This is a place that only a partner is allowed to touch!

This was the first time Zong Ming brought the protagonist into his room.

The spacious chamber was filled with a faint aroma of incense, extracted from a fourth-tier magical beast, known for its calming and focusing effects. Gems casually scattered across the table were treasures coveted by many outside; even the corners of the room were inscribed with magical runes, allowing Zong Ming to enjoy the most comfortable training environment within the entire estate, even in daily life.

But these decorations were secondary. For a martial artist, the magical blades hanging on the walls were all exquisite masterpieces, coveted collections others could only dream of. Zong Ming was a blade-wielder, passionate and devoted to knives. The elf cub, lying on the floor like a soft jellyfish, its tentacle-like roots writhing gently, approached a magical blade and immediately felt the faint aura of slaughter emanating from it.

Cold, resilient, and razor-sharp—these blades were unstoppable. Even the servants who stood near them could sense a chill running through their bodies. Living in such an environment, day and night surrounded by the murderous intent above, was like being constantly tempered under pressure, allowing one's body to grow quietly and imperceptibly.

In that moment, Lu finally realized that Zong Ming was completely different from the former prime minister’s son he once knew:

That purple-haired enemy, crying and begging for mercy, was merely a coward who indulged in pleasures;

But the man before him was more like a sharp and ruthless magical blade.

Unyielding to others’ defiance, domineering and controlling, harsh on himself yet intolerant of mistakes from subordinates.

Compared to his former enemy, he was a far more formidable opponent.

“Why are you so restless?” a call came from behind. Zong Ming approached and saw the elf cub, a modest little bundle, pressed against the wall as if lost in thought, and couldn’t help but chuckle. In this form, Lu’s movements produced a soft, sticky sound as he shuffled; his whole body was soft yet heavy. The little creature lifted its head adorably. The blue-haired man scooped him up, moving him away from the magical blades. Just as he reached out, Lu turned his head to look at him, his emerald eyes fixed on Zong Ming.

Then, several soft tentacles reached out, grasped one of the magical blades, and—crack!—he bit down on it.

Zong Ming was speechless.

Crunch, crunch—the blade Zong Ming cherished and often caressed was reduced to fragments in the elf cub’s mouth, chewed and swallowed.

The blue-haired man covered his face, silently holding the cub. He pinched the little head, forcing him to open his mouth, and saw a few shards of gemstone swallowed down. The sounds seemed to echo the screams of the magical blade in anger, like chewing candy—but this blade was soaked in magic, now swallowed by the elf.

Zong Ming pressed his hand over the cub’s mouth, sinking into a long silence. His fingers still rested on the elf’s body, feeling the touch as Lu squinted his eyes—was it the abundant magical power that stimulated his appetite, or the warmth from Zong Ming’s fingertips that made his mouth water?

Compared to the blade chewed in his mouth,

The man before him seemed to be more to his taste.

The elves once might have preferred vegetarian fare; but the abyssal-transformed elves... were pure carnivores.

A sudden chill ran through his finger. Zong Ming snapped back to reality and looked down to see the elf cub had slipped his finger into his mouth, his slender tongue gently licking the fingertip. His many eyes looked utterly innocent.

Their gazes met. After a moment, anger flashed across Zong Ming’s face.

“Do you know how much effort it took me to find this magical blade in the Misty Forest?”

He pulled his hand back and pinched the elf’s cheeks, twisting them.

“This blade alone cost at least ten thousand amethyst coins. You little rascal...”

“Jigu...” Lu squinted, suddenly opening his mouth to spit out the residue after absorbing the magic. A piece of black crystal rolled onto the ground. Zong Ming bent down to look—it was a very rough gem, but in terms of value, it was not insignificant.

However, in true value, it could never compare to the magical blade. Zong Ming sighed, seeing the elf’s gaze still sneaking a look at his precious treasures, so he hastily held the little creature closer and moved away from his beloved blades.

