Chapter 90: Argument (Patreon)

Meng Yiran was very careful.

But even with her best efforts, she couldn't hold back a sound.

She bit down on her lip hard, trying to muffle it, one hand pressed tightly over her mouth—but a soft, trembling moan still slipped through, just loud enough to echo faintly in the silence of the cocoon.

Almost the same moment—

A fierce battle erupted in the nearby woods.

BOOM!

A deafening explosion rang out, followed by Zhao Wuji's gravelly voice barking:

"It's just a 900-year Man-Faced Demon Spider! With proper teamwork, you two could've handled it easily. Quit screaming like amateurs—you're embarrassing Shrek Academy!"

"Sorry, Teacher Zhao. I didn't observe carefully enough. After seeing how much effort you all took against the demon spider earlier, I just…" Dai Mubai's voice trailed off guiltily.

"Tch, whatever. Saves us time anyway. Tang San, absorb the spirit ring." Zhao Wuji grunted.

After a brief silence, Tang San spoke up: "Teacher Zhao… I want a millennium-level spirit ring. I won't take this one."

Zhao Wuji scoffed. "Nine hundred years is basically a millennium. Quit nitpicking."

"The difference is huge," Tang San insisted. "My teacher, Yu Xiaogang, said the limit for a third spirit ring is 1,760 years. I believe I can handle at least that—so a 900-year ring is unacceptable."*

"You believe? Your teacher?" Zhao Wuji's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Look at Lu Feng—his third ring is over ten thousand years! Does your teacher's 'theory' account for that? Could you absorb a ten-thousand-year ring?!" He snorted. "Fine. Go find Yu Xiaogang to hunt your damn ring. I'm done here. Once Lu Feng finishes helping Yiran, we're packing up and heading back to the academy!"

Tang San panicked. "Teacher Zhao, you can't just—"

"Can't what?!" Zhao Wuji's temper flared. "I've fought the Spirit Hall head-on—the one nobody dares provoke—and you're telling me what I can't do? I hate being told I 'can't'! And don't think I'm scared of you just because you've got the Haotian Sect behind you!"

The memory of Tang San's poisoned hidden weapon aimed at his vitals resurfaced—one hit there, and he'd truly be "can't" for life. Rage boiled over, all his pent-up frustration toward Tang San exploding at once.

Tang San hadn't expected such fury. "I—I didn't mean it like that…"

"Then how did you mean it?" Zhao Wuji mocked. "Your precious Yu Xiaogang claims 'No trash martial souls, only trash soul masters'. Well, let me quote Supreme Douluo Qian Daoliu: 'No weak spirit rings, only weak soul masters!' My decision's final. Figure it out yourself."

With that, Zhao Wuji stormed off, snatching a roasted sausage from Oscar and shoving it into his mouth.

"'No weak spirit rings, only weak soul masters'… Supreme Douluo Qian Daoliu?" Tang San muttered, digesting the words.

If the Supreme Douluo said it, it had to hold more weight than the theories of Yu Xiaogang—a man stuck at level 29 his whole life.

Now that he'd angered Zhao Wuji, there was no chance of getting help to hunt a higher-year spirit ring.

The trip to Star Dou Great Forest had already taken ages, and searching for the right spirit beast had eaten up days. If he went back now and begged someone to bring him again, it'd be a huge waste of time and effort.

And besides the year limit, the Man-Faced Demon Spider's spirit ring was perfectly suited for him.

Tang San hesitated.

The others were too distracted by Zhao Wuji and Tang San's argument to notice—but the giant vine cocoon, still for a while, had begun to move again.

Meng Yiran's entire body's tattoos were moving.

As if they had come alive.

The dark green flying snake tattooed between her waist and hips seemed to be flapping its wings.

Spreading its wings and flying.

"They've even finished dinner… and it's still going on." Xiao Wu tugged at Zhu Zhuqing's sleeve, whispering.

"Mmm. It is… unusual."

Zhu Zhuqing stared at the cocoon, her gaze thoughtful.

"Lu Feng… with you… did he also…?"

Xiao Wu stammered, her cheeks burning. Just asking took immense courage, but she couldn't bring herself to say the specific words.

"Yes." Zhu Zhuqing's reply was short and blunt.

"Then… we might've been wrong."

Xiao Wu's voice steadied after the confirmation.

"It must've been a misunderstanding. He knows his limits—he wouldn't go that far under these circumstances." Zhu Zhuqing, who knew Lu Feng better, sounded certain.

"But something still feels… off." Xiao Wu wrinkled her nose, her ruby-red eyes fixed on the cocoon, blinking in confusion.

Ning Rongrong skipped over, grinning. "What're you two whispering about? Zhuqing, share with your big sister!"

Age-wise, Zhu Zhuqing was the youngest—Ning Rongrong only a month or two older.

"Nothing worth sharing."

Zhu Zhuqing and Xiao Wu exchanged a knowing smile.

"Don't think I didn't notice! I can read lips, you know—"

"Shh!"

Zhu Zhuqing clamped a hand over Ning Rongrong's mouth. "Keep gossiping, and wait till my husband gets out—he'll deal with you."

Ning Rongrong stuck out her pink tongue but stayed quiet.

The usually fearless little devil actually dreaded Lu Feng's idea of "dealing" with her.

Meanwhile…

Lu Feng remained in deep hibernation, unaware of the outside world—but his body was recovering rapidly, his instincts still faintly alert.

And though he couldn't hear a thing, everything happening around him was being recorded by his plants and the World Tree martial soul.

The moment he woke up and synced with their senses, it would all flood into his mind like a living memory.

Meng Yiran, meanwhile, was riding out the final waves of passion—and her mind was a blur.

Her skin glistened with sweat. Her cheeks flushed deep red. Her breath came in short, helpless gasps.

"How… how can you keep going for so long…"

She groaned against his neck, her body trembling.

She had heard stories.

That for girls, it was over in just a few moments.

But this… this wasn't what she expected at all.

She was in no position to stop. Couldn't even think clearly anymore. Her hips were moving of their own accord—slowly, helplessly grinding into him as his presence filled her over and over.

Outside, she could hear them. Talking. Walking. Arguing. Laughing.

They were having dinner.

And she was still in here—completely naked, joined to Lu Feng, legs wrapped around him, body shivering with each thrust.

She wanted to stop.

But she couldn't.

Because deep down, she didn't want to leave it unfinished.

The next wave of pleasure came like a thunderclap. Her body locked up again, muscles twitching, thighs tightening around Lu Feng's waist as she whimpered into his shoulder.

Another climax.

And another.

It was endless.

His body was recovering with frightening speed now—responding instinctively, moving with renewed strength.

And every time he did, she was left shaking, wanting more.

Her tattoos shimmered faintly, almost glowing.

The snake on her back slithered in place as if alive.

Her own spirit bone seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat.

By the end, Meng Yiran's eyes were dazed, lips parted, hair a tangled mess of sweat and lust. Her whole body quivered as if still being claimed again and again.

Movement didn't stop.

And neither did life.