“
“Why?”
I looked at Eric with confusion as he made that familiar sulking expression—
The one his steward always made when I said I didn’t want to study.
Why the gloomy face?
Shouldn’t you be happy when the one you secretly admire finally answers your confession?
“Do you… not like me responding to your… uh, heartfelt expression of the soul?”
Eric shook his head with an uncertain look.
“It’s not that I
don’t
like it… it’s just…”
“Just?”
“…I’m a little afraid.”
His gaze trembled like an earthquake was erupting in his pupils. Then, he gently bit down on his lower lip, crimson as blood.
“I’m afraid… that you’ll reject me.”
Seriously now—this again?
‘Choose me…’
How is it that someone who looks like a fierce jade-eyed panther, the kind that would tear apart a deer without a second thought, can have eyes as soft as a startled fawn’s? Makes you want to wrap him in a protective array.
But the problem is—
When you keep making that face, I can’t protect you. You’re making it
too
hard…
While trying to snuff out the fire in my core, I suddenly burst out in frustration.
“…Then why is it, when you're always tempting people like this, that you won’t even cross the boundary at night?”
Eric frowned at my outcry.
Yes, that’s right!
Even after his so-called confession, he still hadn’t removed that golden spiritual barrier dividing our bed!
You said you liked me, didn’t you? Then why, huh? Why?! If you do, then prove it already, dammit!
My cry of resentment, as usual, was brushed aside by Eric with infuriating serenity.
He sighed and ruffled his hair.
“Desire and affection… they overlap, sure, but they’re still different things.”
“So you
admit
they overlap?”
I widened my eyes, staring straight up at him.
Oh-ho… so that means…
Even this wall of abstinence wrapped in steel
does
desire me…
“I know…”
Eric turned slightly, scratching his temple as the tips of his ears turned crimson again.
“…I know there's a difference between you desiring me, and you
liking
me.”
With that, he looked away with a face that screamed embarrassment, then added softly:
“I’m waiting for the day you truly want
me
.”
That’s cheating…
The moment those words left his lips, fifty impure thoughts rushed through my head like wild beasts.
“...Damn it all...”
“Why are you cursing now?”
Eric flinched, brows twitching. His red eyes, cold like a predator's, still held the pure glimmer of a herbivore—clear, wide-eyed, like the bottom of the food chain.
I swear, he makes me want to ruin him...
Grinding my teeth, I yanked open the carriage window.
“AAAAARGH!”
It felt like my insides were burning.
“W-What is it? Are you hurt?”
Eric asked, clearly worried.
I turned back to him, putting on the most composed face I could manage.
“No, I’m perfectly fine.”
Too healthy, that’s the problem!
Ever since he said he liked me, he kept showing me more and more of that side of him…
And I? I was being tormented by desire—no, affection—no,
whatever this was!
At this rate, would I even understand my own heart by the time we returned from the South?
I wasn’t sure anymore.
“Your face is red…”
With eyes pure as an unawakened beast cub, he blinked and reached a hand toward me. I smacked it away.
“Ah-ah! Tch!”
Eric rubbed the back of his hand with a wounded expression.
“Why?”
“Because when you act like this, I don’t know what to think anymore! Just… stay still. Let me have some time to sort out my thoughts.”
I needed to escape this state of being bound by desire...
I planned to use my time in the Southern Territories to look at Eric from a distance—objectively.
In truth, harboring romantic feelings for a cultivation partner is incredibly dangerous.
Even my mother once nearly fell for a fellow cultivator she worked with. It almost got her killed, ruined the mission, and when all was said and done, she realized it hadn’t been love—it was nothing but a fleeting fire sparked by reckless emotions.
Looking at it clearly now, me falling for Eric might be the exact same kind of madness my mother had once narrowly escaped.
Eric was both physically and socially more powerful than I was—a man with great qi reserves, a strong foundation, and massive presence. If I ever entrusted my path to him and leaned on his goodwill too much… who knows what fate might await me?
…That subconscious fear has always been inside me.
This is what it means to live life as a shriveled soul raised in a world of suppression and fear. I don’t
want
to be the kind of person who doubts others’ kindness—but it’s how I’ve survived.
Not everyone gets to love themselves completely. I’m no exception.
In the end, I’ve always only been drawn to people who felt
harmless
. But now that I think about it, maybe it wasn’t their lack of force that attracted me.
Maybe… it’s that someone
like Eric
, who wields great power but never misuses it—that’s my true ideal.
Ugh. My head hurts. So frustrating.
“This is why I always said my type was soft and delicate men…”
I muttered. Eric flinched like something had stabbed him.
“So… by delicate, you mean… you don’t mean like, uh… small, cute kinds of guys… right?”
“Huh?”
“You don’t mean… the kind of guys with tiny frames and gentle eyes… right…?”
He was curling his shoulders in, like he was trying to shrink his frame as much as possible with every word.
“That’s exactly what I meant.”
Wait, did I never say this?
Yeah. My ideal man is like the prince from that stage play I saw—the one who married Thumbelina.
The moment I saw that character, I realized something deep in my core. I’ve always yearned for a kind, gentle, obedient man. The type who looks like he’d never raise a finger unless told to.
