training ground.
Because that was where they had gathered.
Leng Qingxue stood with her sword at her side, face pale but steady, every movement honed like tempered steel.Mu Yexin leaned lazily against a column, fan snapping open and shut, her smirk promising mischief but her eyes burning hotter than fire.Zhao Yuran came last, her steps quiet, her sleeves still damp from washing away sleepless tears.
They said nothing at first. They didn’t need to. The circle had already been drawn, whether in words, in glances, or in the kiss that had broken them all.
Words as Blades
"You stole him." Qingxue’s voice was calm, but her fingers tightened on her hilt. "Don’t deny it. You kissed him."
Yuran didn’t flinch. "I didn’t steal. He gave."
Yexin laughed, sharp and cruel. "And you think that means you’ve won? Please. You were a pawn he moved to cut us open. I almost admire it. Almost."
"Better a pawn than a coward hiding behind tricks," Qingxue snapped, eyes narrowing.
"Tricks?" Yexin stepped forward, her fan snapping shut with a click. "You call it trickery because you’ve never learned how to win with more than your blade."
Yuran’s voice cut through them, soft but edged. "Stop pretending this is about each other. We’re all lying. This is about him. And none of us will let go."
The air tightened. For a moment, even the night held its breath.
When Sparks Ignite
The first strike came not with steel, but with movement. Yexin lunged, her fan glowing faintly with spirit light as she closed the distance between them. Qingxue met her instantly, blade flashing, sparks hissing against the wards etched into the training ground.
Yuran stepped back only a moment before raising her hands, spirit energy gathering like a storm between her palms. She had no blade, no fan — only her will to heal and to restrain.
"Enough!"
Her cry burst through the ground, spirit pressure weighing down the air. For a heartbeat, both rivals froze, teeth clenched, pride warring with restraint.
But it wasn’t enough.
Qingxue’s sword slashed downward. Yexin’s fan twisted to catch it. Yuran’s light burst between them, forcing both back, but the sparks they left behind burned brighter than before.
Hei Long’s Shadow
And then — his voice.
"Stop."
They hadn’t heard his steps. They hadn’t felt his presence until he was there, stepping into the circle they had torn open. His cloak stirred the dust, his eyes glimmered like embers in the dark.
The three froze.
Hei Long looked at each of them in turn — Yuran, trembling but resolute. Yexin, smirking but shaken. Qingxue, rigid, fire blazing in her chest.
"You think this is loyalty," he said quietly. "It isn’t. It’s weakness."
He stepped closer, his shadow falling across all three. "If you cannot stand beside each other, you will not stand beside me."
The words hit harder than any strike.
And yet — in his gaze, in the weight of his presence, there was no rejection. Only demand. Only inevitability.
Aftermath
The women lowered their weapons, but their hearts did not cool.
Each of them knew: Hei Long had seen everything. He had watched them burn and had chosen not to douse the flames.
Because he didn’t want the fire gone.
He wanted it hotter.
And all three, trembling, furious, and desperate, knew they would burn themselves to ash before letting the others take him.
They came because he willed it.
No letter, no servant sent to fetch them. Only silence. And yet, when Hei Long opened the doors of the northern hall, all three were already waiting inside — Qingxue with her blade across her lap, Yexin draped across a cushion with a smile too sharp, and Yuran kneeling in stillness, her hands folded neatly but trembling at the edges.
Hei Long’s eyes swept over them once, and the hall grew heavier, as if the walls themselves bent inward.
"You fought," he said, voice low. "You bled for nothing. You burned against each other instead of burning for me."
None dared answer.
"Tonight, you will learn," Hei Long continued, stepping deeper into the hall, cloak whispering against the stone. "Not how to fight me. Not how to fight each other. But how to remain at my side."
The Circle Closed
He stopped in the center of the chamber.
"Come here."
It wasn’t a request.
Qingxue moved first, her jaw tight, pride forcing her legs to obey. Yexin followed, slower, smiling as though she had known it would end this way. Yuran hesitated, but her heart carried her forward, each step heavier than the last.
They stood before him in a fragile line, three women who could no longer bear the distance.
Hei Long’s hand lifted, and with it, the air itself seemed to still. His gaze lingered on each of them, long enough for the weight of his silence to press against their skin.
"You will not beg," he said. "You will not pretend. You will give."
Intimacy Woven
Qingxue’s lips parted first, but words failed. Instead, she bowed her head — not in submission, but in a vow. When Hei Long’s hand tilted her chin upward, her breath caught, and she accepted his kiss like steel accepts fire — fierce, shattering, transformative.
Before the echo of it faded, Yexin stepped forward. "Then take mine too," she murmured, voice trembling beneath her smile. She pressed her lips to his cheek, playful, daring, but when Hei Long’s eyes pinned her, she faltered — and the second kiss, on his mouth, was stripped of all masks.
Yuran closed her eyes, whispering only: "If you demand it... then I am already yours." She did not lean in. She only waited, trembling, until Hei Long drew her forward himself, his lips brushing hers with deliberate patience that broke her composure entirely.
Three women. Three vows. One storm contained in a single man’s silence.
Hei Long’s Claim
When it was over, they stood breathless, hearts beating too loud for words.
Hei Long stepped back, gaze sweeping across them, calm but merciless.
"This is not victory," he said. "Not yet. It is only proof you are willing to burn."
His hand closed, as though gathering the very air.
"And if you are to remain with me... then you will burn together."
The hall trembled with his words.
None of them protested. None of them turned away.
For the first time, their rivalry had crossed into something else — not peace, not surrender, but a dangerous, undeniable bond.
And Hei Long, silent and steady, knew the house he was building would never break.
Not because it was whole.
But because it was fire.