Grace Miller sat up again, thinking to himself: If I were to defile Little Belle's innocence at this moment, when she wakes up she would surely seek death. Wouldn't my beautiful wife become a corpse?

Grace Miller lay back down obediently, but then another thought crossed his mind: Once I retrieve my inner elixir, I'll be invincible in the mortal world. Tomorrow, I'll go to the capital and kill the three enemies of Little Belle, bring back their heads as an offering to her. If she's happy, she definitely won't mind me picking the fruit a little early.

So he turned over and moved closer to Charlotte Harris, taking a deep breath of her fragrant hair, and gently began to untie her belt.

Suddenly, Charlotte Harris smiled and called out:

"Sword God brother..."

Grace Miller was so startled his heart pounded wildly and he froze like a wooden chicken, frantically searching for an explanation in his mind. But before he could say anything, Charlotte Harris fell back asleep after uttering half a sentence—it turned out to be sleep talking.

Clutching his chest, Grace Miller muttered:

"Scared me to death."

He first took the dagger from Charlotte Harris's hand and tossed it to the ground. Looking at Charlotte Harris's sweet sleeping face, a wave of warmth rose in Grace Miller's heart: My wife still loves me after all, even in her dreams she's calling my name. Sigh, should I be a carefree rogue, or a good man against my own will?

As Grace Miller wrestled with his human and beastly natures, Charlotte Harris spoke another line in her sleep:

"Little Martial Uncle, don't..."

Hearing this, Grace Miller was instantly enraged, evil thoughts rising in his heart. So Little Belle is cheating on her husband with another man! That "Little Martial Uncle" must be her lover. "Don't..."—don't what? He must have flirted with my wife before.

Grace Miller didn't consider that he'd only just met Charlotte Harris that day, and in fact it was Little Belle cheating on "Little Martial Uncle" with "Sword God brother."

Beastly desire immediately overwhelmed his humanity. Grace Miller rolled on top of Charlotte Harris, unbuttoned the top button of her clothes, revealing a stretch of flawless, jade-like neck that seemed to emit a soft glow even in the darkness.

With a gulp, Grace Miller's eyes flashed with a predatory gleam. His left hand, trembling, reached for Charlotte Harris's neck, almost touching it—when suddenly, as if possessed, he pulled his hand back and slapped himself hard, collapsing back onto the pillow, gasping for breath.

If I take her body like this, she'll surely hate me in her heart, and miss that "Little Martial Uncle" even more. Her body would be with me, but her heart elsewhere—she might even look for a chance to cuckold me. What should I do? The spot where Grace Miller slapped himself burned, and as the pain faded, the little beast he'd just driven away began to stir again.

Be a couple first, fall in love later—how am I not a hundred times better than that "Little Martial Uncle"? If she dares to cheat on me, once I get my inner elixir back, I could wipe him out with a single move, not even leaving a trace.

Grace Miller sat up abruptly, ready to force himself on her, when suddenly a phrase floated through his mind: If you dare commit evil in the mortal world, you will surely be struck down by the heavens!

That was the parting warning from that old scoundrel, the Great White Venus. The Sword God was a casualty of heavenly court politics—if those immortals wanted to eliminate all loose ends, wouldn't I be giving them the perfect excuse? Grace Miller didn't care who the Sword God had once served, but he did value his own head and the little bit of power he had left.

Grace Miller lay down again, calmed himself for a while, but the scent of the beauty beside him kept wafting over, and his mind began to wander again: Little Belle already agreed to be my wife, it's not like we're strangers. This is just a temporary measure to help her get revenge—it can't really count as committing evil, can it?

Grace Miller got up, reaching his demonic hand toward the sleeping beauty beside him, his hand hovering just half an inch from Charlotte Harris's neck, but again he hesitated.

So he kept sitting up and lying down, over and over, tossing and turning for half the night, as if he'd done hundreds of sit-ups. Charlotte Harris had inhaled "Soul-Confusing Incense" and knew nothing, but it was miserable for Robert Morgan under the bed.

Robert Morgan's hands and feet were tied, a gag stuffed in his mouth. He couldn't move and didn't dare to, listening to the endless tossing and turning above. It didn't quite sound like that kind of business, but the dust kept shaking down on him, making him itch all over. He forced himself to endure it, afraid of angering the "demon" and ending up with a few more holes in his body.

On the thirty-eighth time Grace Miller sat up, he finally resolved to make some progress, even if it was just to sneak a better look. As his hand reached for the second button on Charlotte Harris's clothes, he suddenly saw her pair of bright, black eyes staring right at him.

Grace Miller had delayed so long that the "Soul-Confusing Incense" had worn off. Charlotte Harris was awake, and the first thing she saw was "Sword God brother" gritting his teeth above her. She felt for her dagger and found it gone, and a button undone—her heart sank, filled with grief and anger. She swung her arm with all her strength and slapped Grace Miller hard across the face.

Caught red-handed, Grace Miller was scrambling for an excuse, but hadn't expected the slap. With a cry, he jumped up on the bed, then crashed back down, shaking loose a layer of old dust. Under the bed, Robert Morgan couldn't take it anymore and let out a muffled sneeze.

Hearing another person under the bed, Charlotte Harris scrambled up in fright, shrank into the corner, clutched her collar, and trembled all over.

That sneeze from Robert Morgan reminded Grace Miller, who pointed at the corpse on the floor and said:

"Ting-meimei, look."

Charlotte Harris could vaguely make out a person lying on the ground, not knowing if they were dead or alive, and asked in a trembling voice:

"Who is it?"