Fu Chou gazed fixedly at her. Those clear, bright eyes held not the slightest ripple—as though being divorced by him was no great matter, as though it would not affect her life in the slightest. He couldn't help but frown, a sudden surge of resentment rising in his heart. He reached out to take the red brush from her hand and clasped it in his palm, yet for the longest time, he did not dip it in ink.
Outside, the rain gradually lightened, but the whole world was pervaded by a suffocating dampness.
Man Yao stood with lowered eyes, quiet and unhurried. This time, even the Ninth Prince fell silent. He stole a glance at Zongzheng Wuyou, only to see that his cold eyes, which had been dead for so many years, actually ignited with bits of light—finally taking on a truly different expression, one that seemed like the longing of love.
Time slipped away bit by bit like sand through one's fingers. Suddenly, Fu Chou threw the red brush onto the table, grabbed the xuan paper before him, and crushed it with force. When he opened his palm again, scraps of paper scattered like flying ash.
The crowd stared in stunned silence. That gentle expression returned once more to his handsome face. He raised his hand and softly smoothed the stray hairs at her temple, his smile warm as he said, "Who said I was going to divorce you? Have you forgotten what I said on the way here? After we bowed at the wedding hall, I became your husband—the one who will grow old with you. No matter what happens, I will stand with you."
Man Yao's heart and mind were both shaken; the calm in her eyes was torn apart. She understood all too well what everything she had brought Fu Chou today meant for his life in this era. It was humiliation—a humiliation that even divorcing her could not erase. She opened her mouth, but for a moment, she didn't know what to say. She only felt that the hand of the man before her, holding hers, was very warm.
This scene falling into Zongzheng Wuyou's eyes was truly a picture of mutual affection, making him feel as though he had a thorn in his heart. He couldn't help but sneer, "General Fu is truly deep of feeling and heavy of sentiment—moving to the core! It's just that... if you want to stand with a woman of mine, Zongzheng Wuyou, you'll have to ask whether this prince is willing or not!"
He spoke word by word, nearly gnashing his teeth. Before the crowd could react, he had already flashed to stand opposite Fu Chou, yanking the woman to his side. He narrowed his eyes and stared coldly at Fu Chou, his fierce, bloodthirsty gaze suggesting that if Fu Chou dared to utter a single word of refusal, he would tear him to pieces without the slightest hesitation!
Man Yao was shaken, and at the same time, she fell heavily into Zongzheng Wuyou's embrace. His entire body was hard as iron, and the collision sent waves of numb pain through her. When she came to her senses, she immediately tried to push him away with her hands, but he held her waist in a tight grip, leaving her unable to move. She raised her head in anger, but against his chest, her palm felt a violent pounding like surging waves—the best proof of a person's emotional turmoil, forming a stark contrast with the cold, composed expression on his face.
She was dazed for an instant, but then she heard Fu Chou say, "Whether Prince Li is willing or not, this general's marriage to Rong Le is an ironclad fact! Prince Li, don't forget—when Rong Le first came as a peace bride, who was it that shut her out and called her old and ugly?"
Zongzheng Wuyou's body suddenly stiffened. Man Yao's heart chilled, and she immediately pushed Zongzheng Wuyou away, retreating as she said, "Exactly! When I first entered the capital, it was you, Prince Li, who ordered your servants to seal tight the gates of your manor and shut me out! The next day in the great hall, you personally refused to take me as your wife, mocking me to the fullest extent, then crossed swords with me, stripped my wedding gown, wounded my ten fingers, and made my blood stain Qiankun Hall! Now, I am merely doing as you wished and marrying another. What right do you have to stop me?"
She faced him with head held high, every word like ice. Zongzheng Wuyou actually couldn't help but step back. He hadn't expected her to remember these things so clearly. Why didn't she remember how he had set aside his pride to treat her gently during the days they spent together? Why didn't she remember how they drank tea, played chess, and discussed past and present every day? A sharp pain twisted in his heart. He stared fiercely into her eyes, nearly overcome with fury, and asked in a low voice, "So you harbored thoughts of revenge, scheming to deliberately approach this prince, intending to marry another just when I had fallen for you, taking pleasure in crushing my pride... is that it, or isn't it?"
