Chapter 148 Chapter 147 White Butterfly and Black Butterfly
In Jenna’s mansion, the two women sat facing each other, at least five meters apart, having dinner together. This had been the case ever since Jima revealed her orientation.
Looking at the distant snow peak, Jima maintained a calm expression. She told herself that now that she accepted the identity of George’s wife, the desire for women didn’t need to be so strong; if needed, she could just go to George.
Thinking this way, Jima felt good about herself.
“Jima, I heard you bought the Xueyue Publishing House?”
“Your news has been delayed for over half a month.”
“Your publishing house has a newspaper, and the jokes in it are quite popular.” Jenna put down her spoon, leaning slightly forward, her chest pressing against the tablecloth, deepening its wrinkles, “I think the Emperor is quite satisfied.”
Jima put down her chopsticks and looked at Jenna. She reminded herself that this was just politeness; she would definitely look Jenna in the eye and asked, “What joke?”
“The Emperor said: I finally got elected as Emperor with great difficulty.”
“Right.”
“I still have to win over the electors.”
“Right.”
“I have to fight wars in the east and west.”
“Right.”
“I have to consider the expressions of the electors?”
“Right.”
“Then I’d rather be a green-skinned thug?”
“By your logic, you’re actually worse than a green-skinned thug.”
After Jenna finished speaking, Jima recalled hearing a similar joke before, casually written and then published. It must be another memory left by the Demon King.
Now, she found it not particularly funny and truly did not understand why she had whimsically written this joke earlier.
Jima pondered, “What’s so funny about it?”
Jenna said, “Once a joke is explained, it ceases to be funny, but it is said that even the Emperor himself liked it, and even paraphrased this joke.”
“I still don’t understand.” Jima, with her identity as an expert on green-skinned beings, clasped her fingers under her chin and made a professional judgment: “But the Emperor of the Empire is not as good as a green-skinned thug. The green-skinned thug calls the shots in the war gang. When the Empire’s Emperor speaks, if the electors don’t listen, there’s nothing he can do.”
Jenna couldn’t help but laugh out loud, while Jima’s eyes remained fixed on analyzing the changes in the wrinkles of the tablecloth in front of Jenna.
Hmm, how big.
“That sentence of yours should be published in the newspaper.” Jenna said, “The title could be: ‘The Empire’s Expert on Beastman Studies Declares: The Empire’s Emperor is Not as Good as a Green-Skinned Thug.'”
“Fine, after all, I’m now a well-known expert on green-skinned beings.” Jima said, “Jenna, I have a very sensitive question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you have any extra ‘milk’? If you don’t mind, could you give me some to make dairy products?”
Fortunately, Jima retained a shred of reason.
“We haven’t bathed together for a long time.”
“Sure.”
Jima’s eyes brightened: “Wow, really?”
Jenna smiled with squinted eyes: “Yes, let’s invite George along.”
“Alright… what the hell.” Jima’s heart sank; thinking of the chaotic three-way tussles always ended up with her being held down and beaten by both.
She didn’t want to lose consciousness again.
“Teacher Jima is rarely shy.”
“Heh, I just don’t want to lay eggs.”
“But isn’t that one of your duties as George’s wife?”
When she thought of what was written in the contract, Jima couldn’t help but cover her forehead. Every time it got to this point, Jima felt a wave of nausea.
She didn’t want to answer.
“That’s unfortunate.” Jenna said, “By the way, what do you plan to do with the publishing house?”
“I have a world-renowned masterpiece to publish.” Jima said, “I’ve prepared a lot for this, spreading rumors every night. No matter how good the book is, I need to get the marketing started first.”
“When is it going to be published?”
“On the third of next month. I’ve already contacted the printing house; now I’m just waiting for the manuscript.”
“Is it that urgent? Isn’t the end of the month approaching?”
“Everything is under control.” Jima said, “Even if something unexpected happens, I can keep writing.”
“Do you want me to help you?” Jenna said, “I could promote your book to some friends. I have a patient I’ve cured who is a literary critic and quite authoritative, and as a scholar, he might say some good words about your book for me.”
Jima thought for a moment about the transparent old scholar who had been struggling in the sea of literature, imagining him seeing her book.
Hmm…
“Forget it, my audience is the working class.”
Although Jenna didn’t know the connection, since Jima refused, she nodded: “Okay.”
After finishing dinner, Jenna reminded her:
“Today is an even-numbered day, it’s Thursday.”
“I understand, virtuous wife Jenna.”
Jenna smiled gently at Jima, saying, “Good luck.”
In Jima’s eyes, Jenna’s smile looked like a devilish smile from any angle.
Jima grumbled as she walked to the bedroom, opening the entrance to the Palace of Dreams. Once in the Palace of Dreams, she bathed herself clean alone.
Standing in front of the mirror, looking at her body and contemplating pulling George over to fulfill her duties as a wife, her legs felt weak, and her tail flicked about in the air.
But thinking of the happy byproducts.
Jima touched her flat abdomen, pushing inward vigorously; after pressing down several times, she felt nothing smooth and round, just a bit hard.
Jima relaxed a bit, but her head still throbbed.
