Volume 2

Chapter 36: The Twisted Snake and Puppet

Forgetting troubles was no easy task.

And often, Mingfuluo wouldn’t choose to forget them but would instead engrave them in her memory as a warning.

So… why did she want to forget today’s events?

Was it because these troubles were truly just troubles, meaningless beyond stirring agitation?

No, that shouldn’t be.

Her parents’ betrayal, her grandfather’s choice… there was still so much to consider.

Why would she willingly sink into this hazy, frenzied feeling, forgetting it all?

Was it merely because, rational as she was, she truly didn’t want to recall that gray childhood, didn’t want those pale memories resurfacing in her mind?

No, that wasn’t it either.

She wouldn’t simply choose to cast aside troubles to escape, let alone in such an absurd… way.

“Dear Miss Mingfuluo, you need to understand one thing.”

Anselm gently caressed the trembling waist of the puppet, his gaze falling on Mingfuluo, lying on the puppet’s back.

The cold, petite female scholar and her puppet were now in a… back-to-back, top-and-bottom position.

The puppet bent over, hands gripping the sofa’s backrest, while Mingfuluo lay on its back, her strikingly proportionate, slightly plump legs, clad in sheer black stockings, resting on Anselm’s shoulders—of course, Anselm hadn’t done anything directly to Mingfuluo herself.

“No matter how cold or disdainful an expression you try to wear, it doesn’t dampen my interest. In fact, your misty, beautiful eyes and the flush on your skin only make me… more cruel.”

The lifeless puppet, driven by its designed instincts, gripped the sofa tightly.

Its expressionless face parted its lips unconsciously, silver strands of drool slipping from the corners.

Meanwhile, Mingfuluo, lying on the puppet’s back, bit her lip hard, covering her eyes with her arm.

Her waist arched high with unfeigned honesty from their shared sensation, her slender legs wrapping tightly around Anselm’s neck, the stockings rubbing against his neck and cheeks, transmitting a smooth, silky sensation.

Weak gasps escaped her small, pink lips.

Clenching her fists, Mingfuluo still wondered why she had made this choice.

Was it… because I couldn’t refuse Anselm’s request?

Was it because I needed to maintain my emotions, so instead of futile resistance like before, I chose… chose…

To enjoy it?

Mingfuluo Zege, lofty and prodigiously talented, destined to one day reach the fifth tier.

Cold and petite in public, never showing kindness to anyone, she now shared sensations with her puppet, her legs in black stockings entwining the betrayer and enemy in her eyes.

The tidal waves of pleasure relentlessly battered her mind.

She, who had endured that potion before, shouldn’t have been so utterly defeated.

But in reality, having abandoned her greatest weapon, dismantling the iron wall of reason, she seemed… powerless against this.

“Anselm… you—!”

Still covering her eyes with her arm, Mingfuluo’s words caught in her throat.

A short, faint scream was stifled as she cut it off, but her ten curled, plump toes betrayed her utter defeat.

Clearly, the wicked Hydra had no intention of giving Mingfuluo a break.

The unique physiology of women allowed them to draw ever-higher waves of sensation from the relentless tide.

“…Wait, let me… let me rest…”

“Don’t you remember what you said at the start?”

Anselm had never touched Mingfuluo’s body directly from the beginning, yet the typically cold and aloof scholar now instinctively entangled with it.

Anselm leaned down, chuckling softly in her ear: “I agreed to it. How could I go back on my word?”

“I… re… ngh… regret it.”

“Too bad, that’s not up to you.”

Anselm’s hand brushed over Mingfuluo’s lips—the first time he actively touched her since this began.

That small gesture alone made the “highly sensitive” Miss Mingfuluo, as Anselm called her, tremble.

“Biting too hard isn’t good,” Anselm said, eyeing the fresh red blood on his fingertip, raising an eyebrow.

“If it’s unbearable, why hold back?”

“You… planned this… from the start—”

“Hm?”

