Chapter 4: Suburbs II
870 Words
“This young master here… what exactly do you intend to do with MY WOMAN?”
His eyes narrowed, a dangerous smile curling on his lips. He stressed every single word. Lanh Thien had long considered her his. With a violent throw, he slammed the man in his grasp onto the ground, ready to pounce and beat the pampered weakling coughing before him to death.
But then—a small, soft hand tugged lightly at his sleeve. Man Nguyet shook her head.
[I can’t let him cause trouble here. If the Emperor finds out, he’ll be punished badly.]
Her eyes brimmed with worry as she forced a few tears to well up. Panic struck Lanh Thien instantly. With one swift kick, he crushed the young master’s groin, then turned to cradle her in his arms. Nothing in the world frightened him—except the tears of his childhood sweetheart.
“A Nguyet, don’t cry, I already punished him! Look, look—I’ll buy you ten roasted chickens, okay? Or steamed buns, chilled grapes? Do you want White Dragon’s horn? Anything, it’s yours!”
He stumbled over his words, flustered, blurting out anything that came to mind just to soothe her. From within his spiritual sense, White Dragon rolled his eyes.
[What the hell does spoiling your wife have to do with my horns?!]
Taking their chance, the rich brat and his cronies scrambled away in disgrace—dropping both his fan and jade pendant—but not without silently vowing revenge. Clearly, today’s outing would not be peaceful.
After much coaxing, Lanh Thien finally calmed down his little “ancestor.” He brought her to an inn, one he had long since bribed to ensure that only a single room would be available when she asked. The innkeeper, pocketing a discreet gold coin, grinned broadly.
“My honored guests, our inn is in the best location, always packed, especially now during the festival. Only one room left. But the two of you—handsome gentleman, beautiful lady—surely it’s fine for such a couple to share, no?”
Hearing that, Man Nguyet’s delicate face flushed a soft red.
“N-no… we’re not a couple…”
[Why does everyone say that today? Do we really look that much like a pair? But… it doesn’t sound too bad.]
She stole a glance at Lanh Thien, who tried to keep a straight, dignified face, but inside he was glowing like when the tavern keeper earlier called them a perfect match.
[See? Everyone can tell. Heaven made us for each other! Hahaha!]
The corners of his mouth twitched as he fought back a laugh. He gently tugged her toward the room. Well—“tugged,” but he dared not go fast, afraid she might stumble.
Once inside, he busied himself: setting up a screen, pouring hot water, preparing a matching set of robes for her.
“Wash off the stench of that pampered brat. I hate it. You’re mine.”
He muttered as he added fragrant herbs into the bath.
“You bathe first, I’ll go after. If anyone dares sneak in, they’ll regret it.”
She gave him a look, part amused, part mocking.
“Oh? Isn’t the one I should be wary of… you, Sixth Prince?”
“W-what? Me? What nonsense. Even if I looked, it’d only be at my own wife.”
He mumbled the last part, turning his broad back toward the screen, one hand scratching nervously at his head. Embarrassment tinged his voice. He wasn’t wrong—he had long prepared a betrothal gift, his feelings for her were no secret between them. But he was also wrong—he hadn’t yet properly married her, while she still left things vague, refusing to give him an official title.
Today, though, he was determined. Determined to claim that rightful place. But first, he had to smother the fire burning inside—his mind was filled only with the image of her bathing.
[Her waist is so small, I could hold it in one hand. Her skin—so soft, so white…]
A soft click from behind the screen signaled that she was done. He darted in quickly, nearly wiping the drool from his lips, slinking away like a black serpent into its cave—partly afraid of losing control at the sight of her fresh from the bath, hair damp and legs rosy, partly because his lower half was already standing at attention. If she saw, he’d die of shame.
When he finished bathing, he tidied up the room and turned to admire her outfit. Nodding with satisfaction, a proud grin flickered.
[Perfect. The dress suits her, she’s beautiful, and I’m handsome. Truly a match made in heaven. Hahaha!]
Her cheeks flushed again—partly from the warmth of the bath, partly from his unwavering gaze.
[Why is he staring? Does it not look good on me? Hmph. If he dares complain, I’ll beat him into a pig’s head.]
One side was lost in narcissism, the other plotting how to hit him. Just then, a waiter barged in rudely, a smirk on his face and a silver ingot in hand—clearly bribed by some wealthy guest.
- Writer
