Lord Situ Wang Yun, watched in growing dread as Dong Zhuo's ambition to seize the throne became undeniable. The tyrant amassed allies, rallied warriors, and boasted the aid of the divinely fearless Lü Bu. A shadow of unease settled over Wang Yun's heart. Determined to thwart this treachery, he devised a cunning stratagem—a beauty trap—employing the exquisite and brilliant Diao Chan as bait to sow discord between Dong Zhuo and his adopted son, Lü Bu.
Yet a shadow of concern gnawed at Wang Yun's calculating mind: Diao Chan, for all her breathtaking beauty, was no longer a virgin, and Dong Zhuo, with his brutal whims, might scorn her for it, casting her aside like a wilted flower. After nights of restless deliberation, a spark of cunning ignited in his thoughts. He summoned her to his private chambers, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood and unspoken intent. His voice, low and deliberate, carried the weight of his scheme as he gazed upon her, her delicate form draped in silks that clung to her curves like a lover's caress. "The bladder of a newborn ram is small and fragile," he murmured, his eyes glinting with dark ingenuity. "Fill it with chicken blood and conceal it within your womanhood. When that old lecher beds you, as his manhood first enters, draw a deep breath from your core, tighten your inner muscles, and let the bladder burst. The blood will spill forth like a maiden's first bloom, warm and slick, and he'll believe you untouched—a virgin ripe for his claiming."
Diao Chan, her own heart shadowed by the same fear, felt a tremor ripple through her at the thought of Dong Zhuo's unyielding desire. Yet she trusted Wang Yun's wisdom, her protector and mentor, whose affection for her danced between paternal care and possessive longing. She dipped a gentle bow, her movements as graceful as a willow bending to the wind, her gesture that of a fostered daughter yielding to a guiding hand and a submissive young lover eager to please. Her voice, soft as a sigh, trembled with devotion as she gazed up at him through her lashes, her full lips parting in quiet surrender. "Righteous Father, your ingenuity is flawless," she whispered obediently, her words a velvet thread binding her fate to his will, her beauty a weapon now honed by his design.
Wang Yun continued, his voice a low murmur heavy with intent, "That bloated old swine, Dong Zhuo, is a lumbering beast in bed, his corpulent frame a hindrance to grace, his fat, hairy body an uninviting mass that you must endure. His manhood, though not large in size, is wielded with the greed of a man whose appetite for beauty knows no bounds. His desires are crude—he delights in the tactile, in groping with rough hands, kissing with wet insistence, and sucking at tender flesh to sate his ravenous needs. Given his unappealing visage, Chan'er, you must steel yourself to tolerate his coarse affections, letting his sweaty palms roam where they will while you guide him with cunning. Defy the usual arts of lovemaking I once taught you: raise your hips and part your legs wide, drawing him in fully until his modest shaft is buried to the hilt. Then grip him tight with your inner strength, your silken heat a trap to ensnare his senses—he'll be lost to ecstasy, treasuring you like a rare gem, blind to all but the pleasure you coax from his gluttonous lust."
He paused, his gaze sharpening as he leaned closer, the flickering lantern light casting shadows across his weathered face. "But Lü Bu is a different creature altogether—a famed warrior, tall and striking, his beauty matched only by his ferocity. He's accustomed to women trembling beneath him, eager to please his every whim, for he craves dominance, control, his hands firm and unyielding as he takes what he desires. Unlike Dong Zhuo, his manhood is large, robust, and long, a weapon as formidable as the spear he wields in battle. His energy, like his lust, burns fierce, an untamed fire that consumes all in its path. To satisfy him fully, Chan'er, you must yield to his command yet challenge him with your own allure. Let him guide your body as he will, but match his rhythm with the subtle roll of your hips, your breathy gasps a siren's song to stoke his pride. When he seeks to claim you, surrender to his strength—then draw him deeper with the quivering heat of your core, holding him until his fierce desire breaks like a storm, leaving him sated and spellbound by your wiles."
Diao Chan listened intently, her delicate frame poised like a fragile lotus in the flickering glow, but beneath her composed exterior, a storm of emotions churned. Her wide, luminous eyes betrayed a flicker of fear as Wang Yun's words painted vivid images of the two men—one a grotesque beast whose crude desires might overwhelm her, the other a towering predator whose fierce lust could unravel her entirely. Yet within that fear glimmered a steely resolve, her sharp mind already weaving strategies to navigate their ravenous appetites, to bend their desires to her will even as her body trembled at the thought. Her full lips parted slightly, a soft breath escaping as her lashes lowered, veiling the turmoil in her gaze—a mixture of dread and determination that made her beauty all the more haunting.
Wang Yun, ever attuned to her every nuance, caught the shift in her expression, and a familiar heat stirred in his loins despite the gravity of their conversation. He'd always been enthralled by her sensual pull, every glance and gesture a silk enchantment, and now, glimpsing the vulnerability in her eyes laced with that smoldering fire, a raw, primal hunger surged within him. His weathered hand twitched, aching to reach for her, to trace the delicate curve of her cheek and soothe her fears with the warmth of his touch—or perhaps to claim her once more before she slipped from his grasp into the arms of those warlords. Yet he restrained himself, his voice softening as he murmured, "Chan'er, my precious one, you are stronger than you know," the words both a reassurance and a veiled confession of his longing, their shared intimacy a bittersweet ache in the shadow of their looming parting.
As their parting loomed, the bond between Wang Yun and Diao Chan had deepened beyond mere strategy. Their hearts had long intertwined, their conversations often drifting to whispered confessions of affection. Wang Yun, ever composed and resolute, found himself captivated by her—a woman whose intellect matched her breathtaking beauty. She was the perfect instrument for his perilous scheme, her grace and cunning an extension of his will, yet also a flame that warmed the cold chambers of his heart, leaving him torn between duty and desire.