King of Soldiers: The Hunter

Embarrassed expression

The allure of women's intimate apparel was more than Zhang Ziwen could resist. At his age, brimming with youthful vigor, the sight of such tantalizing garments set his blood aflame, stirring a primal urge to pluck one from the display and examine it closely. Only several gulps of bitter coffee could quell the fire smoldering in his abdomen.

Reclining on the sofa, his thoughts drifted to those two girls—Tang Shu and Chen Ya. Having been released from the police station, they must have returned to campus by now. A faint smile touched his lips. Those lasses were undeniably charming, especially Tang Shu with her vivacious spirit and those luminous, doe-like eyes that tugged at one's heartstrings. At the bloom of youth, such a beauty was surely the campus belle.

His memory conjured the sensation of her firm, ample curves brushing against his arm—a fleeting contact that now kindled a slow-burning ember of desire.

After a brief nap, he wandered the streets aimlessly, killing time until dusk. A quick meal at a roadside stall later, he returned to the shop just as the last light faded from the sky.

This was the hour when the street pulsed with life, shops glowing like jewel boxes amid the evening bustle. Zhang Ziwen yanked down the rolling shutter with finality. Watching over this temple of feminine allure was torture for a man of his inclinations.

Upstairs, the compact one-bedroom apartment was meticulously arranged. The modest living area exuded understated elegance—three pale-yellow sofas, a glass coffee table, a state-of-the-art home theater system flanked by premium speakers. Abstract watercolors in sleek frames adorned the white walls, their ambiguous forms adding a touch of sophistication to the space.

Fresh from the shower, he steeped tea, lit a cigarette, and flicked through television channels before settling on a DVD from the transparent case on the table.

The screen flared to life, revealing a sultry actress lost in ecstasy, her porcelain skin glistening as she arched against a vibrator. Her breathy moans sent an electric current through Zhang Ziwen's veins. Thirty minutes later, parched and throbbing, he fled to the shower, the cold water doing little to douse the fire.

Bare and restless, he paced before collapsing onto the bed—a vast expanse that dominated the pink-hued bedroom. The lingering fragrance of feminine intimacy clung to the disheveled sheets, an intoxicating reminder of their owner. His gaze fell on the lingerie strewn across the nightstand: lace bras, silk stockings, and a pair of sheer panties that whispered of forbidden fantasies.

Against his better judgment, he reached for the delicate garment. The translucent embroidery yielded like a second skin beneath his fingers, its whisper-soft texture and heady musk unraveling his last shred of restraint.

——

The shrill ringtone shattered the morning stillness. Only one person would call at this hour.

"Still asleep, you lazy oaf?" He Li's voice crackled through the receiver.

Zhang Ziwen groaned into the pillow. "Five more minutes..."

"Up! Now! Or I swear I'll—"

"Alright, alright!" He rubbed his face, guilt flashing through him at the memory of last night's indiscretions.

"And no more late-night TV! Lights out by ten, understood?"

His stomach lurched. If she knew what he'd actually watched... "Y-yes, jiejie."

A pause. Then, hesitantly: "Did you... notice anything on the nightstand?"

Zhang Ziwen's throat went dry. His eyes darted to the incriminating garments now crumpled on the floor. "N-not really?"

"My... unwashed things." Her voice dipped, faux-casual. "Be a dear and toss them in the laundry? There's a good boy."

Heat flooded his face. "You want me to wash your—"

"Don't be such a prude! Just do it!" The line went dead.

——

The shop remained stubbornly devoid of customers all day. Women took one look at his brooding presence and fled, cheeks pink. By evening, he was ready to bolt—until she walked in.

Mid-twenties, willowy in a jade-green sundress, her Chanel Coco perfume preceding her like a whispered promise. Unlike the others, she didn't retreat. Instead, she trailed fingers over a mannequin clad in translucent pink lingerie, evaluating the fabric with the detached interest of a connoisseur.

Zhang Ziwen lit a cigarette, the smoke curling between them like a veil over his unease. Her poise was unnerving—this goddess moving through his world as if he were mere furniture.

And for the first time that day, the hunter became the hunted.

"Excuse me, do you have a fitting room?" The beauty inquired, holding up a delicate wisp of fabric.

Zhang Ziwen caught a fleeting glimpse—an ultra-sheer, aqua-blue lace-trimmed lingerie set. Having spent the day in the shop, he’d grown familiar with the more provocative pieces. The translucent thong in her hand was audaciously designed, radiating an almost indecent allure.