“That sentence…” Mingfuluo’s arm shifted slightly, her purple eyes, now hazy and chaotic, shimmering with tears as they struggled to focus on Anselm. “To destroy me… was it all preparation for this moment?”

The cruel words Anselm had once spoken to her—only now, looking back, did she see their true, heart-stabbing intent.

If she didn’t resist at all, Anselm could easily set traps, and Mingfuluo would fall into his hands at a terrifying speed, becoming a mere pawn and tool—because Babel Tower was in his grasp, as were her ideals.

If she truly became a monster that destroyed her own ideals, she’d be nothing but a pitiful puppet manipulated by the devil.

But if she chose to resist, to counter the traps Anselm might set, she had to ensure she no longer relied on reason to guard herself, no longer let reason become her instinct, and instead reclaim her emotions as much as possible.

And the result… was this.

No matter her choice, she could never escape Anselm’s grasp—even if she understood, even if she saw it clearly, it was utterly futile.

“That’s why I say you’re always so in sync with me, Arlo.”

Anselm said: “But my preparations weren’t just for this moment.”

Taming Mingfuluo was different from taming Hitana—in difficulty, methods, everything. So Anselm had prepared for both outcomes.

Or rather, without Hitana, Anselm would only have prepared to destroy Mingfuluo.

And Anselm himself hadn’t held high hopes for taming her.

Because Mingfuluo Zege was fundamentally different from Hitana.

Hitana was a deeply instinctual person, her beastly nature pure.

She had no grand ideals; her logic was basic and simple—protect what she liked, destroy what she hated, consume the stronger.

That was all.

So Anselm’s taming plan followed Hitana’s instincts—her loves, her cares, her hatreds, her needs.

By replacing those with himself and a corresponding tragic fate, everything fell into place.

Moreover, Hitana, driven by instinct, was more susceptible to physical influence.

The desires and restlessness in her body pushed her closer to Anselm.

But… Mingfuluo was different, the opposite of Hitana.

An idealist must first overcome the limitations and desires of being “human.”

Someone who could sacrifice everything for metaphysical ideals and beliefs would not be swayed by physical reactions.

Three years ago, Anselm, who had nearly achieved a mental connection with Mingfuluo, still failed to make her his.

So now, he didn’t expect to make her yield with such methods.

But Anselm didn’t mind pursuing a compromise.

His divergence with Mingfuluo hinged on one critical juncture.

Until that juncture arrived, they could be the closest of companions.

But when it came, they would instantly become mortal enemies.

Anselm didn’t mind stepping back.

Though betrayal was inevitable, if he could ensure Mingfuluo’s loyalty until that juncture, it would count as taming her.

After all… Hitana was the same.

The ever-unsatisfied Beast King would one day turn her madness toward Anselm, but he was certain she’d remain unquestionably loyal until then, and he’d strive to find a way to change that outcome.

Hitana was worth it.

Without her, Anselm wasn’t sure what path he’d have taken.

As for Mingfuluo…

Though their conflict was irreconcilable, if she could reach Hitana’s level, Anselm wouldn’t abandon her.

Because Mingfuluo had her own value—not just her heroic talent and gifts but her unique significance to Anselm.

Yet, clearly, the likelihood of this was slim.

Mingfuluo would never place her ideals beneath Anselm.

Her apparent loyalty to him was merely loyalty to her own ideals… which had never changed.

“You really…”

Gasping heavily, Mingfuluo spasmed, then continued in a broken voice laced with faint whimpers: “You still… have that idea, don’t you?”

“This doesn’t conflict with my intent to destroy you.”

At some point, Mingfuluo had drawn closer to Anselm, her body bent at a ninety-degree angle, her calves pressed tightly against his chest.

The young Hydra chuckled lightly, kissing her small, rounded knee and gently grasping her delicate foot, smaller than his palm, kneading it softly.

“This is your choice, Arlo. We could have been the best of friends.”

“Best friends… including this sort of thing?”

“Look, I haven’t done anything to you.”

Anselm raised his brow slightly: “I only asked you to bring the puppet. As for the shared sensation, or breaking you… I never made such demands, did I?”