Man Yao laughed with utter self-mockery. What deep hatred lay between them that would make it worth using her own body and lifetime of happiness as the price to take revenge on him? She let out a cold laugh, disdainful of explaining herself, and said lightly, "However Prince Li wishes to think... suit yourself."
This attitude of extreme indifference struck at a person's pride more than any heartless words. The coldness on Zongzheng Wuyou's face was torn apart. Bloodshot streaks crossed his eyes, revealing an expression of intertwined pain and fury. His chest throbbed with pain. He suddenly doubted whether this woman before him had ever truly felt anything for him.
"Come with me." He reached for her hand again.
Man Yao's natural reaction was to dodge aside. Fu Chou immediately stretched out his hand to block between them, saying, "Where does Prince Li intend to take this general's wife?"
Zongzheng Wuyou narrowed his phoenix eyes and said coldly, "Step aside."
Fu Chou still smiled, but that smile did not reach his eyes. His arm did not move in the slightest, showing no sign of yielding.
The two stood in a stalemate—one a great general who commanded the three armies and held military power, the other a prince whose authority overshadowed the court and who possessed a thousand-li fief. This was the second time they had confronted each other over the same person.
A strong scent of gunpowder exploded in the air. A cold aura filled the entire great hall; even breathing seemed to carry shards of ice.
The surroundings fell into a deathly, silent stillness.
Zongzheng Wuyou suddenly raised his hand and called out, "Leng Yan!"
Leng Yan appeared in the great hall at the sound of his voice, swift as a ghost. Appearing simultaneously with him were also the more than twenty people in the courtyard outside the hall.
A violent wind suddenly rose, snapping countless branches and leaves in the courtyard. The appearance of this group brought with it a dense, murderous aura that swept through the entire General's Mansion, blanketing heaven and earth. They wielded long swords with fan-shaped hilts. The sharp blades, reflected in the water, flickered with a cold, icy gleam, seemingly like demons of Hell asleep but soon to awaken, thirsting for the nourishment of fresh lives.
The seven leaders each wore a half-face red demon mask, the color of blood, like the magma of Hell.
Someone in the crowd cried out in alarm, "The Shura Seven Killers!!"
Three days. A full three days. Man Yao was locked in a pitch-black room where one couldn't see one's own outstretched hand. There was no food, no water—even the air was thin and cold, emitting a musty odor. She didn't know whether it was day or night now. She didn't know what had happened at the General's Mansion after she was taken away.
The Shura Seven Killers—the seven great assassins of Wuyin Lou, the most mysterious organization in the jianghu. Legend said these seven possessed unfathomably high martial arts, their movements mysterious as ghosts and gods. Their fee was five hundred thousand taels of silver. Each accepted only one assignment per year, operating alone on their missions. They always acted cleanly and efficiently, never having failed. The moment they appeared, the expressions of the hundred officials changed in shock. By the time she came back to her senses, she had already been taken from the General's Mansion by Zongzheng Wuyou.
It was a speed she had never dared to imagine. Then, she was stripped of her wedding gown and thrown into this almost entirely sealed, dark room. Above this room was the place where they had spent a night of passion—beside that beautiful hot spring pool. And locked in here with her was Zongzheng Wuyou himself.
She didn't understand his purpose in doing this, so she could only stay warily in a corner, quietly waiting for Zongzheng Wuyou to speak first. This wait lasted three days. Zongzheng Wuyou had been very quiet—so quiet it was as if he didn't exist. He didn't speak, didn't move; even his breathing was so shallow it was imperceptible.
The room wasn't large, but it was empty—nothing but floor and walls. She curled up, but still felt cold, so she shrank further into the corner.
"Are you cold?"
In the darkness, Zongzheng Wuyou spoke his first words in three days, asking if she was cold.
Man Yao pressed her lips together and didn't make a sound, continuing to curl up, equally quiet. In such an environment, people couldn't help but recall their past lives. And as for her life, other than the word "sorrow," she couldn't think of any other words to describe it.
