# Nightfall
The once-quiet 18th Street, which had been growing colder and colder in recent days, finally saw an unprecedented surge of activity.
A long line snaked through the dim alley, nine street lamps casting shadows in rows.
Even the snack vendors were busier than they could handle.
For the succubi, this was a spectacle they hadn’t seen in a long time.
“This method… really isn’t bad. That Mr. Lage is a business genius.”
By the fourth-floor window, Ella lifted the curtain, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she watched the long line stretching down to the end of the alley.
Thinking that all these people had come to appreciate the ‘art’ she had created, Ella felt the same nervous thrill a dancer experiences when stepping onto the stage for the first time.
But Ailijie had no time to share in her sister’s joy.
She furrowed her brow, gripping a fountain pen native to the Demon Realm, and scribbled down a long list of mathematical formulas to calculate the finances.
According to Lage’s promotional plan, tonight’s turnout was unprecedented, but when she finally tallied everything up, she realized all the money was going straight into Lage’s pocket!
Talk about flipping the script—the succubi had put in everything, yet they weren’t the ones making the profit.
This was just…
“That Mr. Lage’s business sense is really too sharp,” Ailijie couldn’t help complaining.
“He’s terrifyingly shrewd, not some easy pushover. This is way too dangerous.”
“Isn’t being shrewd a good thing?”
Ella turned back, grinning as she tried to soothe her sister.
“The more capable the man we work with, the more we gain. Worst case, we drain him dry and kick him to the curb, just like we did with Demon King Lia.”
“I’m afraid we’ll get too deeply entangled and won’t be able to kick him away in the end.”
Ailijie sighed.
Ella didn’t argue.
Unprecedented attention had made her unprecedentedly cocky.
Right now, she felt that even without relying on anyone, she could single-handedly carry her entire race with her talent.
Outside the window, the moon was as frosty white, illuminating the smiling faces of the crowd.
Joen had been waiting at the succubus shop entrance for a long time.
He was both waiting for Lily and hoping to catch Lan Luo Si.
Unfortunately, fate wasn’t on his side.
As the show was about to begin, he still hadn’t spotted his target in the crowd.
“Ha!”
A gentle tap landed on his shoulder.
Joen turned his head and saw a crescent moon blooming before him into a pure white peony.
For an instant, his breath caught.
The moon hung overhead, yet her skin was so snow-white it made the night seem like a lie.
Her flowing skirt danced in the autumn breeze, each step graceful.
Her fluttering eyelashes held a mix of coyness and charm.
The moment their glistening, bewitching eyes met, Joen suddenly understood what beauty meant—and why poets praised love.
“L-Lily…” he stammered.
“Mm.”
Liya looked away, acknowledging him with a casual nasal sound.
Joen was struck speechless.
He suddenly became so nervous he didn’t know what to say.
This was utterly baffling.
In the end, he clumsily tried to make conversation: “Y-You’re late, it seems.”
“I didn’t want to be.”
Liya sighed softly.
“Just think of it as me looking after a foolish lady tonight.”
In truth, Liya had always been a punctual demon.
For a demon like her, there was no trait with a better cost-to-benefit ratio than punctuality.
It provided a sense of order at a low cost while quickly building credibility.
But tonight was an exception.
Her cursed, tormented mind had arbitrarily decided that tonight’s meeting was a date.
So she had agonized over what dress to wear, what makeup to match, what shoes and stockings to choose.
The more she agonized, the more anxious she became.
By the time she finally couldn’t stand it anymore and settled on a result, over ten minutes had passed since the agreed time.
“Don’t say any more. Let’s hurry inside.”
Liya instinctively hugged Joen’s arm and tugged him toward the entrance.
Joen’s face reddened, but he didn’t say anything—he silently accepted this somewhat ambiguous posture.
“By the way, about Lan Luo Si…”
“Don’t worry.”
Liya soothed him in a low voice.
“I’ve arranged for succubi to help you find him. Once they locate him, they’ll invite Lan Luo Si up on stage for an interaction. After that, just keep a close eye on him.”
