The Tyrant Takes by Force

"Help... mmm..." Wanwan was pinned heavily beneath Pan Yueyang. His enlarged face was close to hers, her breath came in ragged gasps, and her hands pressed desperately against his chest, trying with all her might to push this devilish man away.

Pan Yueyang freed one hand and gripped Wanwan’s chin, gazing solemnly at the frightened, trembling creature beneath him.

Without hesitation, he lowered his lips to cover hers, his kiss silencing her panicked cries. His hot lips pressed against hers, and his tongue invaded her parted mouth with a primitive, domineering force, kissing her fiercely.

Her fluttering lashes were unbearably lovely, her cheeks tinged with red, shy and at a loss as she shook her head, her disheveled hair splayed beneath her, messy yet enchanting, adding a new allure to her features.

At the sight of Pan Yueyang’s strong, sculpted body, not an ounce of excess flesh on him, Wanwan shuddered. It was the first time she had ever seen a man’s body. His bronze skin was marked with scars of varying shades and sizes, which sobered her a little. She felt an impulse and, following her instinct, reached out to touch one of the scars on the demon’s body.

Her fingertip brushed lightly over it, as though afraid to hurt him—a gentle, tentative touch. The scar was still raised, not yet fused with the skin, and as she felt it, Wanwan frowned and looked up at the man.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Pan Yueyang answered simply, giving her the reassurance she sought. The next moment, he leaned down once more.

Wanwan, still untouched before this moment, could not withstand the sudden invasion of her body. Before she could utter another word, she fainted away.

At that moment, the demon could not spare a thought for anything else. The sensation was too exquisite. He pressed on with fierce vigor, unmoved by the fact that the woman had already lost consciousness...

Midnight.

Wanwan awoke slowly, her head heavy. She opened her eyes, her body aching so much she could not immediately sit up. Her hand pressed to her forehead as she tried to recall what had happened.

Her small face twisted with distress as she remembered: the demon who had kicked her, thrown her into the bath, and then... A blush crept across her cheeks. She reached out to touch her body, finding herself utterly naked. Forcing herself to endure the pain that wracked her limbs, she sat up slowly. The room was dark. Taking a deep breath, she swung her legs off the bed. There were no embroidered shoes at her feet as she’d expected. She groped under the bed for a long while, but finally resigned herself to standing barefoot, the chill of the floor seeping into her soles.

“Whew!” A throbbing ache radiated from between her legs. Steadying herself, she walked slowly toward the table. Though night had long since fallen, the faint moonlight allowed her to make out the room’s furnishings. She hobbled to the table, her hips sore and uncomfortable, and, leaning on the tabletop, found the candlestick by touch, lighting a candle with a paper taper. “Where am I?” she murmured, turning in confusion.

The room was not large; the floor was hard and cold beneath her. Leaning on the table, she moved to the bedside, sitting with her feet dangling and the candlestick in her hand, surveying her surroundings: a simple bed, a carved wooden window opposite, moonlight spilling in and pooling on the floor. In the middle stood the octagonal table, small, with round stools, no teapot atop it. On the same side as the bed was a modest dressing table with a wooden comb, nothing more. Clearly, it was rarely used. Beside it was a wooden wardrobe. That was all.

Wanwan touched the bedding, still warm from her body. Her eyes grew wet and soon filled with tears. She was scared. This was not Zhang Ma’s room, nor hers. A wave of helpless grievance surged through her.

She burst into tears, wailing like a child. She did not know how long she cried, but eventually exhaustion overcame her. She lay face down on the bed, sobbing softly, overwhelmed by her sorrow. No one entered the room; it remained as still as the moonlight, save for her occasional quiet weeping.

Outside the door, two maidservants exchanged glances and stood silently on guard. Matters concerning their master were not for them to meddle in. The general had only ordered them to keep watch outside the room; as long as the woman inside did not come out, their duty was done. They were not ignorant of what had happened that day. The master had favored the woman, then ordered them to carry her, unconscious, from his rooms and leave her here, saying simply, “Keep watch tonight.”

They were the general’s own night-attending maids, which was why they viewed the woman inside with particular interest. Personal maids enjoyed a certain trust and status. Being assigned here to guard this woman, who could say whether she might one day become their new mistress, perhaps even surpass Madame Pin’er of the Qiu Yi Courtyard in the general’s household? Serving in a great family was much like serving in the palace—you had to choose your allegiance carefully. Yes, even being a maid required wit and cunning.

