Don't mess with that Miao boy, he's sickly and perverted.

Chai Xiaomi's lips twitched slightly.

Based on the innkeeper's description, she immediately thought of her father: he slept half the night in front of the air conditioner vent in the summer to cool off, and woke up the next day with facial paralysis.

This is probably the cognitive gap between ancient and modern people.

It was just a simple facial nerve injury, yet it somehow led to a supernatural tale.

However, this bizarre world is not really scientific, after all, we encountered an SS-level demon as soon as we arrived.

What's so special about a mere facial paralysis ghost?

She pulled the blanket down a little, revealing half of her face that had been hidden, and the fear in her heart suddenly dissipated.

Song Yueyao was not afraid at all; in her opinion, people were sometimes much more terrifying than demons and monsters.

After dismissing the waiter, she turned around and saw Chai Xiaomi curled up in the quilt, her eyelashes lowered, seemingly lost in thought. Two loose braids hung down in front of her chest, like a rabbit's drooping ears. Song Yueyao's heart softened, and she said gently, "Don't overthink it. We'll only stay here for one night, and continue our journey tomorrow morning."

"If you're really in danger, I'll protect you!" Before she finished speaking, Song Yueyao drew the crescent blade from her waist, and with a slight twist of her wrist, the blade drew a smooth arc in the air, accompanied by a rustling sound.

Her entire being could be summed up in one word: cool!

"Wow—" Chai Xiaomi's eyes immediately lit up, and she clapped enthusiastically, instantly boosting her emotional appeal: "Throughout the world, no one is as good-looking as you at wielding a knife, and no one who can wield a knife is as good-looking as you!"

"How infuriating! A little bit of good looks is enough, but you don't have to be perfect. I declare, Yao-jie, you're my only sister!"

This shower of compliments clearly pleased Song Yueyao greatly. She seemed to enjoy protecting Chai Xiaomi, and as she sheathed her crescent blade, her eyes still held a smile: "Xiaomi is very pretty too. If she wore the clothes of a woman from the Central Plains, she would definitely be as beautiful as a fairy!"

Song Yueyao has a strong sense of execution; once she has an idea, she doesn't delay any longer.

Once outside the territory of Chishan, the Central Plains were not far away, so it was time to change into new clothes. Even Wu Li changed his clothes. If you only looked at his back, he looked like a dashing young man from the Central Plains.

Only when he turned his face did his heterochromatic eyes and the unique ornaments in his hair reveal that he came from a different race.

Thinking of his bright and flamboyant appearance, Chai Xiaomi couldn't help but drift off into thought.

She obediently followed Song Yueyao's instructions and untied her long braid, letting her do as she pleased. She then picked up a pastry and quietly chewed it in small bites.

When Wu Li pushed open the door, this was the scene that greeted him—

The girl sat quietly at the table, holding a snack in her hands. Her cheeks puffed out as she moved, her small face stuffed full of chubby cheeks.

She wore a moon-white pleated ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress) underneath, and a light pink chrysanthemum-patterned outer garment over it, which made her shoulders appear slender, delicate, and rounded.

Her long, jet-black hair cascaded down like silk, clinging to her cheeks, making her dark eyebrows and fair skin appear even more striking than winter snow.

However... the half-combed bun on her head looked like a bird's nest disheveled by the wind.

Song Yueyao gathered a strand of hair on her left side and let another strand slip down her right, working up a sweat.

Wu Li walked directly to the table, picked up the steamed dumpling in the center of the plate, casually put it in his mouth, and swallowed it before glancing at it indifferently: "You shouldn't be called Xiaomi (Little Rice), you should be called Rice Worm. All you do is eat and sleep, so lazy that you can't even comb your own hair?"

Chai Xiaomi choked, staring mournfully at the center of the plate.

She has a habit of saving her favorite food for the last bite.

So this steamed dumpling was something she deliberately saved. Song Yueyao said they had all eaten downstairs while she was asleep, and this plate was specially ordered for her.

