“Sister Ling Yue! You said you’re the Ancestor of the Blood Clan, right?”
After careful deliberation, Fengling finally made up her mind and called out toward the kitchen.
“That’s right~ What’s up, Little Fengling?”
“Then can you do an Otaku Dance?”
The kitchen fell silent for about five seconds.
Then Ling Yue poked half her body out from the kitchen doorway, dish sponge still in hand, wearing an expression that—since Fengling had known her—was the first truly subtle look she’d ever seen.
“…Otaku Dance?”
“You know, that anime-style dance! The kind where you wear a cute skirt and hop around.”
Fengling rolled over on the sofa, lying on the cushions with her chin propped on the edge.
“There are tons of videos like that online! You’ve lived for so long, Sister Ling Yue, so you must have learned to dance, right?”
Ling Yue stared at her for a long moment, then laughed.
But Fengling felt that smile fell somewhere between “Is this kid out of her mind?” and “Huh, that’s interesting.”
“Little Fengling wants to see me do that kind of dance?”
“I wanna see it, I wanna see it, I wanna see it!”
Fengling nodded frantically.
She didn’t actually want to see it that much, but she figured Ling Yue would definitely refuse, so at least she could use it as a topic to chat for a while.
Just to relax a bit.
“Okay.”
“…Huh?”
“I said okay. But not right now… well…”
Ling Yue walked over to the sofa, bent down, and leaned close to Fengling’s face.
“After you see my performance, Little Fengling has to perform for me too~”
Fengling’s smile instantly froze on her face.
“P-perform what?”
“You guess.”
Ling Yue tapped her on the nose, then straightened up and walked back to the kitchen.
Fengling stayed in her position, propped on the cushions, taking about ten seconds to process the information.
Sister Ling Yue actually agreed?
The Ancestor of the Blood Clan who’s lived for so long—the ultimate yandere who uses the Flame of End to burn through people’s hearts, the monster who smiles while devouring cute vampire little girls—actually agreed to do an Otaku Dance?
The more she thought about it, the weirder it got…
It was like raising a monster that you thought only ate people, but one day you suddenly asked it if it wanted to go to an amusement park and ride the carousel, and that old monster just nodded in agreement…
How could that put anyone at ease?
That was way scarier!
—
In the afternoon, while Ling Yue was on the third floor, Fengling curled up on the sofa practicing Reverse Perception.
She closed her eyes and sank her attention below her chest, letting her consciousness drift down along the aorta until it reached the attachment point she had memorized.
Ling Yue’s Primordial Blood stuck there, as quiet as a tiny bead embedded in the inner wall of a pipe.
Then she gently touched it with her consciousness.
Last time she tried that, she wasn’t very skilled and almost got knocked headfirst into the sofa by the rebounding Perception Field.
This time she was smarter.
She first wrapped a thin layer of consciousness around the Primordial Blood, making it spread in only one direction.
After a few seconds, the perception image slowly unfolded in her mind.
Right now, Ling Yue was on the third floor.
It was just a blurry outline, but it was much better than the red fog from last time… and she could even tell Ling Yue’s approximate location—inside the door at the end of the corridor.
Fengling could also vaguely sense whether anything else was around.
No other people, no abnormal energy fluctuations.
The whole castle only had her and Ling Yue as living things… everything was normal.
But just as she was about to withdraw the perception, a very faint and distant fluctuation came from outside the castle.
Wait—that fluctuation didn’t belong to Ling Yue, and of course it couldn’t be her own.
It came from outside!
Fengling’s eyes snapped open, and a cold sweat broke out on her back.
She realized her fingers were trembling slightly.
That fluctuation was definitely not her imagination!
And… that feeling was really… strange… it didn’t feel like the energy of a specific person or object.
It was more like someone far, far away was casting some kind of detection magic in this direction.
And her Reverse Perception had just caught the tail end of it.
It was like lying in bed late at night and suddenly hearing footsteps from the alley outside the window.
A normal person’s reaction wouldn’t be “Oh, someone’s walking by,” but “Who’s walking down an unlit alley at three in the morning?”
There was something outside the castle.
She wasn’t sure if it was a person or something else… and she wasn’t sure if it was targeting Ling Yue or the entire area.
But she knew one thing: this castle she was in wasn’t as absolutely safe as Ling Yue had claimed.
Those so-called Blood Hunters, enemies, and organizations targeting Ling Yue might not all be excuses Ling Yue made up to scare her.
She had previously been convinced that Ling Yue’s talk about external threats was just a lie—a way to rationalize imprisoning her.
But now she truly felt that distant fluctuation, and she realized Ling Yue hadn’t lied about at least that.
There really was something outside… and those things might not bite her like Ling Yue did, but if she fell into their hands… her situation would definitely be far worse than angering Ling Yue.
With that thought, Fengling immediately withdrew her Reverse Perception.
Then she curled up on the sofa, hugging her knees and resting her chin on them, assuming the posture of “I’m watching a horror movie but can’t find the pause button.”
A few seconds later, she stretched herself out, patted her cheeks, and picked up the Switch beside her to play a game.
But just as she turned it on and was about to load her save, Ling Yue came down the stairs holding an ancient book thicker than a Chinese dictionary.
“What are you playing?”
Ling Yue placed the book on the coffee table and sat down next to her.
“Still that racing game.”
Fengling didn’t even look up.
“Oh, the one you’ve run over three thousand laps on?”
“It’s thirty thousand… and I can run another thirty thousand.”
Ling Yue didn’t respond further.
She just opened the ancient book and read quietly.
Fengling sneaked a glance.
She didn’t recognize a single character… but she noticed symbols drawn on the edges of the pages—some looked like core runes for a Barrier Array, with annotations beside them.
She didn’t recognize those annotations either, but her gut told her they were related to the threat outside.
Since Ling Yue hadn’t brought it up, she didn’t dare ask.
But the feeling of “knowing there’s danger but not knowing what it is” was truly unbearable.
“Sister Ling Yue, were you dealing with something on the third floor just now?”
Eventually, little Fengling couldn’t help asking.
Ling Yue’s page-turning motion paused—just for about a second—then she continued.
“Nothing special, just organizing some old records.”
She didn’t look at Fengling at all when she said it; her eyes were still on the page, and her tone was as usual.
But Fengling noticed that momentary pause, and she was certain it wasn’t an illusion.
Because at that moment, Ling Yue’s index finger lightly tapped the spine of the book.
That was a micro-movement Ling Yue always made when she lied or hid something.
Hmph, don’t think only Sister Ling Yue can observe.
“Old records? About what?” Fengling pressed on, keeping her tone as casual as possible.
“Just some residual matters concerning vampire history. Little Fengling probably wouldn’t be interested.”
Ling Yue closed the book, tucked it under her arm, and casually ruffled Fengling’s hair.
“I’ll go prepare dinner. Tonight I’ll make that dish you said was delicious last time.”
Then Fengling watched Ling Yue’s back disappear into the kitchen doorway, her mental gears spinning so fast they almost sparked.
Residual matters.
If it were just ordinary old records, Ling Yue wouldn’t need to use such a vague term… and of course, if it had nothing to do with her, Ling Yue wouldn’t need to change the subject and flee to the kitchen when pressed.
Ling Yue knew something was approaching from outside, but she chose to hide it.
Hmm… there were probably two reasons for that.
One: Ling Yue thought she didn’t need to know, because she couldn’t get out anyway.
Two: Ling Yue thought she would come up with ideas if she knew—like using the external threat to create an escape opportunity.
Of course, she would never admit that she was indeed considering exactly that.
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