"Stop! Please STOP…!" Shen Cui's voice quivered, her screams drowning in terror.
"Arrghhh!"
"I... I am... can't!" Jiang Ya's shout ripped open the darkness.
Fang Zheng's eyes locked on Shen Cui's trembling silhouette—her tear-streaked face, her body shivering under Jiang Ya's grip and blood running down her legs like a living curse.
The sight was a knife twisting endlessly in his chest.
"No—!!"
He jerked upright in bed, as if some invisible blade had been ripped from his chest. His lungs screamed for air, each breath a jagged, rasping gasp.
Sweat and tears clung to his skin, and though his flesh was untouched, his soul looked mutilated in the mirror beside him.
His eyes—swollen, red, hollow—reflected a man drowning in a memory far darker than any wound.
"Why…?"
The word came out like a dying ember.
"WHY?!"
His legs buckled.
He collapsed to the cold floor, knees striking stone.
His hands shook violently as he pressed them against the ground, as if the earth itself were the only thing stopping him from falling deeper into that nightmare realm.
A low, broken cry leaked from his throat—half grief, half madness.
Outside, two maidservants in their fifties stood in the hallway, shadows stretching behind them like silent witnesses.
"…Poor child," one whispered, voice trembling with pity and fear.
The other immediately silenced her, placing a finger sharply against her lips.
Her eyes darted toward the door, wide with unspoken dread.
...
The first-floor hall felt impossibly still.
Jiaying's eyes clung to Fang Yuan, panic pooling in their depths.
"Yuan'er… what's happening?"
Her voice wavered, fragile, even breaking.
"Why… why is Zheng'er like that?"
Fang Yuan's gaze was calm, almost eerily calm.
"Mother… it's nothing serious," he said, each word deliberate as a faint, unreadable smirk tugged at his lips.
"From now on, Fang Zheng would never dream of talking back to you... ever again."
"I just… taught him a lesson."
Jiaying sank into the chair, shoulders slumping under the invisible weight of dread. Her hands fisted in her lap.
"Yuan'er… I hope… whatever you did… doesn't tear you and your brother apart."
Fang Yuan's eyes glinted—sharp, cold amusement flickering beneath the calm surface.
"Tear us?" His voice was low, almost teasing.
"Mother… you are overthinking things."
He leaned back, every movement deliberate, composed as the air seemed to tighten around him.
"Instead of marrying Fang Zheng to a single girl… let's arrange a hundred women for him."
Jiaying froze, disbelief choking her.
"Wait… what?" Her lips parted, her breath shallow.
Fang Yuan's lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
"I said… Fang Zheng will be marrying a hundred women."
Jiaying froze. Her chest tightened, as if the words had struck her like a physical blow.
The calmness in his voice, the way he said it as if it were trivial… it sent a shiver down her spine.
And then came the next words, slow, deliberate, cutting through the silence like ice.
"Mother… in a few months, we will be leaving the clan."
"Sell everything—including the wine tavern business."
Jiaying staggered back, her hands clutching the edge of a table for support.
"What…?" Her voice barely rose above a whisper, trembling with disbelief.
"You don't have to tell me, but," Fang Yuan's head tilted slightly, not a flicker of emotion in his expression, yet his eyes were piercing—calculating, unyielding.
"I already know about your condition."
Her stomach lurched.
His words were neither gentle, nor comforting, but they were precise and unflinching.
"Your injury… it is serious."
"And it cannot be treated here, atleast not within the Gu Yue Clan."
As he a long pause, the quiet in the hall pressed down on her like a living weight.
Fang Yuan's silhouette seemed taller, broader, more commanding, the air around him heavy with unspoken authority.
"We will be going to the Central Continent… to find a way to save you," he said softly as he turned his back to her.
The movement was smooth, composed… but terrifying in its simplicity.
"As for Fang Zheng… yesterday's events may have shaken him."
"He might hate me. Perhaps even fear me."
"But that does not matter. What matters is you, Mother."
"And I already have plans for him. Plans I intend to see through."
"As for his hatred… it only makes my work easier... for now." With that, he left walking.
Each step he took away from her echoed, hollow and oppressive.
Jiaying remained frozen, her limbs numb, her throat tight.
Slowly, almost unconsciously, tears began to slide down her cheeks as she watched his broad back vanish from sight, each step a reminder of how much her eldest son has grown.
