My Archenemy Is Soft and Delicate - Chapter 1

Beneath the water, the chill was bone-deep, yet heat surged violently through Dou Yingjun’s veins and bones. She swallowed the bitter nectar of the Two-Life Flower, forcing her arms to move. At last, she broke through the surface, exhaling a long, shuddering breath.

The cavern was pitch-dark, save for the few remaining petals of the Two-Life Flower drifting on the water’s surface, casting a faint bluish glow that barely illuminated the confined space.

The Two-Life Flower grew only in lightless, hidden caverns—a rare and precious herb said to heal internal injuries. For those suffering from severe meridian damage, it was considered the most potent of all medicines.

Dou Yingjun’s meridians were shattered, her spiritual sea fractured. Penniless, alone, and desperate, she had risked her life to enter an illusionary realm, traveling on foot for five days before finally finding this single Two-Life Flower.

She had endured endless suffering for this bloom.

Pressing her lips together, she swallowed the bitter juice again. It numbed her mouth, and a stream of cool energy coursed through her body—but almost instantly, a wave of searing pain tore through her. Dou Yingjun, who had just climbed out of the water, doubled over and fell back in with a splash.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to swim toward the bank, her vision blurring with pain until she could no longer move.

Then came a clear, chiming sound—like the ringing of jade ornaments. A figure in azure robes brushed past the dark walls of the cave, carrying with her the faint scent of bamboo.

Dou Yingjun propped herself up weakly. Through the hazy blue glow, she saw a figure standing at the entrance of the cave—still and distant, her presence commanding even in the gloom.

The medicinal power of the Two-Life Flower was repairing Dou Yingjun’s meridians, driving out the cold poison within her body, but it was far from subdued.

Her body alternated between icy cold and burning heat. Pain and dizziness blurred her vision; all she could see was that solitary figure watching her from above.

She thrashed in the water, sending ripples spreading outward, dampening the hem of the newcomer’s azure robes.

Under the ghostly blue light, Dou Yingjun’s face—delicate as carved jade—flushed faintly red. Her wet black hair clung to her skin, her unfocused dark eyes reflecting scattered light. In that moment, she looked fragile and beautiful—like a butterfly with broken wings.

The figure finally moved. With a single tap of her foot, she glided across the lake’s surface and landed soundlessly beside Dou Yingjun.

The heat from the medicine surged, momentarily overwhelming the chill. Molten fire seemed to roar through Dou Yingjun’s blood. She trembled, unable to contain the pain, and a low, pained moan escaped her lips.

“Dou Yingjun.”

The woman knelt beside her, leaning close, her voice low and unmistakably familiar.

It was not a question, but a statement—utterly certain. Eighteen years had passed, yet even through the darkness, she recognized her at once.

Her tone carried both anticipation and a tangle of emotions difficult to name.

Dou Yingjun forced her eyes open. Sweat from her brow stung her vision, and all she saw was red—except for that pale, snow-white face before her.

Yang Chunyu.

It was actually her.

A strange relief flooded Dou Yingjun’s heart.

The tension in her spine loosened slightly. With a flicker of cold light from her sleeve, she bent her back and grabbed at the hem of the floating robe beside her, forcing a faint, ingratiating smile.

“Senior Sister.”

Yang Chunyu’s lashes quivered. She lowered her gaze to the bedraggled woman in the water, her lips moving slightly but making no sound.

Another wave of heat tore through Dou Yingjun’s body. Her lips trembled as she clutched at Yang Chunyu’s leg, her voice weak with pain.

“Senior Sister, please, for the sake of our shared sect—pretend you didn’t see me, all right?”

Yang Chunyu’s face was unreadable, though ripples flickered briefly in her calm eyes before vanishing again.

After all these years, Dou Yingjun’s features had barely changed—her sharp, vivid beauty still carried that dangerous allure. Soaked through, she was like a crimson flower beaten by the rain.

