32: Chapter 32: Unmarried Wife?

"Why, not hungry?"

The tip of a cold boot kicked the dog bowl. The bowl wobbled, and a few drops of turbid liquid splashed out, landing on Chu Zhanxiao's face and lips.

It was sticky, sour, and reeked of rotting food. The stench instantly bored into his nasal cavity and slid down his throat, as if countless tiny maggots were wriggling in his stomach.

Chu Zhanxiao shuddered violently, his Adam's apple bobbing intensely. He nearly retched, but only a dry, bloody metallic taste permeated his mouth.

"The Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei has given orders,"

The lackey bent down, his voice lowered, sticky and sinister like a viper flicking its tongue. "If you still refuse to bow your head and eat this 'meal'... we will take this bowl of good stuff, exactly as it is, to your sweetheart, Miss Shuixianer."

He grinned, revealing yellowed teeth.

"Let her feed it to you with her own hands. Right under the busiest archway on Zhenwu Street. Let everyone in the city come and see how the former Qilin of the Chu family is fed swill like a dog by his own betrothed fiancée."

"You dare—!!"

Chu Zhanxiao's roar was torn straight from the depths of his lungs, hoarse and shattered, laced with the scent of blood, yet erupting with the tragic ferocity of a trapped beast near death.

This sound did not seem to come from a human; it sounded like it was dug out from the lowest level of Hell, carrying flames that burned the Soul.

"Don't you dare touch her...! You beast! If you have the guts... come at me!"

"Come at you?"

The Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei chuckled softly, as if he had heard something immensely amusing.

He strolled forward slowly, the ribs of his gold-painted folding fan tapping lightly against the rim of the bowl.

Ding.

Ding.

The crisp tapping sound echoed in the dead-silent courtyard, each strike landing precisely on Chu Zhanxiao's strained nerves.

This sound was not loud, but like a funeral bell, tolling one after another, shattering his remaining sanity.

"Isn't this exactly what coming at you means?"

The Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei leaned down, the fan face lifting Chu Zhanxiao's lowered chin, forcing him to meet those ice-cold eyes.

"If you eat, she might suffer a little less, and be 'cared for' properly in the room."

He softened his voice further, carrying a cruel playfulness. "If you don't eat..."

He paused deliberately, savoring the fear that suddenly constricted in Chu Zhanxiao's eyes, the arc of his lips widening.

"I will have people strip off her outer garments, leaving only the thinnest layer of gauze, and force her to kneel in the middle of the long street."

"Let her feed you this delicacy, spoonful by spoonful, with her own hands."

"Tell me, how many people will gather to watch? Will anyone remember how glorious the young master of the Chu family and his fiancée were when they went on outings together, how... well-matched they were?"

Chu Zhanxiao's body went cold, inch by inch.

The last bit of color drained from his face, his skin turning pale to the point of transparency, with only two dying embers burning in the depths of his eyes, flickering uncertainly in the wind of despair.

He looked at the filth—floating rotten vegetable leaves, white bone fragments, and a nauseating layer of grease shimmering on the turbid soup.

His stomach churned violently.

But immediately after, the image that surfaced in his mind was Shuixianer being forced to kneel on the cold stone slabs.

The cold wind whipped her thin gauze dress, she was shivering, her face pale, surrounded by a dense crowd pointing, jeering, and cursing... And she, with trembling hands, scooped up a spoonful of swill and reached toward him...

No.

That cannot happen.

His teeth clenched so hard they rattled; the tip of his tongue tasted the metallic sweetness of rust—blood from his gums being bitten through.

The humiliation was like a red-hot iron brand, searing his spine, sizzling, nearly burning through his bones.

But on the other side were Shuixianer's tear-filled eyes, and the even more unbearable insults she might suffer in despair...

His bones were burning, and his dignity screamed at him to straighten his spine—even if he were to die right then.

