"Damn, I'm so jealous." Shang Wu wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth.
Cold Fairy (Han Xianzi) swatted her claw away, stood up, and took several deep breaths before fixing her with a reproachful glare.
To be fair, Shang Wu wasn’t wrong.
Shang Wu was tall and broad-shouldered for a woman, her figure reminiscent of the plump beauty idealized in the Tang Dynasty.
Ying Bing, though nearly the sa height, was slender and graceful, her willowy fra paired with an aloof, ethereal beauty that made her seem like a divine being—serene and untouchable.
So while Shang Wu might have won in terms of "generous proportions," the visual effect was... not quite the sa.
"Don’t do that again," Ying Bing said, her face as cold as ice, trying to suppress the strange sensation from earlier.
"Co on, it was just a joke!" Shang Wu rubbed her hand, acting like she was trying to charm her way out of trouble despite being the older one.
"I was just curious. You’ve grown so beautifully—I wonder if you can still fit into that dress."
"What dress?" Ying Bing’s eyes instantly sharpened with suspicion.
Little Li might be vulgar, but Shang Wu wasn’t much better.
This ti, however, she was mistaken. Shang Wu pulled out an exquisite Hundred Birds Skirt from her spatial treasure.
"Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s yours. You’d look stunning in it."
Shang Wu took a swig from her gourd and squinted.
"The fabric of this dress is extraordinary. I won’t be performing at the grand event, so I have no use for it."
Ying Bing gently ran her fingers over the sleeve. The material felt like silk but was actually made of fine, densely woven feathers—not just one kind, but hundreds, even thousands.
She recognized most of them—delicate underwing plus from rare birds, many of which were now extinct across the Nine Heavens and Ten Earths.
There was no way a second dress like this could ever be made again.
She shook her head and pushed it back.
"I haven’t been able to wear it since I ca of age. If you don’t take it, I might just trade it for wine on a whim soday."
Seeing Ying Bing lost in thought, Shang Wu planted her hands on her hips and coaxed,
"Hmph, and those little hussies are all dolling themselves up, hoping Little Mo will spare them a glance. You know how curious he is—aren’t you worried he’ll be dazzled by all those flowers?"
"Thank you."
Ying Bing paused, the hesitation on her face lting away as she lowered her gaze and accepted the dress.
Her earnest gratitude still hung in the air when Shang Wu abruptly dropped her act.
"We’re family—no need for thanks! Consider it a belated betrothal gift."
"Belated?"
"Oh, right, you two aren’t married yet. My bad, I’ve been reading too many romance scrolls lately... Go on, try it on!" Shang Wu chuckled, patting the back of her head.
Cold Fairy was too engrossed in admiring the dress to acknowledge anything beyond the last sentence.
The Hundred Birds Skirt resembled a horse-face skirt in style but was far more dazzling, with a slightly shorter cut.
This dress was crafted during an era when the Bronze Divine Tree still stood tall between heaven and earth, its branches ho to countless birds that breathed with the cosmos and governed the flow of all things.
Thus, it was truly a masterpiece—imbued with the essence of heaven and earth, the spirit of all living things. Even after countless years, its brilliance remained undimd.
Ying Bing, standing at 176 cm and nearing eighteen, was the sa age as the dress’s original owner when she received it.
After changing, she stepped out from behind the screen into the sunlight. The skirt shimred with a radiant halo, its slightly short cut revealing her fair, slender legs just above the knees. The jade hairpin in her dark tresses was the perfect finishing touch.
A small accident, perhaps.
But like the beauty of a crescent moon, it added a touch of lively grace to her usual icy elegance—unexpected yet harmonious.
Oh, and one more thing.
Beneath the hem, her legs were clad in pearl-white silk stockings... Was she trying to kill soone?
So this was the origin of the term "immortal aura"...
Even she, usually so composed, felt a rare flutter of nervousness.
"Does it suit ?"
"From every angle, in sunlight or shadow, it shifts like a living tapestry of a hundred birds..." Shang Wu murmured.
"That’s beautifully put."
"Not my words."
Shang Wu’s solemnity lasted only a few sentences before her lips curled mischievously.
"Even I can’t handle this—imagine Little Mo! He’s going to lose his mind, nosebleed and all! Co on, Little Bing, let see more!"
She lunged playfully, but this ti, Ying Bing was ready. With a light step, she dodged and slipped out the door.
Whether she was escaping Shang Wu’s clutches or eager to see a certain fool lose his composure was anyone’s guess.
Shang Wu gazed downward.
Sunlight stread through the lattice of the Ten Thousand Spring Pavilion, dust motes dancing in the beams, casting the crisscrossing stairways in alternating light and shadow.
The girl, radiant with immortal aura, lifted her skirt slightly as she descended the steps.
She passed through shafts of light, her smile growing clearer with each step—like the first blossom of spring, blooming in the wind and sun.
"Glug, glug, glug..."
Shang Wu took a long drink, her earlier carefree expression gone. Her almond eyes, usually so lively, were montarily dazed.
Shang Mo.
The most beloved daughter of the Shang Emperor, a mischievous and unruly princess who dared to pluck feathers from divine birds without a second thought.
People called her spoiled, disrespectful of gods and elders.
But the Emperor not only spared her punishnt—he offered sacrifices to the heavens and, with divine approval, wove a dress from the feathers of a hundred birds as her coming-of-age gift.
Nad "Hundred Feathers, Crimson Radiance."
When the dress was finished, she had sprinted down the palace corridors, proud and exhilarated, and thrown herself into her father’s arms.
What had he said then?
"Let the ministers see for themselves—what divine bird could compare to my daughter’s grace?"
"Let’s go!"
His proud, delighted voice still echoed in her ears.
Shang Wu blinked. That wasn’t right—was it?
She rushed to the window just in ti to see Little Li, possessive as ever, pulling Cold Fairy into the carriage, shielding her from prying eyes.
With a wave, he signaled the convoy to depart—already in motion.
"Oi! You ungrateful brat, I’m not on board yet!"
Inside the carriage, Little Li was deaf to her cries. Right now, he had eyes—and breath—for nothing but the ice-cold beauty before him.
He’d even forgotten to breathe. What hope was there he’d rember anything else?
......
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