After Yu Feng stormed off to go sulk in the corner like a rejected concubine with murder issues, Su Xiaobai…
Did what all great cultivators do in times of emotional chaos:
He sat cross-legged to meditate.
The skies above shifted hues—from crisp blue to golden orange, then finally to a stormy dusk-gray, as if nature itself was trying to reflect the mood inside the ship.
But peace?
Peace was a luxury.
Because the groaning hadn't stopped. From the sealed cabin behind him—
"Mmm…"
"Ah—ah… stop… not there…"
"Agh—why does it feel good!?"
The cabin door was constructed with spirit-echo formations—intended to allow voice transmission during hostage crises.
But right now?
It was transmitting uncensored moaning directly into Su Xiaobai's ears at peak clarity.
He twitched, his spiritual sea trembled, and his Dao heart cracked.
"Tch…"
He tilted his head up to the sky, raised a hand—And flipped the heavens the spiritual bird.
"Fuck you, Author."