“If you did nothing, you’d just be watching me toy with your puppet… Arlo, all this pleasure you’re feeling is entirely…”

“Your own doing.”

The verbal assault pierced Mingfuluo’s defenses once more, returning to the original question…

Why did she want to forget today’s troubles?

“Are you really trying to forget those troubles?”

The devil, as if reading her thoughts, whispered seductively.

“Of course I am…”

“No, you want to vent the resentment in your heart, the agitation, the… unease.”

Anselm leaned forward slightly, grasping her impossibly slender waist, his hands nearly able to touch middle fingers when encircling her.

“You must have other ways to dispel these emotions normally, but why choose this one this time?”

That face, inherently cute yet mature and coldly alluring, struggled to maintain its usual icy demeanor.

Mingfuluo covered her eyes with her arm again.

Now, she had to summon her rationality to confront Anselm.

Suppressing all irrelevant sensations and emotions, she replied in a steady, halting tone:

“Because you… just happened to… ask me to do this, that’s all.”

“Oh~ Simple utilitarianism, very much your style.”

Anselm chuckled, setting Mingfuluo back onto the puppet’s back, no longer touching her.

“But is that really it?”

He tilted his head, ceasing actions toward the puppet as well, smiling gently: “Just because I asked, you thought it better to comply and use it to vent your frustrations?”

Given a moment to breathe, Mingfuluo inhaled deeply, maintaining her calm tone: “What else?”

“Personally, I still think you’re craving me, Mingfuluo.”

“…You’re a bit too narcissistic, Anselm.”

The young Hydra laughed heartily: “I don’t mean that kind of craving, but… resonance.”

He gently caressed Mingfuluo’s cheek, lifting her arm.

Too weak to resist, she could only let him.

Looking into her misty eyes that avoided his gaze, Anselm smiled softly:

“Your parents stirred some unpleasant memories. You’re disappointed, angry, and desperately need someone who thinks as you do, feels as you do, resonates with you, don’t you?”

Who else was hurt besides Layden and Haitana?

A daughter who hadn’t seen her parents in over a decade found them unchanged—cowardly, submissive, clinging to life… yet still claiming righteousness, using supposed reasons to trample her and her grandfather’s ideals.

And calling her… a monster.

Though Mingfuluo left without hesitation, showing no emotion to anyone, how could she be unaffected?

“That’s why you’re so self-destructive, why you asked me to break you, isn’t it?”

Anselm gently lifted her chin: “Because our relationship… is so twisted, we can never truly resonate.”

Anselm saw Mingfuluo as disloyal; Mingfuluo saw Anselm as a betrayer.

Yet they understood each other’s thoughts.

Mingfuluo could easily see through Anselm’s schemes, and Anselm could effortlessly tear through her façade.

They despised each other, yet one still harbored thoughts of taming the other, while the other, even after three years, still held expectations.

Their shared past, though shattered, wasn’t destroyed or dissipated.

Instead, due to their minds, circumstances, and personalities, it became this… twisted scene.

“Come, admit you’re craving me,” Anselm smiled, “and I’ll continue.”

“You’re insane—!!!!”

The puppet nearly collapsed from the soul-shattering blow, and Mingfuluo, without Anselm’s support, nearly fell off its back.

“—You thought I’d say that?”

Anselm laughed gleefully: “I wouldn’t play such a boring game, especially since I can’t win. Besides… I still have to keep my promise, dear Arlo.”

“Break time’s over. The night is long, and you’re still… far from being broken as you wished.”

“Anselm… Hydra, Anselm…”

Mingfuluo, eyes faintly white, trembled, her legs tightening around Anselm’s neck, murmuring chaotically:

“I hate you, I hate you… I hate you…”

“Then I’m the opposite, Arlo.”

Hydra, unmasking his greed and malice, whispered terrifying words gently:

“Even now, I covet all of you. If I can’t have you, I’d rather destroy you.”

The venomous snake and the cold puppet, hating yet craving each other.

Neither wished to break free from this twisted bond.

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