Chapter 270: Chapter 264: The Difficulty of Going Home
Knee pillows were requested by Jima.
Because George expressed that he really wanted to have a good rest. The last time he found an opportunity to rest, he lay in bed for less than an hour before rifle bullets swept through the window of his room, and protesters always “mysteriously” barged into his doorway. He had not had a proper rest in a long time.
Globally, the only place where he could sleep undisturbed was, surprisingly, the Demon King’s palace.
Once it was confirmed that George genuinely wanted to rest properly, Jima’s face was more sour than a heap of green manure in summer. Wasn’t this insulting her identity as a succubus?
Therefore, Jima offered, “Considering I’ve made you so pitiful, I’ll reluctantly allow you to rest on my thigh.”
“A properly soft feather pillow would suit me better.”
“Shut up, you scumbag who plays hard to get.”
So, George lay on Jima’s thigh.
Jima pressed her feet together, kneeling on the bed. George’s head lay in the crease of her thigh, a bit more comfortable, his head sinking slightly against Jima’s thigh.
The room was shrouded in darkness, with only a faint golden light from Jima’s eyes gazing at George’s sleeping face.
He looked good, really good, more mature than before.
She couldn’t help but recall the moment when George overpowered her with his strength while she was helpless. She remembered the astounding sword force when he swung his sword at her.
Perhaps it was her admiration for strength.
But she truly liked him a lot.
Looking at George’s rough lips, Jima wished she could kiss him, but his breathing was steady, so how could she disturb him?
Jima felt his head resting on her thigh.
His head was lighter than she imagined, but why was it so hard? If only he could stay, stay on Earth with her, how happy her life would be.
Jima began to realize that although life on Earth was pleasant, and despite the ease of defeating weaklings, as time passed, she began to feel lonely, with no one like her in the entire world.
Thinking and thinking, Jima’s mind wandered elsewhere.
She stared at George’s face, unmoving, as time passed, seeming to wash over her body, turning her into a stone statue, her faint golden eyes fixed on George’s face.
Surely someone maliciously turned the hands of time. Otherwise, why did the morning sun stream through the French windows onto the carpet after just a little while?
The morning light was like some kind of alarm clock, and George immediately opened his eyes and sat up.
Ah, that infuriating sun; it should really stay extinguished for a few more days.
George said, “I haven’t slept so deeply in a long time.”
“A feather pillow suits me better,” Jima mimicked George’s words. Her tail gently landed on her thigh, revealing a glimpse of snow-white skin, and she smelled the fragrance of peach blossoms from George.
Jima couldn’t help but laugh slowly, “Do you want the King’s reward?”
“I have to do my morning prayer first, and then wash up.”
“Don’t be so stiff,” Jima said, “Anyway, there are no gods on Earth.”
George shook his head. After his routine morning prayer and washing up, he had a brief but passionate encounter with Jima.
Jima held his back and whispered in his ear, “You’re quite confident, daring to sleep on my lap last night. Aren’t you afraid I’d twist your head off?”
George replied, “Not afraid.”
“Why not?”
“Because you love me.”
“Tsk tsk, your tone is full of pride.” Jima’s tail teased his lower abdomen, “Looks like you’re quite proud of that decisive thrust from that day, hm? Men’s pride, thinking you’ve conquered me?”
George didn’t answer; instead, he grabbed Jima’s tail and kissed it.
It tickled; Jima smiled and quickly pulled it back, saying, “Pervert.”
Jima’s trembling chest consistently brushed against the irregular scars on his back, firm and a bit painful.
She pulled away from his back and looked at the scars on it.
The scars were half the size of a palm, covered in black scabs; so many years had passed, yet they still hadn’t healed.
Jima recalled the feeling when she attacked George from behind with an axe spear.
In a moment, her tear ducts ached as she asked, “Does it still hurt?”
“Not as much now.”
Jima stuck out her tongue and licked his back wound; the scab was very loose and fell off, revealing a pink, recently healed wound. It hadn’t completely healed, and there was a scar the size of a finger, with a bit of white pus at the edges.
Jima gently pressed it with her finger.
George’s broad back immediately trembled, taking a sharp breath, “Hiss!”
“In the future, I won’t hit you on the back with an axe again.”
“I won’t try to kill you either,” George said, “Unless—”
Jima pressed her finger to his lips and said, “Let’s not pursue rigor at this moment.”
George nodded.
Jima lowered her finger, her gaze drifting: “Since you’ve slept here and your soul wound has healed quite a bit, why not try to stay? Promote the development of human civilization while trying to heal your soul wound.”