Once, she would always lift her chin when speaking to Yang Chunyu, proud as a peacock. But now, her eyes were filled with pitiful submission, her slender white neck bared in silent plea, every strand of wet hair a gesture of surrender.

Yang Chunyu blinked, just once—then a flash of steel split the air.

Cold light grazed her skin. With a splash, the two women fell into the water together, their black and azure robes billowing and tangling beneath the surface.

Dou Yingjun rolled over, pinning Yang Chunyu beneath her. From her sleeve, a hidden blade slid into her hand, its icy edge pressed against Yang Chunyu’s throat, a proud smile curving her lips.

Yang Chunyu had never once beaten her.

The weight of Dou Yingjun’s drenched black robes pressed down on her, her dripping hair darkening Yang Chunyu’s clothes.

“You plan to kill me?” Yang Chunyu asked quietly, her wrists pinned above her head.

The medicinal heat flared again; Dou Yingjun’s hands trembled. The blade nicked Yang Chunyu’s skin, but she remained utterly composed, her gaze steady on Dou Yingjun’s face.

Dou Yingjun forced a laugh, her vision swimming. “If you cooperate, I’m not that heartless. After all, you are my senior sister, so many years of affection.”

Yang Chunyu interrupted softly, “When you killed our master, did you ever think about affection?”

Dou Yingjun’s hand shook violently. Her mind went blank.

In that instant, Yang Chunyu twisted, flipping Dou Yingjun over. Pain shot through Dou Yingjun’s wrist as her dagger was wrenched free. A moment later, Yang Chunyu’s strength locked her wrists in an unbreakable hold.

Dou Yingjun reacted instinctively, twisting back to seize Yang Chunyu’s arm. The two struggled fiercely, bodies rolling in the cold water as ripples scattered glowing petals of the Two-Life Flower across the lake.

Light flickered with the waves—two figures, one in black, one in blue, entangled in the chaos.

Dou Yingjun was soon forced underwater, her mouth and nose submerged. The chill ignited her anger. She shoved upward, but Yang Chunyu easily absorbed the force, shifting with graceful precision. Within seconds, Dou Yingjun found herself pinned again.

Grinding her teeth, she suddenly lunged, headbutting toward Yang Chunyu—but Yang Chunyu seemed to read her every move, tilting aside at the last moment.

Dou Yingjun smirked. Using the motion’s momentum, she twisted her waist sharply, flipping their positions and sending Yang Chunyu plunging backward into the water.

Seizing the chance, Dou Yingjun lunged again—only for her foot to catch on something unseen.

She fell forward.

A loud splash echoed through the cavern.

Yang Chunyu propped herself halfway up, her expression unreadable, her eyes cold and dark.

Dou Yingjun’s face, however, had landed against something impossibly soft. Her nose was filled with the faint bamboo fragrance of Yang Chunyu’s skin.

Her face flamed scarlet.

Humiliation burned hotter than the medicine in her veins as she shouted sharply, her voice echoing off the cave walls.

“Yang Chunyu!”

Yang Chunyu pressed several acupoints on Dou Yingjun’s body. Dou Yingjun’s arms instantly went limp, powerless, and in frustration she opened her mouth to bite the person before her. But Yang Chunyu caught her face with practiced ease—her fingers clamping down like an iron vice—forcing Dou Yingjun’s jaw open so that she could neither close nor move it.

“Mmff—mmff!”

Dou Yingjun let out a muffled protest.

Her eyes glared at Yang Chunyu, fury and helplessness mingling, as a cool hand began to search over her body, deftly removing every hidden weapon and poison pouch she had concealed.

“Mmff! Mmmmf!”

Her protests grew louder, more frantic.

Only after Yang Chunyu was certain there was nothing left on her capable of causing harm did she finally release her grip.

“Are you made of iron? Your hands are that strong?” Dou Yingjun rubbed her sore cheeks, certain they must already be bruised purple.

Yang Chunyu ignored her. She simply stood, glanced down once, and turned to leave.

