As the latch clicked shut with a soft sound, the charged, confrontational atmosphere in the room dissolved—replaced instead by a silence that felt far more dangerous.
Su Man remained pressed against Lu Zhan’s chest, her head tucked low.
The scent clinging to him—an unmistakable mix of tobacco, soap, and raw masculinity—filled her nose. It was a smell that made her feel safe, yet at the same time, it filled her with alarm.
The immediate danger had passed.
But a new kind of danger, it seemed, had only just begun.
Because she could feel it clearly: the arm wrapped around her was hard as stone, and it was tightening, slowly, steadily.
This was no gentle embrace.
It was a hold that threatened to crush the breath from her.
“Finished performing?”
From above her head came Lu Zhan’s voice—cold, devoid of even a hint of warmth.
Su Man stiffened.
She lifted her gaze slowly, and met his eyes: deep, dark, and bottomless.
The affection, the protectiveness, the indulgence he had shown just moments before—all of it, gone. What remained was unmasked scrutiny, sharp scorn, and a simmering anger at having been manipulated.
Reading the mood, Su Man loosened her hold, trying to pull away from him.
“Thank you, Commander, for playing along,” she said, forcing a placating smile. Her voice trembled. “It was an emergency. I… I had no choice.”
“No choice?”
Lu Zhan let out a short, cold laugh.
He did not let go. Instead, he stepped forward sharply, crowding her backward until her back slammed hard against the wardrobe door.
Bang.
Su Man gasped as pain shot through her. Her tunic had slipped from her shoulder, revealing the loose white blouse beneath—and her long legs, now trembling visibly in the air between them.
The space between them vanished entirely.
Lu Zhan braced one hand against the wood beside her ear. His tall frame loomed over her, overwhelming in its presence.
“Calling me ‘Brother Zhan’ came so easily to your tongue,” he murmured, his face lowering until his warm breath fanned hot against her cheek. His tone was dangerous. “And then throwing yourself into my arms, hinting what I should do. Su Man—do you take me for a fool? A man to be used and cast aside at your convenience?”
Su Man shrank back, too afraid to meet his eyes.
“I didn’t mean it that way…”
“Then what did you mean?”
Suddenly, his fingers came up to grip her chin, tilting her face upward. His gaze roamed freely over her—over her damp hair, the faint outline of her collarbone beneath the fabric, the pale length of her legs exposed to the air. There was no restraint left in his eyes now. Only raw, unapologetic hunger.
“Back there, in front of the Political Commissar,” he said, his voice low and rough, “you told everyone I am your man.”
“Since you’ve already made it public—wouldn’t it be a shame to waste such a fine performance? Shouldn’t I play my part properly?”
Su Man’s heart seemed to skip a beat.
She could see it in his eyes: a burning heat. The most primal desire of a man for a woman.
“Commander… please… don’t jest…” She pressed both hands to his chest, trying feebly to push him away. But her strength was nothing against his—like a mayfly trying to shake a great tree.
“Jest?” Lu Zhan sneered. He caught her wrists in one firm grip, lifted them above her head, and pinned them hard against the wardrobe door.
“I never joke.”
Just as suddenly, he released her and turned away, striding toward the desk.
Su Man sank down weakly against the cabinet, letting out a breath she’d been holding. She thought he was letting her go—until she saw him open a drawer and take out a sheet of paper and a pen.
Scratch, scratch, scratch. He wrote quickly, in bold, sure strokes.
Then he pulled the drawer open wider—and took out a pistol.
Slap.
The heavy, black Type-54 pistol landed hard on the desktop. Right beside the sheet of paper.
Lu Zhan turned back to her, leaning casually against the edge of the desk. In his hand, he twisted a lighter. Flame flared and died, casting shifting light across his sharp, stern face.
“Come here,” he commanded, jerking his chin toward her.
Su Man’s legs turned to water at the sight of the gun. She crept forward slowly, unsteadily, one hand brushing the wall for support.
When she looked down at the paper, her breath caught. Written plainly across the top in six bold characters was: Application for Marriage.
The rest was brief, almost blunt—but the handwriting was strong, decisive, commanding. It bore the unmistakable mark of a man used to giving orders and having them obeyed.
Applicant: Lu Zhan.
Intended Spouse: Su Man.
She looked up sharply, eyes wide with shock. “This is…”
“You heard what the Commissar said,” Lu Zhan said, blowing smoke from his lips, his expression unreadable. “In the military, words are not spoken lightly. If I said you are mine—then you are mine.”
“But that was just for show!” Su Man’s voice rose in panic. “A temporary measure! To get rid of my stepmother! We have no feelings for each other—how can we possibly marry?”
She had hoped to borrow his influence, to stand beneath his protection. She had never meant to bind her whole life to his!
This was the 1970s—an era of iron-clad military marriages. Once entered, there was almost no way out. And this man… this man was known everywhere as the Ice-Blooded Yama. To marry him would be to leap from the tiger’s den straight into the wolf’s lair!
“Feelings?” Lu Zhan’s voice dripped with scorn, as though she had said something laughable.
He picked up the pistol and tapped its muzzle lightly, rhythmically, against the wood. The sound was sharp and clear in the quiet room.
“Su Man—understand your situation clearly.
