Recklessly Breaking a Delicate Branch - Chapter 23

The wedding night began not with joy, but with the suffocating weight of despair.

Having just witnessed a gruesome massacre and haunted by Zhou Yan’s past threats of “torture until death” for any betrayal, Jiang Wanshu’s body finally gave out. As the massive shadow of the man loomed over her, his breath nearly touching her skin, the sheer terror caused her to collapse into unconsciousness.

Zhou Yan, his expression terrifyingly dark, looked down at her pale, lifeless face on the ground. He scooped her up—his hulking, muscular frame making her appear impossibly fragile in his arms. Leaving behind a pile of severed heads in the forest, he mounted his horse and rode toward the border as the first winter snow began to fall.

The Union of Two Worlds

The wedding feast was a jarring paradox: a celebration of “extreme joy” following a “blood-soaked tragedy.” In a camp by the “Mother” river, Zhou Yan had prepared a ceremony that blended the traditions of the Central Plains with those of the grasslands.

Sitting in the seat of high honor was Mar, Zhou Yan’s elder sister, a woman of striking beauty and unconcealed ambition. She watched with a smirk as her brother led the trembling Jiang Wanshu through the rites.

Under the red veil, Jiang Wanshu felt like her hand was being crushed in Zhou Yan’s rough, searing grip. She wanted to scream for help, to struggle against this cage, but the memory of the blood and the severed heads kept her paralyzed. She feared his wrath; she feared his threat of “shared wives.” To survive, she became a doll, moving only when he pulled her strings.

They performed the three bows of the Central Plains tradition. Once the rites were complete, Zhou Yan led her into his private tent, locking the iron chains behind him.

The Storm Within the Tent

Outside, the grassland celebration roared. Sky lanterns—ironically painted with scenes of “boudoir intimacy”—filled the night sky. Zhou Yan’s comrade, Musha, warned him to be gentle, noting that Central Plains women are fragile compared to the women of the tribes.

But Zhou Yan was no longer in a mood for gentleness. The betrayal of her attempted escape had burned away his patience. He drank deeply, then returned to the tent.

Inside, the silence was shattered by the clatter of the iron chains. Zhou Yan entered, dressed in the formal red robes of a Central Plains scholar, a sharp contrast to his savage aura. As he began to strip, his powerful muscles rippled in the candlelight, looking like a “soul-eating demon” in the dark.

He didn’t speak. He simply lunged, his large hand grabbing her ankle and dragging her across the bed.

A Night of Reckoning

The night was a blur of violence and passion. Jiang Wanshu was like a “fish out of water,” overwhelmed by the man’s relentless strength. Her cries were swallowed by the wind.

“Zhou Yan, let me go… I won’t run again,” she sobbed, her voice turning hoarse.

But he didn’t believe her. He punished her body with a ferocity that left her hovering between life and death, until finally, as the dawn broke, he washed her exhausted body and allowed her a moment of peace.

As she lay there, “pearly tears” staining her face, Zhou Yan watched her. The extreme release of the night had finally extinguished the fires of his rage. Looking at the bruises and marks he had left on her fair skin, he felt a sense of dark satisfaction.

“Stay away from me,” she rasped, her voice broken.

Surprisingly, he pulled back. Exhausted beyond measure, Jiang Wanshu fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Zhou Yan remained awake, staring at her back. He realized that the pleasure he found in her was so absolute that even if she were to stab him afterward, he would willingly endure it all over again.

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