Was he distressed?

Of course he was.

But there was nothing he could do about the protagonist; at most, he could grit his teeth, pinch the cub’s tentacles, and scold sternly, “Don’t eat any more. It’s useless to look—selling these would only make you lose money!”

The elf cub squinted his eyes, mentally noting this reprimand.

How naive, the man thought, just a few magical blades—when he finally brings out the collection from the elven treasury, he’ll show this guy what true magical blades are.

Compared to those abyss-infused abyssal weapons or the artifacts crafted by the gnomes, the man’s collection was nothing more than child’s play. Thinking of this, Lu felt a twinge of pity. An ordinary prime minister’s son from the human empire, clinging to a mere handful of magical blades as his treasured possessions.

Those abyssal artifacts were beyond his reach. As a mage saint, he likely didn’t even qualify to wield a magical blade. Thinking this way, Lu began to find Zong Ming’s knowledge shallow—humans were just too weak.

If abyssal weapons were too fierce, it would be better to seize the Heavenly Blades from the Temple of Light.

---

The elf cub’s gaze deepened.

The lackeys who worshipped so-called deities guarded their sacred artifacts day and night, never daring to profane them. It was utterly boring. It would be better if he took them. The divine blades forged from elemental power were far more suitable for frail humans.

Lu’s eyes fell on Zong Ming’s face, his gemstone-like eyes flashing with a condescending appraisal.

When that day comes, he was curious what expression would appear on the man’s face.

Unaware that Zong Ming, carrying him aside, was oblivious to the elf’s thoughts of raiding the Temple of Light’s treasury to steal divine artifacts. If Zong Ming knew, he’d probably have a headache.

The Temple of Light was, in a way, Lu’s greatest early foe. But those zealots who devoted themselves to worshipping the gods were no pushovers. Even the weakest temple knights were at least at the Spirit Awakening stage, and their captain was said to be a demigod. And Lu was merely an alchemist.

What confidence did he have to defeat a full team of Spirit Awakening temple knights?

The elf curled up in Zong Ming’s arms, a small bundle. His silver tentacles writhed faintly, shimmering with a dazzling metallic glow. Below the radiant crown on his head were faintly visible six sacred marks.

These were sacred marks that only appeared after forming and drinking the purest spirit awakening potion.

The brilliant lines flashed beneath the crown. For a moment, Zong Ming’s eyes flickered; he stopped, doubting what he saw. The elf cub was heavy in his arms, his root-like lower body entwined around Zong Ming’s arm, creeping along unknowingly.

Zong Ming thought: wow.

He bent down, parted the elf’s tresses to examine the crown’s marks.

The elf’s body stiffened instantly. The many eyes fixed on him, sensing his intent. Next moment, Lu’s entire form flowed like a soft, slippery jellyfish, slipping from his arms. His body was more fluid than solid, slipping away like a stream.

Zong Ming’s reflexes were quick; he grabbed him, frowning, “You have something dirty on your head. Let me see.”

Lu squinted at him as if to say: Do you take me for a fool?

After severe injury, an elf cub’s mind regresses to that of a few-year-old child, governed only by instinct. So Zong Ming’s few words to appease him felt effortless—unless his mind was normal now.

But if that were the case, the elf cub wouldn’t be in his arms like a pet. How could a cold elf be carried around like this?

Even if Lu was deceiving him, Zong Ming couldn’t find a reason for such behavior. His hand clenched tighter, but his voice was gentle yet commanding:

“Let me help you look.”

“I’ll just look once, won’t do anything.”

Lu squinted at him, then his entire tresses writhed, covering his crown to block sight and touch. He struggled in Zong Ming’s arms. Seeing his persistence, Zong Ming grew suspicious.

Could the protagonist really be feigning ignorance to deceive him?

But why would he do that? The more Zong Ming thought, the stranger it seemed. His fingers extended but did not forcibly pull back the tresses; instead, he continued soothing:

“I’ll just look, just want to touch a bit. If you let me see, I’ll give you anything you want.”