“Jima, I would be very touched if you could return with me.”
“Dear, don’t say such discouraging things,” Jima languidly replied. “I’ve enjoyed life on Earth for long enough. If it weren’t for the maids trying so hard to please me, and the various modern entertainment methods, I wouldn’t even be able to sleep well in bed every day, sleeping as long as I want… I can’t endure such a harsh life.”
George hoped to persuade Jima from a personal benefit standpoint:
“But there’s no power and glory on Earth. If I’m not mistaken, for demons, the battle process itself is happiness. On Earth, you can’t even engage in an extraordinary battle.”
“Compared to a happy and lazy life, that’s utterly insignificant.”
“And you have the ones who love you by your side.”
“Ha ha, George.”
Jima had lost the enthusiasm she had during their passionate encounter earlier. She was like a cat, passionate when interested, indifferent like ice when disinterested.
“You’re so arrogant. Do you think I would give up thousands upon tens of thousands of beautiful women for your love? You can’t even imagine how many tricks I’ve played with the witches. The tricks I played with you are only a thousandth of what I’ve done.”
After saying that, Jima let go, lightly pushing George and saying:
“Alright, I’m tired. If you want to go, just go. If you want a massage, just tell me, I’ll arrange for a maid to give you a massage. I need to rest.”
George sighed softly, “So what can I do in your palace?”
“Don’t go to the bathroom everywhere,” Jima said irreverently. “Rules exist to bind the weak and gentlemen. You’re now stronger than me; do whatever you want.”
“Alright then.”
George stood up suddenly.
Jima was only wearing torn stockings, covered with a thin blanket, which accentuated her voluptuous figure. Jima reclined on the bed, watching George, curious about what he would do for her.
Her tail swayed leisurely back and forth.
George took out his phone.
“Hello, is this Wanziqi’s mother, Wanya Ping?”
The swaying tail immediately stiffened, her heart and lungs froze.
“Regarding your son, overall, there is good news…”
“Shut up!” Jima gritted her teeth, “Hang up the phone! Why do you keep playing this card?”
“Indeed, your son is still alive, and he will see you tonight, but his appearance—”
Without hesitation, Jima pounced on George like a cat, emitting a loud, seductive sound into the phone to try to drown out the truth.
George immediately turned and ran, shouting as he went, “…No, it’s my fiancée joking…”
“George! Hang up the phone now!”
George ran even faster, his figure shrinking down the hallway as Jima angrily flapped her wings and chased after him. But every time she closed the distance, they remained a fist’s length apart.
Is this what an extraordinary master looks like? So infuriating.
Jima gritted her teeth and continued the chase.
The two sped past a group of maids holding rapeseed flowers, and a few pots fell to the ground as the maids turned in surprise, staring at their “disheveled” master fiercely pursuing a brave man.
Afternoon.
As the private jet landed at Long City Airport, Jima peered through the window, her golden eyes coldly gazing through the glass at the bustling airport.
It had been many years since she stepped foot in her hometown.
The changes were immense.
So…
Why hasn’t the nuclear war started?
Clearly, online, everyone was arguing like crazy for so long; why hasn’t the apocalypse begun? This way, I wouldn’t have to face my parents.
Jima thought this as she got off the plane, looking up at the sky, turning her thoughts to imagining a giant crack opening in the sky.
Aliens in flying saucers swooping down with claws outstretched.
Everyone would engage in a battle to defend Earth, and there’d be no time to worry about trivial matters.
At worst, a monster with two claws pop up would be fine, something eighty meters tall. Godzilla would also work, and a zombie crisis would suffice.
George beside her asked, “Zombie crisis?”
“Hmm, a meteor shower wouldn’t be bad either…” Jima lowered her gaze, looking back at the eight maids and asked, “Do you want to travel with me?”
“Yes!”
The beautiful maids replied in unison.
“Sorry, George,” Jima said, “I have to go back on my word, because I need to spend the summer vacation with my lovable and charming maids. Taking a summer break is a fine tradition under my rule.”
George grabbed Jima’s wrist: “What you promised must be fulfilled.”
“Master!”
“You all go back first; there’s no need to wait for me,” Jima waved her hand.
After a few minutes, the people around Jima were staring at her, as if they were statues, unable to move their gaze or feet.
Jima snapped her fingers, and everyone awoke as if from a dream, their gazes passing through Jima’s body, unable to discern her.
“Given that you’ve spared me, I’ll reluctantly satisfy your little wicked desires,” Jima said, “Now, can you let go of my hand?”