Three days without eating, drinking, or even closing her eyes. She felt exhausted and weak. All her emotions were infinitely magnified in the quiet desolation. Her head was somewhat muddled. Leaning against the wall, she finally felt a trace of drowsiness.
In her daze, she felt that the wall she leaned against suddenly became very warm. Naturally, she longed for that warmth and unconsciously shifted closer to the wall, wishing she could embed her entire body into it, completely failing to notice that the warm "wall" could actually move.
Zongzheng Wuyou circulated his internal energy to warm his entire body, then held the slender woman in his arms a little tighter. He rested his chin on top of her head, gently rubbing against the woman's hair, his heart softening again and again.
This room had once been his place of healing. After the nightmare of thirteen years ago, he had shut himself in here, neither eating nor drinking, seeing no one. In such darkness, he had finally tempered his heart into one of cold ruthlessness, and had never returned since. Now, stepping into this place again with her, it was to prove one thing. Those dozen or so days of being together morning and night—within the tender affection he had deliberately created—who was the one who had truly fallen? Was it her, or was it himself?
When Man Yao woke, opening her eyes, she still couldn't see anything. The wall behind her remained cold and hard, no longer warm as in the dream. She couldn't help mocking herself—a wall, how could it possibly have warmth? Dreams were forever just dreams.
"Zongzheng Wuyou." Uncertain whether he was still here, she called out. For a long time, she received no response. The surroundings were as silent as always. She suddenly felt her heart tighten. She had to admit that these three days, though she had been on guard, she hadn't been afraid—because he was here.
After a long time, just when she thought she was the only one left in the room, a soft sound came from not far to her left: "Mn."
Miraculously, her heart settled.
She sat up straight, gathered her thoughts, and turned in his direction, asking calmly, "How long do you plan to keep me locked up?"
"Being with me—are you afraid?" His voice was low and his tone light, betraying no emotion, yet she clearly sensed a state of helplessness and sorrow. Perhaps staying in the darkness for too long easily gave rise to illusions. She gave a faint mocking smile and sighed, "Let me go. Don't forget I am a peace-marriage princess, and the marriage was decreed by the Emperor himself. Though General Fu is not as noble as you, he holds the three armies in his grasp and possesses supreme prestige in the military, holding the life and death of a nation in his hands. No matter what you do, you cannot change the fact that the marriage alliance is already established. As long as he does not divorce me for a single day, I can only be the wife of the General Who Guards the State. Between you and me, there will be no further intersection."
"If he divorces you, you..." The voice held a trace of hope—unlike an expression that arrogant, disdainful man should have.
Man Yao was slightly startled, cutting in, "He won't divorce me."
If he would have, he would have done so three days ago.
"You trust him that much?" The man's voice suddenly turned very cold, the iciness mixed with a trace of barely concealed anger. Zongzheng Wuyou suddenly turned, grasping her shoulders with one move, his gaze sharp as blades fixed upon her eyes. Seeing in the dark was an ability he had trained since he was ten.
Man Yao instinctively wanted to avoid his sharp gaze, striving to remain calm, and spat out a single word in a flat voice: "Yes."
She felt the man's body tremble. An emotion that seemed like sorrow drifted in the thin air. For a long time, there was no sound. The suffocating silence gradually made her uneasy. After a long while, that voice grew even colder, mixed with a trace of complex emotion she couldn't quite distinguish.
"Why?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly carrying two parts sorrow. "If you resent that I obtained your body with a purpose, then what do you think his motive was for marrying you? How do you know he doesn't harbor intentions of using you?"
Man Yao smiled bitterly. She wanted to say that she would rather be used by everyone under heaven than endure his deception of her feelings. But those words were never spoken. What came out were only four words: "Willingly and without regret." They fell upon Zongzheng Wuyou's heart like sharp knives—one word, one hole.
His hand suddenly exerted force, his five fingers seeming to dig into her shoulder bones. He suddenly lowered his head and fiercely kissed her lips, carrying raging fury, with punishing force, as though he wanted to crush her with his kiss and swallow her whole.
She struggled with all her might, but his arms were like iron pincers. No matter how hard she tried, she was only held tighter and tighter.