Yet his heart was convulsing wildly, gripped by an invisible hand, squeezed until it bled, the blood flowing with the fear written in Shuixianer's name.

Two forces tore wildly inside him, nearly ripping his Soul in two.

"Tsk, it seems the young master of the Chu family is used to being pampered. Without people to serve you, you don't even know how to eat?"

The lackey grinned viciously, reaching out with a dirty hand, impatiently pinching Chu Zhanxiao's chin. "Come, let me help you—"

"Get lost—!!"

Chu Zhanxiao used his last ounce of strength to jerk his head away, his neck constricted painfully by the iron chain due to the violent movement, a sense of suffocation instantly surging up, his vision going black.

He gasped rapidly, his chest heaving violently like an old bellows.

His crimson eyes were nailed to the face of the Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei, the hatred roiling in his gaze nearly turning into tangible magma, yet beneath the magma lay a deeper, boundless darkness capable of swallowing everything.

The Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei just watched quietly, the smile on his lips deepening—this was the pleasure of a predator watching its prey struggle in vain in a trap.

Finally.

The last spark in the depths of Chu Zhanxiao's eyes flickered and extinguished.

He moved his gaze back to the basin of swill with agonizing slowness.

Then, as if using the strength of his entire life, he lowered his once-proud head, bit by bit.

The bones of his neck made faint, unbearable creaking sounds.

With every inch he lowered, the muscles on his face twitched, the veins on his temples bulged, his teeth were clenched so hard his cheeks puffed out, and blood constantly seeped from the corners of his mouth.

His breathing was heavy and scorching, his eye sockets were blood-red, yet there were no tears, only a dry, dead despair.

The Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei watched his bent back, watched him edge closer to the dirty basin, and the smile on his face finally blossomed—this was an undisguised, cruelly extreme satisfaction.

He enjoyed the process of shattering beauty and grinding pride into the dust; it satisfied him more than any delicacy.

Closer.

Even closer.

Chu Zhanxiao could even see his own distorted reflection in the turbid soup, could smell the sour stench rushing toward him, filling his mouth and nose, eroding his last shred of sanity.

Just as the tip of his nose was about to touch the filthy water—

"Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei! Something terrible has happened—!!!"

A shrill, distorted cry, like a sharp awl, suddenly pierced the dead-silent air of the courtyard!

A maid with disheveled hair scrambled in, her face as pale as a ghost, her whole body trembling like a leaf in an autumn wind, her voice filled with death-defying fear:

"Miss Shuixianer... she hit her head against the wall!! She lost so much blood... she, she isn't going to make it!!!"

Time seemed to freeze in that moment.

The cruel and pleasurable smile on the Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei's face instantly stiffened, shattered, and was then replaced by a violent, sinister gloom.

This gloom was so intense it almost turned into tangible black Qi, radiating from his entire body.

"—Useless trash!!!"

He spun around violently and kicked the stone stool next to him over!

The folding fan flew from his hand, hitting the bluestone floor with a loud "snap," the ribs snapping on impact.

"A bunch of useless things!! You couldn't even watch over one woman! What use do I have for you—!!!"

His chest heaved violently, the veins on his temples throbbed, and his gaze shot toward the stiff Chu Zhanxiao on the ground like a poison arrow, every word ground out from between his teeth, dripping with chilling coldness:

"Watch. Him. Well!"

"If he runs away, or dies—I'll have your whole family buried with him!!!"

After roaring this, he didn't look at anyone else, flicked his sleeves, and turned away. His stride was hurried and heavy, filled with monstrous rage, as he stormed out of the courtyard like a whirlwind, his footsteps quickly disappearing into the dim light of the oncoming rain.

The remaining lackeys were left pale-faced, terrified to the point of Soul Flying Away and Spirit Scattering by this threat of "having their whole families buried with him." They hurriedly bowed to answer "Yes," and when they looked up again, only terror and confusion remained in each other's eyes.