“Oh.”
Joen nodded dumbly.
Getting succubi to help was actually a good idea.
Too bad the Hero’s identity wasn’t suitable for use here, or else he wouldn’t have to trouble Lily with all this scheming.
Joen had been to a succubus shop before.
At first, he had been somewhat impressed, thinking that the imperial capital truly was a land of outstanding talent—even the succubus shops were so elegant, almost like a theater.
“This place wasn’t like this before. It was remodeled recently.”
Only then did he learn from the quiet murmurs of the men around him that the brothels of the imperial capital, once a chaotic mess of succubi, had all been converted into theaters.
The way of the world was truly unfathomable.
Joen heard the surrounding men discussing:
“What’s this supposed to be?”
“No idea. Maybe it’s some kind of interactive theater, like a large-scale interactive drama?”
“Hiss—so is there still any, uh, exciting stuff?”
Amid the rising commotion and chatter, the grand curtain slowly parted.
All the magical lighting effects converged onto a single succubus who was bundled up tightly, extremely conservative.
Then this succubus actress began a passionate recitation of… poetry.
The entire hall erupted in uproar.
Liya could barely hold back her laughter.
Although she had long known that if left to their own devices, the succubi would inevitably pull out something big and messy, even Liya hadn’t expected tonight’s mess to be this colossal.
Character determines fate—many things are destined from the very beginning.
The succubi had looked down on the script left by the Demon King, but they never seriously considered or learned how to write a good script themselves.
They were only good at looking down on others.
The succubi detested customers who didn’t respect their ideas, indulging in catharsis without ever asking what customers wanted.
But equally, they didn’t respect their customers’ ideas either, their minds full only of lewd thoughts, never asking what they themselves needed.
Liya had once tried to correct this, but teaching succubi to respect others was as hard as making others respect succubi.
As the situation grew increasingly dire, she had to give up and resort to rules and procedures to constrain them.
[Never mind if the code is a mess—if the program runs, it’s a success.]
After setting strict rules, the succubi grumbled plenty, but the program did run.
Now, the rules were gone.
The demon race had finally gained the freedom they had long desired, and they had reverted to their true nature.
Liya felt like opening a bottle of champagne to celebrate.
The poetry recitation ended, and the stage shifted to a drama.
Several succubi, who had never seriously honed their acting skills, performed a script riddled with logical holes and dragging, bizarre pacing, using the exaggerated style typical of lewd little plays, occasionally inserting a song or dance.
In many places, even basic narrative coherence was lacking.
Both the curious new audience and the long-time regulars of the succubus shop watched in bewildered confusion.
“Oh my god, are there even humans on stage?”
“Who am I? Where am I? Why am I here? I’m already numb.”
“Oh, they’re all succubi. Never mind.”
Midway through, guests began to leave.
This was actually very serious, because the ticket prices for the succubus shop were quite high—at least something the middle class could afford as entertainment.
For example, tonight’s ticket was five silver coins, roughly equivalent to two months’ salary for an apprentice general affairs nun at the Church.
The fact that people were willing to abandon such a large sunk cost showed just how much mental torment they were suffering.
But many still persevered.
Not because they liked it, but out of a morbid curiosity: “I just have to see how bad it can get.”
The plot was also confusing.
Liya only finally understood in the latter half—it turned out this was a mythological story about the “Origin of Succubi.”
The gist was:
A naive, passionate, and charming Mercy Nun of the Church of Light pitied the suffering commoners of the Dark Age.
She lived carefree, using her power to contribute love to the world.
She soothed knights heading to battle with gentleness and fed starving victims with milk.
Even when insulted, rejected, or subjected to malicious venting, she never got angry.
Until one day, a special and immense power suddenly chose her—ordinary and insignificant.
A Cardinal, having received a Divine Prophecy, rushed to that remote border town and delivered his condolences to her.
She was overwhelmed by the honor.
But even more overwhelming followed.
The Cardinal said solemnly:
“From now on, you are the next Saintess of Light.”
Premium Chapter
Login to buy access to this Chapter.