First: The entire compound now knows you are ‘Captain Lu’s Fiancée.’ If you refuse to marry me… you will be found guilty of deceiving your superiors and mocking the Commissar. That charge alone is worth years in prison.
Second: Your stepmother has not gone far. If you step out that door—or if word spreads tomorrow that we are not truly together—she will drag you back and sell you to that idiot before sundown.
Third.”
He took a step closer, looming over her. His voice dropped, deep and rough and vibrating with quiet threat.
“You have seen me. Touched me. Slept in my quarters.”
“My reputation is ruined—thanks to you. And now you think you can simply use me and walk away? As if nothing happened?”
“The world does not offer bargains that cheap.”
Su Man retreated until her hips bumped against the desk—nowhere left to go.
“Then… what do you want?” Her voice shook uncontrollably.
Lu Zhan placed the pen in her hand and tapped the paper with one finger.
“Sign it.”
His tone brooked no argument. It was the voice of a man issuing an order.
“Sign—and you will be my wife. No one in this compound will dare harm you. Least of all your stepmother.
“I will keep you fed. I will give you shelter. Protection.”
He paused, then leaned down close to her ear, his voice dropping to a dark, taunting whisper.
“Of course—in return… you will fulfill your duties as a wife.”
“Cooking. Washing. And…” His gaze dropped to her. “Warming my bed.”
Su Man’s face burned scarlet—hot with shame, and hot with anger.
This man! He was nothing but a bandit in uniform!
“I won’t sign!” She flung the pen down onto the table, her jaw set tight. “This is extortion! I refuse to believe there is no law left in this land!”
Lu Zhan watched her—all fire and indignation—and a faint, almost imperceptible glint of amusement flickered in his eyes.
Not entirely helpless after all. The little white rabbit had bared her teeth at last.
He showed no anger. Merely picked up the pistol once more, and pulled back the slide.
Click.
The sound of a round being chambered cut through the silence like a blade.
Lu Zhan set the gun down beside the marriage application. His tone remained level, calm, almost casual.
“Sign—or don’t. The choice is yours.”
“The door is there. You are free to go.”
“But do remember: Zhao Guihua waits outside the compound gates. If you truly believe that half-wit offers you a better life… then by all means. Go.”
Su Man froze.
She stared at the dark green door, and in her mind’s eye she saw her stepmother’s twisted face. The drooling idiot she was meant to marry. The rope with which they had threatened to bind her.
That was hell.
And this man…
Dangerous. Domineering. Cold as ice.
Yet he had stood between her and harm. He had shielded her, just now.
And he was… undeniably, devastatingly handsome.
Su Man drew a long, shuddering breath. Her gaze darted between the gun and the marriage form.
It was a gamble.
Win—and she would stand firm in this era, sheltered beneath his rank, free to build a life, to start a business, to study and make something of herself.
Lose… well. She had already died once. How much worse could it possibly get?
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the fear was gone. In its place was a look of grim resolve.
She picked up the pen once more.
“Lu Zhan,” she said—his name spoken clearly, no longer soft and pleading, but firm with quiet strength.
“I will sign.”
“But on one condition.”
Lu Zhan raised an eyebrow, watching her with keen interest. “Speak.”
“We may be married on paper,” she said, holding his gaze unflinchingly, “but you will never force yourself upon me. Until I come to you willingly… we sleep apart. To the world, we are husband and wife. In private… we are partners in this arrangement.”
She was betting. Betting on his pride. On his honor.
Lu Zhan studied her face—those bright, clear eyes that seemed to see right through him—and suddenly, he smiled.
It was a faint, crooked smile that stripped away some of his harshness. It made him look dangerous in a different way—charming, treacherous, entirely captivating.
“Agreed.”
He answered without hesitation.
“I have no shortage of women. And I have no interest in forcing myself on a little girl who hasn’t even finished growing.”
Su Man flushed hotly and glared down at herself. Haven’t finished growing? She was perfectly well developed! She felt indignant enough to spit.
With sharp, decisive strokes, she signed her name. The pen bit into the paper, bold and unyielding.
When the final character was done, Lu Zhan picked up the sheet, blew gently on the drying ink, and slipped it neatly into his desk drawer.
He stowed the pistol away as well, then turned, fetched a blanket from the cabinet, and tossed it onto the floor beside the bed.
“You take the bed tonight.”
Su Man blinked. “And you?”
Lu Zhan had already stretched out on the floor, arms folded beneath his head, eyes closed.
“The ground is cold,” he said, his voice flat and unconcerned. “I can’t very well have my new wife falling ill. That would make this marriage certificate rather useless.”
Su Man stood holding the blanket, staring down at the long, broad-shouldered figure lying in the shadows.
Outside, the rain had stopped. Moonlight poured in through the window, gilding the sharp, chiseled lines of his face.
Strangely… her heart felt steady again.
The Ice-Blooded Yama… perhaps he was not quite as terrifying as the rumors claimed.
What Su Man did not know—was that Lu Zhan was not asleep.
Lying in the dark, listening to the soft sounds of her shifting in his bed, the corner of his mouth curled upward in a slow, satisfied smirk.
Sleep apart? Partners only?
Heh.
She had walked straight into his den. And did she truly expect to leave unscathed?
There would be time enough.
We shall see.