Even Qin San-shao wasn't immune—nor were Li Xiaoye, Qiao Wei, or Uncle Li.They all stood there, frozen.
Because at the far end of the luxurious gambling table, carved from the rarest incense wood, sat a woman.
Not just any woman.She was a vision of allure and danger, a tempest in silk and skin. Her presence struck like lightning—blinding, scorching, yet impossible to look away from. The kind of beauty that could destroy a man for daring to gaze too long, and still he'd gladly be ruined just to keep watching.
She was dressed entirely in red.
Her hair, a rich violet-red, shimmered with a strange luster; her eyes were shaded with crimson shadow; her lips—full, painted deep scarlet—seemed to smolder like live embers. She wore a near-translucent pink veil of a dress over a blood-red bodice that clung to her chest like molten silk. Her fingernails, polished in fiery red and marked with flame-like sigils, looked sharp enough to cut desire straight into the soul.
And within that sea of blazing red danced a single, breathtaking streak of white.
The porcelain skin from her jawline to her collarbone, framed by her low-cut bodice, was so pure, so untouched, it seemed to glow. Her arms, resting lightly on the edge of the table, were naked to the elbows—graceful, delicate, the color of snow under moonlight.
Red and white—fire and ice—merged perfectly on her.She sat still, calm, yet every inch of her radiated a mystique that transcended mere beauty.
There was seduction in her smile. But also chill.There was warmth, and yet a glacial distance.She was flame and frost incarnate—a queen of opposites, seated like an empress commanding both death and desire.
Even Li Xiaoye, a beauty of renown in her own right, found herself hypnotized. She stared, transfixed, unable to pull away.
This woman possessed a magnetism that transcended gender.Not just men—women, too, fell under her spell.
Qin San-shao was enthralled.Li Xiaoye was entranced.Even the normally sharp-eyed Qiao Wei and the ever-calm Uncle Li stood dazed.
The four of them lingered in the doorway of the VIP chamber, slack-jawed, unmoving.
The bodyguard who had led them in stood bowed, not daring to look up.His body shook. Sweat rolled down his face. The back of his shirt was soaked through.
He didn't dare glance at her—not even out of the corner of his eye.He knew—one look, and his will would crumble, his mind unravel, leaving him nothing but a shell, a puppet robbed of all thought.
Qin San-shao's blood surged like a volcano.He had never felt such primal hunger before. Simply watching this woman—this seemingly poised and elegant woman—was enough to drive his body into a frenzy.
His mouth was dry. Sweat streamed from his brow. He was already… aroused.
And in his eyes, the crimson beauty atop the gaming table was no longer seated.She was dancing—a slow, sinuous dance, seductive beyond compare.
Her every move teased him, revealed her secrets in wicked detail. Her gaze was molten, and every glance she threw him dripped with unspoken promise.
And he wasn't the only one undone.
Li Xiaoye's reaction was immediate and unfiltered.Her face flushed crimson, her breath grew heavy, her eyes moist with unfocused longing.
One hand rose to her chest, cupping herself through her tunic. The other slid between her legs, rubbing gently, then urgently. Unsatisfied, she slipped her hand beneath the fabric, seeking more intimate contact with the heat that pulsed between her thighs.
The match hadn't even begun, but they'd already lost.Mind, body, and soul—captivated, conquered.
But in every game of fate, even a losing hand may turn the tide.
Just as the crimson enchantress—at least in San-shao's dazed vision—stepped down from the table, her body undulating as she approached him, his instincts stirred.
It was raw, primal.A flicker of alarm, inexplicable but urgent.
Like a mutt that had never seen a tiger but knew to tremble anyway, Qin San-shao's survival instinct screamed.
Something's wrong… I came to gamble, not to watch a damn strip show!He gritted his teeth and, with tremendous effort, slammed his eyes shut.
The very moment he did, the woman in red, who had done nothing at all but sit gracefully this whole time, betrayed the faintest flicker of surprise—followed by something else: excitement. And anticipation.
Then Qin San-shao's eyes snapped open.But they were not the same.
The haze had cleared.In its place—ice, steel, death.
The crimson woman looked into those eyes, and in their depths, she saw… apocalypse.Frozen plains soaked in blood. Fields of bones. Mountains built from skulls. A sky so black it swallowed light. Winds like knives. Lightning, red as spilled wine, cracking through a storm of screams.
And atop the highest peak of corpses—A madman, hair wild, arms raised, hands stained crimson, laughing at the heavens.
Her heart skipped.She felt it: the cold.She felt it: the killing intent.
He was not seeing her as a woman.He saw her as a corpse.
Her breathing faltered. Qi scrambled within her meridians. A pink mist of blood burst from her lips.
The spell shattered.
Li Xiaoye snapped back to reality, gasping in horror at what she'd been doing. Mortified, she scrambled to fix her clothes. A quick glance at Qin San-shao confirmed he hadn't noticed her shame—he was still staring daggers at the woman in red, his pupils lit like demonic suns.
She sighed, relieved.But Qiao Wei and Uncle Li? Their faces darkened into thunderclouds.
"The 'Nation-Destroying Dream'... the peak technique of the Mind-Bending Sect," Qiao Wei muttered, his voice like a cold wind whistling through a mountain pass. "Girl… you're the Saintess of the Nine Yin Demon Sect."
The crimson woman said nothing. She simply remained seated—but then, chair and all, she floated backward.
Behind her, a panel in the wall slid open to reveal a hidden passage.
"Time spares no one!" Qiao Wei barked.He shot forward like a ghost on the wind, trailing grace and menace.
For a moment, the world stilled—air, light, time itself seemed to freeze.Nothing moved except Qiao Wei.
No—one more moved.
Uncle Li.
"Phantom Demon Palm!"
With a whisper, he blurred into motion. His palm, yellowed with age one moment, became crystal-clear the next, glowing like cut diamonds.
Space bent. Distance became meaningless.
The Phantom Demon Palm cut across the room—impossible, dreamlike—and reached for the crimson woman.
And though it was all illusion—just as Qin San-shao's Devouring Palm twisted perception—it felt absolutely real to the target.
And reality, when believed deeply enough, is no longer illusion.
BOOM!
The gambling table exploded.
From beneath it leapt eight black-robed figures, swords flashing. Each weapon slashed through the air with deadly intent, aiming to block Qiao Wei and Uncle Li.
But Qiao Wei was a blur.He spun through their attacks like water slipping through cracks. One toe tapped a sword hand. One foot stepped off a shoulder. His shoulder bumped another. Then, with a flick, he snuffed out the sword aura of the last man's blade. A grey force flowed into the sword, rusting it in seconds.
Uncle Li was even more terrifying.
He moved as though untethered by physical law.In a single motion, his glowing hand struck the hearts of four enemies—each standing at a different angle—as if he had four hands, four arms, one soul.
The two elders had broken through. But in the time it took to deal with the swordsmen, the red-dressed woman had already reached the hidden doorway.
She was about to vanish.
That's when Qin San-shao moved.
He soared—like a phoenix erupting from a volcano.
To be continued...