And Chu Zhanxiao—

It was as if he had been struck directly on the crown of his head by that sudden clap of thunder.

His blood froze instantly, his limbs turned bone-chillingly cold, even his heart stopped beating.

Shuixianer...

Hit the wall?

Not going to make it?

These words crashed wildly in his mind, buzzing, yet he couldn't piece together a complete meaning.

No, it wasn't that he couldn't piece it together; it was that he dared not, he could not.

That girl who would purse her lips and secretly laugh at him, that girl whose palms carried the faint scent of osmanthus, that girl who blushed under the moon but firmly said "I will wait for you"...

How could she hit the wall?

Was it because of him?

Was it because she knew he was being humiliated, so she would rather...?

"Hah... hah hah..."

He wanted to call her name, wanted to roar, wanted to ask clearly.

But only broken gasps spilled from his throat, like the final wheezing of an old bellows.

A massive panic, like a cold tide, washed over him, heavier than the chains, sharper than the humiliation, instantly seizing all his breath.

"Urgh—ah—!!!"

A cry of sorrow, suppressed to the extreme and finally erupting, burst from the depths of his chest!

This cry did not sound human; it sounded more like a beast driven to a dead end, howling at the sky on the edge of a cliff—tragic, desperate, shaking the very air.

He began to struggle violently, using all his strength to try and stand up, to try and rush out!

The chains rattled loudly as he struggled, embedding themselves deep into the flesh of his neck, rubbing against his wounds. Fresh blood immediately gushed out, dripping along the cold iron rings, pooling into a small, jarring puddle of red beneath him.

"Behave!" The lackey beside him was startled by his madness and then kicked him angrily. "You can't even save yourself, and you're still thinking about that woman? It's cleaner if she dies!"

Chu Zhanxiao couldn't hear a thing.

His vision went black in waves, with only Shuixianer's pale face flickering—smiling, tearful, and finally, with blood streaming from her forehead, lifeless... No! No—!!!

Despair and fear completely swallowed him. He no longer tried to break free from the chains; instead, he lowered his head abruptly and, using all his strength, slammed his forehead hard against the hard bluestone floor beneath him!

Thud!!!

A muffled thud, skin splitting and flesh tearing.

It was as if he couldn't feel the pain; once, and then again, he slammed his head frantically!

Thud! Thud! Thud!

The dull sounds of impact echoed in the empty courtyard, each one heart-wrenching.

Blood splattered from his forehead, mixing with the previous stains, flowing wantonly across his face, blurring his vision, and dyeing the stone slab beneath him red.

He seemed to want to use this self-destructive method to shatter the darkness before him, to shatter all this suffocating reality, or, simply, to shatter himself.

Consciousness dissipated rapidly under the intense pain and massive emotional shock.

Before his vision went completely black, he seemed to hear only his own heavy heartbeat, and from far away, an impatient, indistinct curse.

...

It is unknown how much time passed.

Cool raindrops landed heavily on his eyelids.

One drop, two drops, then they connected into a line, weaving into an impenetrable curtain of rain.

Chu Zhanxiao's eyelashes trembled, and he slowly pried them open a crack.

The sky was leaden gray, pressing down heavily and very low. Bean-sized raindrops pelted down, hitting his face and body, cold and piercing.

The rain washed over the wound on his forehead, bringing waves of sharp, stinging pain, mixing with the blood and flowing into his eyes and mouth—a salty, fishy taste.

He lay in the muddy puddles, soaked through, his thin clothing clinging tightly to his body, absorbing the last bit of warmth from his frame.

The iron chain around his neck was chilled through by the rain, pressing against his skin, the coldness seemingly seeping into his bones.

The sound of the rain was roaring, and the whole world turned into a blurry, turbulent curtain of gray and white water.

The distant roof ridges and the nearby withered trees were left as only hazy outlines.

Only the heavy, cold restraint around his neck remained, incredibly clear, incredibly real.

Like a brand.

And also like a sneer.