Lu opened his mouth, making soft sounds—angry and a bit indignant. His cold green eyes stared at Zong Ming. When Zong Ming still reached out, the elf cub, as if enraged, bit him hard.

That bite was fierce, almost piercing his finger. But just before breaking his palm, Lu released. Zong Ming didn’t understand why he suddenly went wild, like a dragon struck on its reverse scale. He jerked his hand, nearly dropping the cub.

Lu slid down, curling up on the carpet, coldly looking at him. Seeing Zong Ming’s puzzled and confused expression, Lu remained indifferent.

Could it be that the elf’s crown was very important to them?

The forgetful author finally recalled a setting buried in the corner of his mind, prompted by Zong Ming’s nearly furious gaze.

The elf’s crown, like a dragon’s reverse scale, the undead’s heart core, and an alchemical creature’s core, was an extremely private and vital life gate that only a partner could touch.

Only a partner (emphasis) could touch this life gate (emphasis).

Thinking of Lu’s wary reaction earlier, Zong Ming suddenly dared not meet his gaze.

Because this setting was barely mentioned in the story—only once in the whole text—he had no real impression… can this even be admitted?

Is it too late to apologize now? Haha.

---

Thinking so, the elf’s struggle just now was almost like resisting a violation. If the elf could speak, Zong Ming would have been scolded harshly—he felt a deep, indescribable shame.

If the elf could talk, he would say:

“What are you doing?! Stop it, you idiot! Only my partner can touch my crown! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Sorry.” Zong Ming opened his mouth and said, “I shouldn’t have forced you like that.”

The more he spoke, the stranger it felt. Changing his approach, he said, “I’ve never seen elves before, so I was curious.”

Lu squinted at him.

To make amends, Zong Ming returned to his room and brought out several treasures, offering them to the elf to choose from. Looking at the little creature’s eyes, Zong Ming said, “These are things I like very much. If you like them, I’ll give them to you as compensation.”

The silver-hued elf cub looked noble and proud. He glanced down and saw things like Siren’s Eye, elemental crystals, sky stones—common in the elven treasury but precious treasures to Zong Ming.

Yet now, he was offering them as apology. Lu naturally rejected these, but still felt a trace of pleasure.

The elf cub propped himself up, extended his tentacles, but didn’t take any of the items. Instead, with a sharp slap, he pushed them away.

Zong Ming was puzzled.

Lu opened his mouth, uttering a faint sound:

“These mean nothing to me. But wait, in time, I’ll show you what true treasures are.”

“Gu…”

The elf’s soft tresses rose, pointing to his crown, as if asking why he touched it.

“Because I think your crown is beautiful, very pretty,” Zong Ming carefully chose his words. He couldn’t say he wanted to see how many sacred marks it bore. “It’s beautiful, so I wanted to touch it.”

Lu turned his face away. There was no way he would let Zong Ming touch his crown.

Zong Ming offered the box again, but the elf made no move to take it. He sighed and put the items away. At that moment, the elf cub looked back at his retreating figure, seeming to be pondering something. His soft body slid forward.

Next second, like a nimble fish, he glided through the air to Zong Ming’s front—not allowing any touch, but simply showing off, tilting his face up to Zong Ming before lowering his head.

Zong Ming’s eyes widened.

The elf’s tresses shimmered like long hair full of silver light, exuding a breathtaking beauty. The crown on his head was exquisitely crafted, like the finest creation of a gnome. In the darkness, the elf’s own radiance illuminated the surroundings, as if darkness retreated and submitted at his presence.

The elf lowered his head, the crown gleaming with a dreamy hue, beneath which four sacred marks glowed.

Only four.

Zong Ming watched this scene and, for some reason, breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” the man said softly, this time refraining from reaching out. “Very beautiful.”

Indeed, very beautiful.