The "Serenity Spire" was designed for a level of privacy that bordered on the conspiratorial. Outside, the world continued its frantic spin: Su Meiling and Lin Xuerui were engaged in a teleconference that felt like a tactical war briefing, Principal Ye was inspecting the resort's library, and Mu Ronghuan was at the spa, finally letting the tension of the "curse" melt away in a mud bath.
They were in their own worlds. And so was Chen Feng.
In the master suite's kitchenette, Gary—the former God of Wealth—had been busy. He had mixed a cocktail using a drop of "Everlasting Peach Essence," a liquid so potent it had once caused an entire court of celestial attendants to forget their names for a century.
"Just a little something to help the local talent appreciate my charms," Gary chuckled to himself, placing the shimmering, sunset-colored glass on the counter. He turned away to find a cocktail umbrella, leaving the door ajar.
Lin Xia stumbled in seconds later. Her head was swimming from the tropical humidity and the crushing weight of her own unconfessed feelings. She saw the glass. It looked like the most refreshing strawberry nectar in existence.
She didn't sip. She drank it with the desperation of a desert traveler.
The effect was instantaneous. The world didn't just tilt; it dissolved into a kaleidoscope of warmth and rose-colored light.
Chen Feng was sprawled across the massive king-sized bed, his floral shirt half-unbuttoned, his eyes closed. He was drifting in that perfect space between sleep and wakefulness when the door clicked shut.
A scent hit him—not the salt of the ocean, but the intoxicating aroma of blooming peaches and ancient, distilled desire.
He opened his eyes to see a shadow looming over him. Xia was standing at the edge of the bed. Her skin was glowing with a soft, ethereal radiance, and her eyes were wide, dark, and swimming with a primitive, golden fire.
"Chen Feng," she whispered. Her voice didn't sound like a high schooler's anymore; it sounded like a siren's call.
She crawled onto the bed, her movements fluid and predatory, fueled by a divine inhibition-stripper that had completely erased her shyness. She pinned his shoulders down, her small hands radiating a heat that felt like a localized sun.
"You... you always hide," she breathed, her face inches from his. "Behind the milk... behind the sleep... behind the 'lazy' act. But I see you. I see the thunder."
Normally, Chen Feng would have flicked a finger and neutralized the energy. He could have turned the "Nectar" into water with a thought. But as he looked up at the girl—her face flushed, her breath sweet and heavy, her spirit flaring with a raw intensity he hadn't felt in eons—the "Salted Fish" felt a crack in his armor.
The island heat, the silence of the room, and the overwhelming scent of the peach essence began to cloud even his Sovereign mind.
"Xia..." he started, his voice uncharacteristically husky. "That drink... you shouldn't have..."
"Don't tell me what I should do," she interrupted, her fingers tangling in his hair.
She leaned down, pressing her forehead against his. The contact was like a short circuit. The "Nectar" flowed through the touch, creating a bridge between her chaotic, mortal longing and his vast, ancient stillness. For the first time since the Reset, Chen Feng didn't feel like a detached observer. He felt the pull of the world.
He didn't push her away. Instead, his hands found her waist, drawing her closer. The room seemed to blur at the edges, the sunlight through the bamboo blinds turning into golden bars that caged them in a private, shimmering reality.
The sound of the ocean faded. The "Big Four" in the distance were forgotten. There was only the heat, the scent of peaches, and the slow, heavy heartbeat of two souls sinking into a golden, nectar-filled haze.
As the afternoon sun dipped lower, casting long, honeyed shadows across the bed, the "Sovereign of Salted Fish" finally stopped thinking about his next nap—and let himself get lost in the dream.