Her lips trembled.
A whisper escaped her mouth, fragile as a candle flame in the wind:
"Yuan'er… he has grown up…"
...
The hallway seemed to stretch forever as Shen Ruomei's footsteps pounded, sharp and deliberate.
"Cui Cui… where are you?" Her voice carried a strange mix of urgency and triumph.
The door swung open, slow, almost theatrically.
There she was—Shen Cui—buried under the bedsheets, a small figure hiding from the world, curled tight inside the sheets.
Shen Ruomei's eyes narrowed.
"Cui'er… do you know who has come downstairs?" Her voice was soft at first, almost coaxing.
"Hm?" came the muffled reply, barely audible, her voice weak and hesitant.
Shen Cui didn't move, didn't even look up.
Shen Ruomei stepped closer, her shadow swallowing the room.
"A Gu Master has come… to our home." Her tone shifted, sharp, triumphant.
"They've come… to ask for your hand in marriage!"
Shen Cui remained silent, the sheets a fragile shield between her and the world.
Slowly, her voice trembled through the fabric: "Mother… can you please… leave me alone…"
The words hit Shen Ruomei like a dagger.
Her eyes darkened, instant ice forming in their depths. Without hesitation, she yanked the sheets away.
There she was.
Shen Cui, small and curled like a little rabbit, her nightdress clinging to her trembling frame, eyes glistening with tears, despair written into every line of her body.
Shen Ruomei leaned closer, her shadow falling across her daughter like a suffocating weight.
"Shen Cui… I don't know why you're crying."
"Frankly, I… don't care." Her voice was quiet, but each word struck harder than any shout.
"A Gu Master has come… to ask for your hand in marriage." Her tone hardened, unrelenting.
"And let me remind you… this is one of the best things that has happened to us in the last ten years."
She paused, letting the words sink, the silence stretching like a noose around Shen Cui's chest.
Then she stepped closer, eyes cold and sharp. "Get dressed and come downstairs."
"You are going to greet the Gu Master."
Every word was a command, precise, unavoidable, carrying a psychological weight that pressed against Shen Cui's small, trembling form.
"If you have thoughts of refusal… or marrying someone else..."
Shen Ruomei's eyes lingered on her daughter for a long, suffocating moment.
"… Discard them."
Then, almost theatrically, she turned, her broad frame moving with a strange grace, triumphant, unstoppable.
"A Gu Master from the Gu Yue Clan has come for you. Consider yourself lucky… and get married to him."
Her heels clicked sharply against the floor as she left, the sound echoing across the room.
Shen Cui remained on the bed, frozen, small, trembling.
Her hands trembled as the echo of her mother's commands pressed down, heavy and unyielding.
Her breath caught.
Slowly, tears slipped down her cheeks, tracing lines of fear, helplessness, and quiet rage.
She stared at the empty doorway, her pulse hammering, the weight of what awaited her pressing into every nerve.
A whisper barely escaped her lips, fragile as a dying flame:
"Mother… why…?"
Tears pooled in Shen Cui's eyes, spilling over her lips.
"I… I… hate him…"
The confession was barely audible, a fragile, shuddering sound, yet it cut through the silence like a blade.
Her small hands clenched against her stomach, the sting of memory and pain still alive, searing, unbearable.
Tears streamed freely, tracing wet lines down her cheeks, her body wracked with trembling, helpless sorrow.
Her chest heaved, gasping for air, for release, for some semblance of safety, but there was none.
The room felt impossibly cold, empty, as if every shadow were leaning in to watch her suffering, every heartbeat amplifying her fear.
The world outside—her mother's joy, the upcoming marriage—felt impossibly distant, almost unreal, while the weight of what she had endured pressed down on her chest, relentless, suffocating.
Every sound in the room—the creak of the floorboards, the faint rustle of the curtains—felt magnified, like the shadows themselves were leaning closer, watching her pain.
Her small hands clutched beneath her stomach again, trembling uncontrollably, as her chest heaved with ragged breaths.
And in that oppressive atmosphere, a whisper escaped her lips, barely audible, fragile as a thread:
"He… he… raped me."
The room seemed to close in, the walls bending, the shadows pressing all around her.
"I… I hate him… I can't… I can't…"