“If I can’t reach your heart… maybe I’ll conquer your body first.”
The private chamber in the Wu family’s mountain estate was suffocating with silence. The lanterns flickered. Rain pelted the windows like bullets from a distant war. And in the center of it all sat Wu Yanyu — cross-legged, clad in a blood-red silk robe, her lips painted the color of crushed rose petals.
Li Tian didn’t say a word as he stepped in. His eyes scanned everything: the tray of wine on the table, the slight gleam of a hidden blade beneath the bedpost, and the shimmer of moisture on her collarbone.
“You called me,” he said, voice calm. “What’s the game this time?”
Yanyu poured two glasses of the spiced wine. “No game. Just honesty. Maybe for once, we can speak without daggers in our words.”
“Daggers are safer,”