Wanwan cried until she was spent, her eyes closing as she slipped into a dream-filled slumber. She was utterly drained, having endured the merciless torment of that demon for who knew how long—her body had long since been pushed beyond its limits.

In the clear morning, sunlight and the fresh scent of dew streamed through the window lattice. Wanwan stirred, lying on her side, and forced open eyes swollen from a night of frightened weeping.

Her eyes were so puffy they looked like two walnuts. She blinked hard to adjust to the discomfort, then sat silently on the edge of the bed. Rising, she made her way to the door.

She opened it a crack, her small bare feet visible through the gap as she peered out. On each side stood two women, their faces weary and blank.

“Miss.” The two maids, seeing movement within, turned and curtsied respectfully.

“I...” Wanwan faltered, unsure what to say. She only wanted something to cover herself; aside from the bedding, she had nothing.

The maids exchanged a glance, guessing her intent. One signaled subtly, and the other entered, walking straight to the wardrobe and calmly retrieving a set of clothes. She presented them respectfully, “Miss, let Feng He help you dress.”

Wanwan, accustomed to being waited on, raised her arms cooperatively. Though she’d lost her memory and her awareness was dulled, she had been raised in a wealthy household; such innate habits surfaced naturally at any time.

Finally clothed, Wanwan looked around, then down at her feet, still bare beneath her skirt. The summer heat was already rising.

“Please wait, miss.” The clever maid Feng He soon returned with a pair of embroidered shoes and socks.

Dressed properly, Wanwan was guided to the wash basin. The other maid entered with hot water, mixed it, soaked a cotton cloth, and handed it to her in turn. After washing her face, Wanwan felt much better, her eyes less swollen than when she’d first awoken.

Feng He led her to the bronze mirror and deftly arranged her hair. There was no elaborate coiffure, just a simple knot, held in place by the wooden comb—plain but dignified.

“Where is this place?” Wanwan asked the maid who had just tended her hair.

“This is the General’s Manor, miss,” Feng He replied with respectful detachment.

The General’s Manor? She was still here. The demon... Wanwan’s lips quivered. “I want Zhang Mama...” she pleaded, clutching at Feng He.

“Miss, the general gave no such instructions. Please rest; we’ll be waiting outside.” With that, the two maids withdrew in perfect accord, closing the door behind them.

Wanwan’s nose crinkled. She wanted to find Zhang Mama. She still had clothes to wash, her bucket was missing, and she’d been kicked and bullied by that villain—how could she face Zhang Mama now? The auntie had always told her to work diligently.

Looking at the window, through which the heat was beginning to seep, Wanwan pursed her lips, moved a stool beneath it, and without much thought, climbed up. As she lifted her leg, a dull ache in her hips reminded her of what had happened the night before.

Gritting her teeth, Wanwan hauled herself up, pushed open the window, swung one leg over the sill, and jumped out.

Pan Yueyang had left before dawn for court and only just returned to the manor. He headed straight for Wanwan’s room—yes, he was more than satisfied with last night, so much so that thoughts of the woman had distracted him all morning at court. As soon as he was free, he rushed back, unable to wait.

Recalling the passion of the previous night, a faint smile played at the corners of Pan Yueyang’s lips.

He strode briskly toward Wanwan’s quarters—so close, just beside his own main bedchamber in Yunlu Courtyard. Dan Yunjie hurried over, eager to report the household’s expenses and affairs during his absence, but before he could get close, Pan Yueyang waved him off and continued on his way. Dan Yunjie, knowing better, bowed from a distance and turned back.

Just as Pan Yueyang entered the small courtyard beside his bedchamber, he saw, not far away, a girl in pale yellow climbing out of the window of the side room. His eyes narrowed in anger.

Drawing a deep breath into his core, he used his lightness skill to dart swiftly to the window. As Wanwan awkwardly swung her other leg over, just about to jump, Pan Yueyang flipped and landed before her, catching her in his arms.

“Ah!” Wanwan, startled by the sudden appearance, curled up in fright.

“You were trying to leave.” His voice, laced with anger, was more a statement than a question, his grip unrelenting.

“You—let me go!” Wanwan cried, eyes wide with terror as she instinctively tried to push him away.

Smack!