The Female General had never expected that the wealthy young lady would actually have the courage to resist. Consequently, her restraint had been loose and superficial.
This bite landed true and hard. Had the General not reacted swiftly, pulling her finger away the instant she sensed something was wrong, a section of her bone might have been snapped clean off by the girl’s teeth.
Even so, the sharp teeth, backed by merciless force, tore through her skin. Sharp canines left two deep, bloody gashes in the flesh, and crimson blood welled up instantly.
As pain continuously stimulated her brain, the General was both shocked and enraged. Her face darkened—the unmistakable precursor to a brewing storm.
The half-step she had taken backward halted. She lunged forward, grabbing the young lady’s collar and jerking her close. Laughing out of sheer fury, she said coldly, “You certainly have some nerve!”
Hating that her prey dared to fight back and completely forgot her place, the General felt she had to teach her an unforgettable lesson. Her hand instinctively moved to her waist; it seemed that in the next second, she would draw her saber and slit the girl’s throat without hesitation.
Tossed about by the General’s grip, the young lady felt a delayed wave of terror wash over her. In her state of extreme panic, she lost all reason. She sobbed uncontrollably, unable to speak, only shaking her head desperately. Tears fell in strings with every movement, their scalding heat splashing onto the General’s face.
The General no longer felt the slightest bit of “tenderness for the fair sex.” Her expression grew sinister as the rage in her heart merged with a sudden impulse to stifle this perfect work of art before her.
A thrill of destructive pleasure swirled in her mind. For a fleeting moment, she truly intended to kill the pitiful woman in front of her.
However, the young lady’s beast-like instinct for survival kicked in once more. Her mind was a complete blank; in her daze, she felt as though the messengers of death were already standing beside her.
Summoning courage from some unknown depth, she suddenly lunged forward and threw her arms around the General’s arm, pinning it to prevent her from drawing her weapon. In the next heartbeat, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss against the General’s neck.
Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was drenched in tears. Her soft, warm lips landed on the General’s neck like a sudden “cease-fire” talisman, causing the General’s impending violent shove to freeze instantly.
The General lowered her gaze, her cold expression finally showing a brief flicker of wavering.
The young lady held on tight, using every ounce of her strength, terrified that if she let go, the ruthless hunter would find the opportunity to strike. She was, after all, just a frail woman with no martial skill; in the eyes of a general who had spent years on the battlefield, this strength was negligible.
With just a little force, the General could easily snap the girl’s arms and break free. Yet, she remained motionless, her entire sensory world seemingly narrowing down to the patch of skin beneath the girl’s lips.
The young lady had no experience; the kiss was messy and lacked any technique. It wasn’t so much a kiss as it was her lips simply brushing against the skin of the neck.
The light sensation was like the downy barb of a feather slowly trailing across her. The itch began at the point of contact and spread deep into the General’s heart.
The girl’s breathing was right in her ear—hurried, sobbing, and ragged. She sounded as if she might faint from terror at any moment. Small whimpers remained trapped in her throat, and a faint sob would occasionally break through the gaps between her kisses. This pathetic display caused even the most cold-hearted hunter to feel a touch of pity.
She was a pure, innocent lamb—a simple, lovely prey. She was the finest sacrificial offering, hand-delivered by the ignorant. A sacrifice should be savored properly, not wasted by a swift killing.
The General scrutinized her coldly, weighing what kind of ending she should grant her.
Finally, as the young lady trembled and slowly followed the curve of the neck to kiss her jawline, the General finished calculating the costs and benefits. She turned her wrist and easily broke free from the girl’s grasp.
The young lady’s arms were tossed aside. She quickly pulled them back, hugging herself tightly, her fingers curled in tension. She flinched again as if startled, and her kissing stopped instinctively. Like a small animal whose weakness had been seized, she was filled with trepidation. She even wondered, in her heart of hearts, if she had done something wrong to earn the hunter’s disdain.
It was naivety to a laughable degree.
The hunter casually pinched her chin. Her dominance had made her habitually take the lead; she could not accept being in a passive position. Even if they were to kiss, it had to be on her terms.
The General lowered her head. Under the girl’s wide-eyed, terrified gaze, the General prepared to ruthlessly tear into her lips in the very next second. Her breath drew closer, and the overwhelming pressure followed like a shadow, growing heavier as the distance closed, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
Just as she was about to press her lips against Shen Manyu’s, Shen Manyu suddenly raised her hand, blocking her face.
Turning her head slightly, she spoke softly, “Hua Yanqiu, sorry. Let’s stop.”
Her tone was calm, devoid of ripples or waves, as if she were experiencing no particularly strong emotional fluctuations.
Hua Yanqiu’s movements were checked. After a brief moment of daze, she pulled her thoughts out of the scene and immediately sensed Shen Manyu’s currently dismal mood.
Startled, Hua Yanqiu instinctively opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but the moment her lips moved, Shen Manyu jerked her hand back as if she had been scorched by fire.
Hua Yanqiu’s mind was sharp. Connecting the dots and seeing Shen Manyu’s “avoid-at-all-costs” reaction, she quickly recalled the homophobic remarks Shen Manyu had previously made.
In a flash, she understood why Shen Manyu had proactively called a halt to what had been a smooth rehearsal. Shen Manyu was repulsed by her proximity; her closeness had triggered Shen Manyu’s tension and hostility.
Having realized the cause and effect, Hua Yanqiu took several steps back, trying her best not to project any sense of pressure or aggression toward Shen Manyu.
Brow furrowed, she asked worriedly, “Are you okay?”
Sister Qi reacted half a beat later, clicking on all the lights in the room with a sharp snap, then hurrying to the bedside to pull open the curtains.
The bright glare of the incandescent lights poured down from above, and as the curtains moved, brilliant sunlight carrying the scorching heat of summer flooded in through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Either light source alone would have been enough to dispel the darkness; combined, their power was doubled.
The cold, eerie chill in the room was swept away, and the oppressive atmosphere was instantly replaced by radiant light.
On the surface, Shen Manyu seemed fine. Both her expression and tone were extremely calm. The lingering glint of tears in her eyes merely added a touch of fragility to her appearance.
Tear droplets adorned her jade-smooth cheeks. Her flawless skin seemed to glow under the light, making her look like a perfect work of art from a sculptor’s hand. Even though she wasn’t sobbing or showing overt grief, her entire being seemed to radiate an immense internal sorrow—a sorrow so profound it made the hearts of those watching feel heavy.
Shen Manyu slowly raised her eyes. The light was too piercing; the sudden shift from total darkness to extreme brightness left everyone’s vision momentarily blank. She instinctively squinted, her thin, cicada-wing eyelids meeting her lashes as physiological tears seeped from the corners of her reddened eyes.
This was different from the natural crying she had just performed for the scene. She didn’t say a word, yet simply by standing there, she made people feel her grief.
Shen Manyu said slowly, “I’m fine. I’m sorry.”
The scene was over, and she had stepped out of the character—yet it felt as though she were always in a play.
She had been performing in a show that had lasted for many years. This play had no director, no script, and no “NG” retakes. Everything about the character’s life depended on her own improvisation. Countless invisible viewers peered at her every move from the shadows, critiquing her and harshly picking apart every weakness.
In this play, she performed every facet of the life of a person named “Shen Manyu.”