She wasn’t averse to physical intimacy with George; no matter how many times, she had agreed.
But the happy byproducts were truly a headache.
Whether as a man or a woman, Jima only wanted to enjoy pleasure without taking responsibility.
“I must give it my all; I absolutely cannot lose in battle.” Jima clenched her fists, psyching herself up in front of the mirror, “If I lose, I can only lay eggs.”
As expected, Jima’s fighting spirit never ignited.
After all, just recalling her experiences of battling George, the outcome always seemed to end in failure.
Thus, she imagined herself with a watermelon belly and the pain of delivering that watermelon.
A tragic expression of desperation appeared on her face.
To win in battle, one could only keep attacking; as the saying goes, the brave triumph when narrow paths cross.
“I absolutely cannot lose!”
With a flick of her hand, Jima tossed aside her bath towel. The wardrobe in the distance opened by itself, various outfits bought by mortgaging George’s armor floated out, one after another.
“Even if George has defeated me, it’s still in a group fight.”
Jima encouraged herself, striding past each piece of women’s clothing, her hands brushing against each tailored outfit.
The one closest to her was formal wear. A wedding dress dragging on the ground, an off-shoulder evening gown, a cheongsam, a ballet tutu…
These were clothes but also battle attire, armor.
But battle attire was not enough; there also had to be a scene. If wearing the wedding dress, the scene was best set at a sunny outdoor wedding venue; of course, a dungeon was also quite good—what a contrast.
Jima imagined the effects of various battle outfits on her body, along with their corresponding scenes.
Needless to say, the memories of the Demon King were still useful at this moment. The Demon King Kima had ordered the clever ones among the maids to constantly research the combination of scenes, clothing, and characters to maximize the stimulation of her senses.
Jima finally stopped in front of the ballet tutu, stroking the pure white dance skirt, mentally constructing a pleasant scene in her mind.
Twenty-five minutes later.
The mesmerizing demon Jima, dressed in a pure white ballet skirt, gracefully stood on tiptoe on the brown-yellow stage, dancing, her black hair and tail swaying gently.
She lifted one foot, her calf taut and straight, the tip pointing at the ceiling, balancing on one foot, easily performing a split, her tail adorned with silver bells curling around her calf, resting on her toe, ringing softly:
“Jingle.”
It captured the attention of the only audience member below, focused on the tip of the tail wrapped around her taut toe.
Her flexible waist was tightly tensed, turning her head, with a colorful flower crown atop her black hair, showing a naive smile at George, her cherry lips revealing a hint of fangs.
George seemed to see a little swan smiling at him.
At that moment, a beam of spring sunlight fell upon her, illuminating her thin skirt, making her ballet skirt shimmer like the wings of a little fairy in the sunlight.
Jima sniffed, catching the scent of peach blossoms in the air, feeling George’s intense gaze, as if it were burning through her clothes, searing her skin.
Her heart raced, and at the same time, her lips could not help but curve upwards slightly.
This little rascal, “Nine Yin Manual” only refers to techniques… what I have is strategic superiority over you.
Jima took off her ballet shoes, her strong thighs stepping on the seat back in the audience, rushing towards him as her ballet skirt swayed with each step.
She could feel George’s gaze sweeping from below, noticing that he was forcefully fixing his gaze on her chest; Jima found it amusing, lightly jumping to land next to George’s seat.
Like a pure girl inexperienced in love, she kept her legs close together, still inwards.
To Jima, this action felt overly deliberate, almost like painting an old cucumber, yet she believed that men liked that kind of thing; she would guarantee it.
“George, how did I do? Did I dance well?” Jima looked at him, slightly panting, while ensuring her breath blew against his neck.
As expected, George’s neck began to flush.
George said, “Very beautiful, very beautiful.”
Hmm, nostrils flared, breathing rapid, the scent of peach blossoms in the air seemed to become even more fragrant… Heh, men, you must be wanting to tear open my skirt right now.
Jima blinked her big eyes and asked, “How beautiful am I?”
“More beautiful than this bunch of flowers.”
George had somehow produced a bunch of flowers, wildflowers whose name was unidentifiable, but they arrayed according to some aesthetic principles; it must be that bookworm George, unaware of where he learned to arrange flowers.
Jima leaned forward, sniffing the flowers and found them somewhat familiar.
Oh, so the air became more fragrant because of them.
George awkwardly smiled: “I meant to give them to you directly, but you suddenly pulled me here and didn’t give me the chance.”
Jima raised the flower crown she wore atop her head and placed it on George’s head, saying, “This is a return gift.”
After saying so, she felt her ears heat up; when she touched her ears and face, she found them surprisingly hot.
This guy must not know where he learned old-fashioned flirting techniques.
No! He’s catching on to something, this is his psychological manipulation strategy.
Jima huffed, tossing the wildflowers behind her, decisively lunging toward George.
…
…
Torn white fabric flew into the air, transforming into fluttering white butterflies, their wings flapping as they flew across the dance hall.
A pair of four-meter-long wings suddenly unfurled, a black butterfly flapping its wings, soaring slowly, scattering the white butterflies.