As a result, when Wu Li arrived, she "wasted" her most treasured steamed dumpling.

Why is it called "Huo Huo"? Because after this person finished eating, he deliberately gave her a malicious smirk and commented, "Really awful."

It tastes awful, why did you eat it?! Spit it out!

Chai Xiaomi suspected he was doing it on purpose. Connecting it to his earlier words, she looked up and saw the beads of sweat covering Song Yueyao's forehead, and immediately understood.

Is it because she can't bear to see her sweetheart so busy and overwhelmed trying to comb her hair?

Feeling sorry for them?

"Sister Yao," Chai Xiaomi said softly, "why don't I do it myself?"

Although she doesn't know how to comb her own hair, she can still manage to make a passable bun.

"No need, no need!" Song Yueyao gripped the strands of hair in her hand tightly, as if in a contest. "I don't believe it today! A mere three thousand strands of hair, how could it be difficult for me? It's just a flowing cloud bun. I've seen the palace maids do it so easily, in just a few strokes."

Song Yueyao never expected that she would be defeated by such a trivial matter. She could wield any weapon in the armory with great skill, but why couldn't she even manage to put together a decent hairstyle?

From a young age, she had no interest in needlework, embroidery, music, chess, calligraphy, or painting, but she did not want to lose face in front of her newly adopted younger sister.

If all else fails, she could at least style her hair into a neat bun like hers, but no matter how she looked at it, she still felt that Chai Xiaomi was more suited to the flowing cloud bun. Undeterred, she insisted on styling it that way!

"Xiao Mi, don't move!" Seeing a strand of hair about to slip out, Song Yueyao grabbed it and shouted urgently.

The roots of my hair suddenly tightened, causing a sharp pain in my scalp.

Chai Xiaomi froze instantly as she chewed. In order not to dampen Song Yueyao's spirits, she pursed her lips and held back from making a sound.

But that subtle pursing of her lips did not escape Wu Li's eyes.

He lazily glanced at the few hairpins on the table, casually picked up a peach wood comb, and toyed with it between his fingers. "Sister, take a rest."

"Let me comb her hair."

Song Yueyao paused, a sense of relief washing over her as if she'd met a savior: "You know how to style a woman's hair?"

"Yes, I always comb my wife's hair." Wu Li deliberately emphasized the word "wife".

His tone conveyed a sense of natural familiarity, and he sounded confident and assured.

Song Yueyao was taken aback. She had almost forgotten that Jiang Zhiyu had mentioned that Chai Xiaomi was originally from Lingyu Prefecture. Therefore, the clothing and hairstyle of women in the Central Plains must have been the usual way of dressing in the past.

These days, seeing her always with Wu Li, I subconsciously began to regard her as a Miao woman.

"If you don't have the skills, don't take on the job," Song Yueyao said decisively, relinquishing her position. "Then it's yours."

No! He won't!

Hey, stop! Don't give him my hair!

She cherishes her long hair. Since she first became aware of beauty, she has maintained a hair mask treatment three times a week, resulting in smooth, shiny, and silky hair.

At this moment, she only regretted that she could not expose Wu Li's lie on the spot, and could only watch helplessly as he approached step by step, a mocking smile slowly spreading across his lips.

That smile clearly betrayed his ill intentions.

Chai Xiaomi's inner thoughts: Retreat! Retreat! Retreat!

In the end, the long hair still fell into the boy's palm.

"It's really not a problem with my skills," Song Yueyao said, trying to save face. "Xiao Mi, it's just that your hair is too slippery, slipperier than an eel."

She breathed a sigh of relief as she watched Wu Li hold her hair firmly. "Wu Li knows your hair best. Look, it's not falling out even though I'm holding it."

The millet flour has a bitter taste.

It wouldn't fall even if you held on tight—was it gripped so tightly as if in a fit of anger?

Song Yueyao is a princess, after all. How could she lower herself to comb her hair? No wonder Wu Li was angry.

"Thank you for your trouble, my husband." She prayed that Wu Li still had some conscience and understood how precious hair was to a woman.