Dou Yingjun pushed herself up too quickly. Having stayed in one position too long, the blood in her legs had gone numb; the moment she stood, her knees gave way, and she crashed back to the ground.

Yang Chunyu’s footsteps paused for a fraction of a second.

Dou Yingjun had meant to chase after her, but after that fall, her strength completely abandoned her.

The earlier fight had left her body weak, and now the suppressed drug coursed through her veins, igniting her from within. In an instant, her strength and reason went up in flames. Pain surged in waves, forcing her to curl into herself.

The burning started deep in her bones and spread outward, then circled back again. Her mind became a haze of molten heat. In the blur of agony, she could think of nothing—only stretch her limbs restlessly, seeking some external relief.

If only it wasn’t this hot.

If only it doesn’t hurt this much.

Her skin burned like fire. Yang Chunyu caught her in her arms, and it was like holding a piece of living coal. When her fingers brushed Dou Yingjun’s wrist, she felt the woman’s meridians fraying—splitting apart inch by inch. A wild medicinal energy rampaged inside her, breaking and rebuilding her channels in chaotic bursts.

Dou Yingjun drifted in and out of consciousness, until a sudden coolness enveloped her—soothing, calming the fire within. Instinctively, she leaned toward it.

She opened her eyes. Yang Chunyu’s face was right there, close enough to touch.

She hated that face.

Yet it was so cool. So comfortable.

Shivering, Dou Yingjun burrowed closer into Yang Chunyu’s embrace. The chill deepened, easing the fever under her skin, though the blaze in her head still raged on.

“Dou Yingjun. Dou Yingjun.”

Someone was calling her name.

She blinked up at Yang Chunyu’s anxious face, the woman’s voice trembling between command and concern.

“Hold on—just a little longer. Most of the drug has already burned off.”

Yang Chunyu’s lips were soft, pink and dewy, like peach blossoms blooming at the mouth of a spring cave. Dou Yingjun stared at them, dazed, while that voice continued beside her ear.

“Just endure a little longer.”

Endure?

Why should she endure?

She had endured for years—for Yang Chunyu—and she was done with that.

No more.

Her gaze locked onto those soft red lips. Like a lynx spotting prey, she suddenly lunged forward and bit down, catching the “peach blossom” in full bloom. Their lips collided; Yang Chunyu jolted, a shiver running through her entire body, her teeth clicking from the impact.

The “petal” was soft, carrying a faint sweetness—and yet, strangely, beneath the sweetness lingered a trace of bamboo scent.

Heat flooded Dou Yingjun’s mind again. She sucked gently at those lips, curious, her tongue brushing experimentally. A breath of cool, disordered air spilled across her cheek.

Then came resistance. A force tried to push her away, but Dou Yingjun clung tighter, refusing to let go. In her fevered state, she shoved back hard, toppling the cool body beneath her to the ground.

Her vision was blurred; what little reason she had left was swallowed whole by the fire. She fumbled upward, found a shoulder, then a neck—her lips pressed again, deepening the kiss.

Her tongue tangled with something equally soft, equally trembling, stealing her breath as much as she stole the other’s.

“Mmph.” Dou Yingjun felt like a fragile blade of grass on a snowy mountain, buffeted by blizzards that finally cooled her fevered skin. The comfort made her sigh, long and helpless.

That cool snow pressed against her skin, melting into threads of icy air that seeped into her body, smoothing away the unbearable heat. She held onto the “snow,” kissing along its surface, inch by reverent inch.

“Yang Chunyu, Yang Chunyu,” she murmured hoarsely, biting softly at a pale earlobe, her lips brushing and teasing like a restless puppy.

A hand came up to cradle the back of her neck, indulgent, while light kisses trailed over her cheek. All she could hear was the thunder of two hearts beating wildly together.

The sound of fabric shifting echoed faintly through the cave. From within the mist, a trembling hand emerged—fingers spreading to grasp a smooth black stone by the water’s edge, veins standing out as the hand clenched tight.