Deep within the cornfield, the moonlight was shattered into fragments by the broad leaves.
Qin Hongmei nestled in Zhao Weijian’s embrace, her face wearing the smugness of success.
Zhao Weijian lit a cigarette, the crimson ember flickering in the darkness.
In the distance, the glow of torches stretched into a continuous line, and the heart-wrenching cries of Qin Guoqiang and Wang Xiulan faintly carried over.
“Yao Yao! My Yao Yao…”
Nearly half the village had been roused. The firelight illuminated the night sky, yet no one could find Qin Yao’s trace.
Listening to those anxious shouts, Qin Hongmei’s lips curled into a malicious arc: “Uncle’s family just loves to make a fuss. It’s just a worthless girl—lost is lost.”
Zhao Weijian stubbed out his cigarette and pulled her tightly into his arms, his hand wandering improperly around her waist: “Don’t mind them. From now on, no one can ever separate us again.”
He lowered his voice, his breath brushing against Qin Hongmei’s ear: “Don’t worry. Even if they rack their brains, they’d never think we’d hide here.”
Qin Hongmei went limp from his touch, pushing him away half-heartedly: “You’re so bad!”
Their figures soon tangled together again, the suppressed noises disappearing into the rustling sway of the cornstalks.
The Huo residence, a separate officer’s courtyard.
Red lanterns hung in the yard, and double-happiness characters were pasted on the doors and windows, but the absence of guests lent an indescribable desolation to the atmosphere.
Huo Jingshen strode through the courtyard with the person in his arms, kicked open the door to the bridal chamber, and gently placed her on the bed spread with a large red mandarin-duck quilt.
He reached out and lifted the red veil.
Under the dim, yellowish lamplight, an impossibly exquisite face entered his vision.
The woman’s skin was as white as fine mutton-fat jade, her delicate features both small and strikingly beautiful. Long eyelashes cast a quiet shadow beneath her eyes.
Her jet-black hair fanned out against the red pillowcase, a few strands clinging to her small chin. She looked like an unguarded porcelain doll.
Huo Jingshen’s heartbeat inexplicably skipped a beat.
But the moment he recalled the urgent telegram forwarded by the military unit two hours ago, the ripple in his eyes was instantly suppressed, replaced by his usual cold sternness.
There was unusual activity at the border. He had to return to his unit immediately!
He turned and walked to the door. His hand had just grasped the doorknob and twisted it forcefully, but the door remained unmoving.
The door had been locked from the outside.
Huo Jingshen’s brows furrowed into a deep crease.
Who did this?
Just then, a cloyingly sweet scent invaded his nostrils, thick and suffocating.
He immediately sensed something was wrong and held his breath, but it was already too late.
The fragrance was overpowering, seeping into his body with each breath. A wave of scorching heat suddenly surged from his abdomen, setting his blood on fire.
He tore open the top button of his military uniform, trying to catch a breath, but his body grew hotter and his mind began to fog.
As a soldier who had long walked the line between life and death, his willpower far exceeded that of ordinary men.
But the incense in this room seemed specially concocted for him, its potency exceptionally fierce.
Fine beads of sweat seeped from his temples, sliding down his strong jawline and dripping onto his olive-green uniform, leaving a small, dark stain.
He pressed his back tightly against the cool door panel, attempting to use that slight chill to suppress the raging fire within him.
But the heat seemed to seep from the very marrow of his bones, burning through every limb and joint, screaming for release.
He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his nails digging deep into his palms, using the pain to cling to his last shred of clarity.
Bang! Bang!
He pounded on the door twice, but only dead silence answered from outside—no response at all!
His legs felt as heavy as if filled with lead, and his body swayed uncontrollably. Leaning against the wall was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.
The last thread of rationality in his mind snapped completely under the assault of the scorching heat and dizziness.
Huo Jingshen turned around, staggering toward the bed.
Each step felt as if he were treading on clouds—unsteady and weak.
He had to brace himself against the wall and the edge of the vanity just to barely maintain his balance.
Reaching the bedside, he raised his hands to undo the buttons of his military uniform, but his fingers refused to obey.
With a sharp snap, the first button was torn off violently.
The front of his uniform fell open, revealing his firm chest, crisscrossed with old scars.
Soon, his military jacket was stripped off and thrown to the floor.
Next came the utility belt, shirt, trousers… scattered across the floor, turning the festive red carpet into a chaotic mess.
On the bed, Qin Yao’s consciousness remained trapped in a haze.
The effects of the Datura pollen had not yet fully worn off. She only felt a searing, rough sensation against her lips, making her instinctively want to pull away.
Her eyelashes fluttered faintly, and a soft, kitten-like whimper escaped her throat as she tried to lift her hands to push away the person pressing down on her.
But her arms were as limp as noodles, falling weakly halfway through the motion, leaving her completely at the mercy of the heavy body covering her.
A large, calloused hand slid along the curve of her waist, igniting a trail of fire wherever it touched.
Her red wedding dress was easily pushed aside, and the cool air against her skin made her shiver involuntarily.
A sliver of remaining awareness alerted her to the danger. She parted her lips, her voice so faint it was almost inaudible: “Don’t…”
The response was an even more forceful invasion.
The man’s heavy breaths washed over her neck, carrying a potent masculine scent mixed with that deadly, cloying sweetness, completely engulfing her.
In the room, only stifled gasps remained.
The candlelight flickered, casting the entangled silhouettes of two figures onto the wall, stretching and distorting them.
The next morning, the first rays of sunlight filtered through the carved window lattice, illuminating the disarray of the room.
Qin Yao’s eyelashes trembled as she slowly opened her eyes.
With the slightest movement, her entire body ached as if it had been run over by a cart, feeling utterly broken.
Instinctively, she tried to prop herself up on her arms to sit, but they were too weak to muster any strength. After several attempts, she finally managed to sit upright, leaning against the headboard.
What met her eyes was a completely unfamiliar room.
The floor was littered with crumpled men’s and women’s clothing, with an olive-green military jacket standing out prominently.
On the red carpet beside the bed, a brass button lay quietly in the morning light.
The air still carried a lingering, ambiguous scent, mixed with that cloying, strange fragrance, making her temples throb painfully.
Qin Yao’s mind went blank with a sudden, deafening buzz.
What had happened?
Wasn’t she supposed to be attending her cousin Qin Hongmei’s wedding? How did she end up here?
She abruptly looked down.
Her fair skin was covered with shocking bruises, ranging from blue to purple, stretching from her collarbone down to places she couldn’t see.
There were even a few clear finger marks on her arms, silently recounting the madness of the previous night.
In an instant, Qin Yao was utterly stunned.
She sat dazed on the bed, as if her soul had been completely drained.
Right, that scent!
She remembered it now! That strange, sweet fragrance in her cousin Qin Hongmei’s room!
She remembered feeling dizzy and lightheaded, and just before she collapsed, the twisted, malicious smile on Qin Hongmei’s face!
She had been tricked!