When he failed to respond, too busy staring at the scandalous garment, she frowned. "I asked you a question."

"Huh? Oh—the fitting room? Right over there." He gestured vaguely toward a small door near the staircase.

Her lips pursed in displeasure at his distracted demeanor.

The fitting room door clicked shut, but the possibilities it concealed left Zhang’s imagination unrestrained. Every faint rustle from within sent his pulse racing. She must be slipping into that sheer thong by now. Visions of her clad in the diaphanous lingerie flooded his mind, stirring an unmistakable reaction below. The mere fantasy was enough to tighten his pants; an actual display might render them useless.

He retreated behind the glass counter, seeking cover lest his growing predicament betray him.

After what felt like an eternity, the beauty emerged, the aqua-blue set still in hand.

"How much for this?" She approached the counter, her tone brisk.

"Let me check." Zhang pulled up the inventory on the computer. The screen soon displayed the item—a French luxury brand, Lise Charmel, crafted from exquisite embroidered lace. The price tag glared back at him: ¥1,688.

He blinked. For something this flimsy? A handful of fabric, barely weighing a few grams, costing a small fortune? Double-checking yielded the same result.

"Well? Found the price yet?" She tapped her fingers impatiently.

"Ah—yes. ¥1,688." The number left his lips with difficulty, as if he were running some back-alley scam.

"Here." She slid a stack of bills across the counter. "Keep the change." Then, without a trace of bashfulness, she handed him the lingerie. "Wrap it up."

Fumbling the cash into the drawer, he stared blankly at the delicate fabric, still faintly warm from her touch. How the hell am I supposed to package this?

Noticing his hesitation, she arched an eyebrow. "What’s the hold-up?"

"I, uh... don’t know how to wrap it." He offered an apologetic smile.

"You what? What kind of shopkeeper doesn’t know how to package his own merchandise?"

"Sorry, I’m just filling in today. Maybe you could just... take it as-is?"

"Absolutely not. This goes against my skin." A faint blush crept up her cheeks as she caught her own bluntness. "Just open the counter. I’ll find a box myself."

Zhang pushed the glass panel aside but remained seated—his current condition made standing a risky proposition.

As she bent over to rummage through the lower shelves, the neckline of her dress gaped slightly, revealing a glimpse of amethyst silk cupping full, ivory curves. The scent of her perfume—something floral and intoxicating—drifted up, clouding his senses.

The sight sent a fresh surge of heat southward. He s*ck*d in a sharp breath, wrestling with the primal urge to act on the fantasies playing in his mind. Would any other man still be sitting here? Or would they have already taken what they wanted? The line between restraint and recklessness felt perilously thin.

"Found it!" She straightened, holding up a plastic bag and an elegant box. "Hand it over."

But Zhang’s gaze remained fixed on the tantalizing swell of her cleavage, his thoughts still tangled in darker impulses.

"Eyes up here." She snatched the lingerie from his grip, her cheeks flaming. "You disgusting pervert."

"S-sorry! I didn’t mean—"

"Save it. Men like you are all the same." She shoved the set into the bag with furious precision.

"I apologized. No need to be a b*tch about it." The insult "p*****t" grated on him.

"Oh, I’m the b*tch? Maybe keep your dog eyes to yourself next time." She shot him a scathing once-over. "Pathetic."

"What did you just call me?" He rose abruptly, his earlier problem now forgotten.

"You heard me. Not much of a man, are you?" She tilted her chin defiantly.

"Not a man? Why don’t you test that theory?" The taunt slipped out before he could stop it, her haughty demeanor reminding him too much of the policewoman he’d clashed with earlier.

Her palm connected with his cheek before he could react. The sharp c***k echoed through the shop.

Zhang touched his stinging face, stunned. Of all the times for my reflexes to fail...

"Pathetic and shameless," she muttered, slinging the bag over her shoulder. With one last withering glance, she turned to leave.

"Hey—stop!" He lunged after her, blocking her path at the door.

She spun around, unfazed. "What now? Want me to pay for your boo-boo?"

"You can’t just slap people and walk away." The words sounded juvenile even to him.

"Watch me." She smirked. "Unless you’re planning to hit back? Go on—try it." She stepped closer, her chest nearly brushing against him, the challenge in her eyes daring him to make a move.

The sudden proximity—and the scent of her—made him recoil instinctively.

"That’s what I thought." She snorted. "Now move." Shouldering past him, she vanished into the street, leaving Zhang simmering in humiliation.