That was it.
“Hmm…”
Eric let out a small sound of despair and pressed his forehead to the wall of the carriage.
I didn’t know what his problem was, but—deciding not to concern myself with his internal suffering—I let my thoughts drift elsewhere.
To something like—
“If I could just kiss those crimson lips
one more time
, maybe I’d know my heart for sure… but how do I seduce this stubborn boulder?”
Yeah. I know. I’m such a pervert.
I
know
. I don’t even like myself like this!
✵
✵
✵
The roar of the steam engine echoed outside the carriage window.
“Wow…”
I pressed myself to the glass, watching the coal chamber puff out thick steam.
On the journey from the Southern Region back to the capital, my mother, Philip, and I had taken the most primitive route possible—catching a ride in one of Mom’s friend’s carriages, jostling our spiritual cores to pieces on rocky mountain roads.
But these days, no noble travels in such a primitive way as we do.
Especially not in an era where the advancement of civilization flows like a great spiritual river.
Even steam-powered trains, once hailed as a revolution of motion, are now relics of a bygone age.
Yet here we are—Eric and I—riding aboard a first-class
spirit jade train
!
Bwooo—! Bwooo—!
The horn of a passing steam locomotive echoed in the distance. I looked out the window, eyes shining with awe.
Why?
Because I’ve never ridden a steam train in my entire life.
But what’s even more surprising?
This spirit jade train—
has no furnace room at all
.
It’s like… imagine someone who’s never eaten meat suddenly tasting flame-grilled pork belly prepared by a grandmaster of a celestial inn. That’s what this feels like.
I stared, half-entranced, at the passing engine outside—
“Would you like some sparkling water, my lady?”
I blinked and looked up to see a well-groomed attendant with golden hair and a smile worth a million gold taels.
He caught me off guard so thoroughly, I just nodded silently.
Ah, right. I had almost forgotten the name of this train—
The
Margaret Express
.
The first-ever transportation project built entirely from spirit jade, crafted by none other than Margaret herself.
The spirit jade locomotive was the brainchild of her insight: she recognized that nobles, tired of even first-class steam coaches, craved a way to throw their money around in more dazzling, wasteful fashion.
So she created this.
Twice as fast as any steam locomotive.
Twenty times more lavish.
Two hundred times more scenic.
It was, in short, the
final form
of indulgent excess—powered by immense quantities of spirit jade.
And it was a massive success.
Nobles began burning through enough coin for a year’s worth of a commoner’s living expenses… just for a one-way ticket.
Annoying as she was, Margaret did deserve a measure of respect.
Because Margaret loved beauty. Always. Unapologetically.
‘…I respect your taste, Margaret. Truly.’
As I watched the graceful silhouette of a uniformed attendant walk down the corridor, for the first time, I felt genuine reverence for Margaret stir within me.
But then—just diagonally across this chandelier-adorned train cabin—Lily was staring at me as though I were a hopeless idiot.
And right across from me sat Eric, his expression more displeased than impressed.
He spoke with a look of mild disbelief.
“So this is why you wanted tickets for the Margaret Express?”
Yes… it
was
me who insisted on getting the tickets.
Thanks to knowing some of Margaret’s little secrets, I managed to get them at a significant discount.
Eric clicked his tongue.
“I thought you said the only man you’ve had contact with was Philip.”
“…I never said I’d
never dreamed
of any contact.”
Oh please—who said all girls are pure and innocent?
Even in the heads of seemingly saintly maidens, devilish thoughts often lurk.
“I had my own secret crushes too, okay? I once saw this play and fell for the prince in it—
sigh
—the actor even visited me in my dreams…
And that wasn’t all. Back when I worked in a tavern, this shoeshiner named Jack used to sneak me bread…”
I was watching Eric’s ever-changing expressions when I stopped myself.
…That’s probably enough.
So I swiftly changed the subject.
“Anyway. Didn’t
you
, young master, ever have a sweetheart? I heard you went through life-and-death trials with a princess up north, no?”
From what I’d heard, that princess wasn’t just some ordinary cultivator either.
Perhaps noticing my suspicious gaze, Eric frowned, clearly displeased.
“I would never harbor improper thoughts toward the sovereign I serve.”
As Eric turned to look out the window, his expression quietly sullen, I found myself watching him and thinking…
So, he entered the Knight Order at fourteen and, until the age of twenty-four, the only women he ever interacted with were his lord and fellow female knights like Dame Lily...
A sudden realization struck me like a bolt of heavenly tribulation. I gasped and blurted out:
“Wait, then—don’t tell me… could it be…”
Was I… his first…?
No, no. I shouldn’t ask that.
Now’s not the time to get swept up in destiny or romance. I need to be calm, to organize my thoughts like a proper cultivator seeking enlightenment.
I quickly covered my mouth. But Eric had already nodded, as if he’d seen through my heart.
“You’re my first love. I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.”
Across from us, Lily wrinkled her face, then lifted the newspaper she was reading and slammed it down over her face like it could block out reality.
“That’s enough confessions for today…”
I shook my head in disbelief.
What an astonishing human being.
“I like you.”
Ever since that bizarre, abrupt confession, I’d been thinking deeply.
What
is
it, truly, to like someone?
What happens if Eric and I begin to reciprocate those feelings?
The deeper I pondered the question, the more often my thoughts wandered into shameless territory. But I did give it proper reflection, too.
Our greatest enemy was Valdec d’Orléans.
Eric’s goal was to expose Valdec’s crimes and place the princess on the throne.
Justice. Retribution. Upholding righteousness. All the things he cares about deeply—unlike me.
Because I’m not in this for that.
I’m someone who only just managed to shake off the label of “murderer,” someone weak of constitution, overly cautious, and with self-esteem as fragile as cracked jade.
So when Eric says he likes me, I can’t help but wonder—what if it’s not real affection, but merely pity in a new guise, or curiosity about a creature so unlike himself?
And what happens after Valdec is defeated?
What if his feelings evaporate like a minor spell technique once the battle ends?
“Sigh… all this doubt is just my low self-worth talking.”
I grew up with nothing—how could I possibly have faith in myself? I’ve always been like this.
Even now, I couldn’t be sure if I liked this strange man or not. No matter what choice I made, I couldn’t trust my own heart.
This bizarre man who confessed without hesitation.
I looked at him quietly.
He avoided my gaze, face slightly red.
Every feeling he had was written on his face in plain brushstrokes. But putting them into words was something else entirely.
Isn’t that fascinating?
Where does someone even
learn
how to speak so directly—saying “I like you,” or “you’re beautiful,” or “I’ll love you even if you reject me”—and mean it every time?
Was it a warm upbringing? A life of support and affection?
Or was it simply innate—a natural high-grade confidence, perhaps part of his spiritual core?
Whatever it was, I had none of it.
I was just the most cowardly soul in the entire Southern Territories.
Clack—
Just then, the door to our cabin slid open with a bang, and a woman entered. She looked around at me, Eric, and Lily with wide eyes and said,
“Wha—? This ain’t cabin numbah four…?”
Oh, that accent.
Familiar. Unmistakable.
A true dialect of the Southern Provinces—thick enough that capital folk would struggle to understand it.
I’m a Southern native, but I don’t speak the dialect much. There’s an unspoken disdain for it, especially in high circles. When I was growing up under Violod, he wouldn’t let me speak it at all.
Helena had also shed her dialect from a young age, and Philip wasn’t even from the South to begin with.
‘…Still, hearing it again after so long really warms my core!’
Lily stood with a scowl carved onto her face. She loomed over the black-haired, red-cheeked Southern woman and spoke with cold pressure:
“State your business.”
She was just doing her job—but the poor woman flinched and switched into an even heavier accent from sheer panic.
“N-no, I was jus’ lookin’ fer cabin numbah four, that’s all…”
Wait—“cabin number four”?
The spirit-stone railcars aren’t numbered like that. They use letters: A, B, C, D...
‘…No way—don’t tell me…’
It was right then—just as the spirit jade train we’d boarded began to lurch into motion—that the southern woman’s eyes shot open in panic.
“H-huh?! I got on the wrong train, I did!”
Startled, she bolted toward the window, likely to try and jump out or signal someone, but Lily grabbed her wrist with such swift force that the woman let out a shriek.
“AAACK! I’m dying! You’re killing me, woman!”
Her shrill cry caught the attention of several uniformed attendants near the entrance, who began rushing toward us.
Oh no… this could turn ugly. What if they mistake her for some kind of thief? This could get messy real fast.
“T-this here train’s the Spirit Jade Express, ya hear!”
With no other choice, I broke into full southern dialect, yelling toward the woman.
“Haha…”
Eric furrowed his brows at my accent, looking vaguely embarrassed on my behalf.
Right then, from the rear entrance behind the woman, a small man peeked his head in. When his gaze landed on me, his eyes widened in disbelief.
“…I-Imeline?”
Wait. That pale face… those gentle features… that delicate nose bridge… those soft red lips…
My mind sluggishly assembled the name of the man before me, who looked more like a spirit beast disguised as a docile deer.
Before I could speak, the southern woman—her voice quivering with emotion—ran straight into the man’s arms.
“Dear! I got hurt!”
“Oh heavens, you okay, Matilda?”
AH! My eyes widened as I pointed at the man and shouted:
“Wait just a second—you’re Jack!”
I clapped a hand over my mouth, stunned, as I stared at Jack and the southern woman now wrapped around his waist.
“You—you went and got married?!”
In response, Jack grinned and hoisted up a small child from behind him.
“Already got two kids, too!”
What?! That little shoeshiner from the tavern—married with
two
children?!
Hold on a sec… something wasn’t adding up.
I narrowed my eyes and muttered.
“…Then where’s the other one?”
Just as I said that, the woman—Matilda—snapped her head toward a corner in alarm.
There, a four-year-old girl had somehow managed to climb up and was now yanking fiercely at Eric’s hair.
With a victorious shout, the girl yelled,
“Iiiiii got rid of the weed!”
I turned pale as death and shrieked back,
“NO! That’s not a weed!”