[Fantasy] The Slave Wife Wants to Turn the Tables (Complete) - 14

Chapter 094 Shakyamuni's Visit to the Prison (Part 3)

Looking closely, aside from her pale face, swollen eyes, and cracked lips, she seemed largely the same as before. She was wrapped tightly in a blanket, making it impossible to tell if she was injured, but judging from her reaction, she was probably not missing any limbs.

"So the king, in a fit of rage, locked you in the dungeon?" he speculated. Faced with such an offensive act, let alone a noble and imposing king, even most men would likely be enraged.

If Luo Zhu were calm and clear-headed enough, she should have immediately agreed. But she was too engrossed in the rare pleasure she had experienced, and shook her head, gritting her teeth, "The king, in a fit of rage, dragged me to bed and tried to rape me." Her voice trembled slightly with anger, and recalling the despair and terror of that moment, her face paled even more.

Shakyamuni's body stiffened slightly, and he tightened his arms around the trembling thing in his embrace. A flicker of tenderness crossed his cruel, dark eyes. He gently patted her shoulder, his rough, masculine voice softening instantly as he comforted her, "Little pig, don't be afraid."

She nestled quietly in Shakya's arms for a moment, waiting for the initial trembling and fear to subside before slowly saying, "I fainted from fright. When I woke up, I thought I had been raped by the king, so—" She suddenly stopped, her words abruptly halting.

"So what?" Shakya pressed.

She paused, trying to keep her voice calm and indifferent, before replying, "So I offended the king again." A sudden tightening around her waist, a steel-like arm gripping her with a sharp, throbbing pain.

"How have you offended the King this time? You little pig, if you want to get out of the dungeon, just tell me the truth. I don't like you hiding anything." Shakya Tsering's soft voice carried a chilling undercurrent. "Be good, and I'll love you even more." He was the captain of the royal Black Riders; protecting the King was his belief and responsibility, and he would never allow the slightest danger to appear near him. Even if the little pig in his arms was the woman he loved, he wouldn't relax his guard for a second.

Who cares about your affection? Luo Zhu's first reaction was to roll her eyes and spit in disgust. But halfway through rolling her eyes, when she met those cruel, cold, yet strangely indulgent dark eyes, the contempt and disdain that was about to escape her throat suddenly froze.

She was just a weak woman who had transmigrated to another world alone and become a lowly slave. Why was he looking at her with such a chilling, cruel, yet seemingly indulgent gaze? A faint sense of grievance forcefully squeezed into her cold heart, churning the suppressed fear and exhaustion within.

She had already trudged too far on this path of struggling to live. Especially after losing Gesang Zhuoma, she desperately wanted to find a tree trunk to lean against, to rest, to catch her breath. Knowing the man embracing her was a poisonous branch, knowing she should stay far away from him, her emotions were no longer under the control of reason. She would

tell the truth, after all, the most shameful one wasn't her, but his beastly king.

She thought coldly, with a hint of schadenfreude, and whispered, "I called the king a beast."

Ha—that's

practically courting death!

Shakya Tashi gasped sharply, his face twitching violently. Looking at the head bowed to his chest, he instinctively felt the offense wasn't over yet. "And then?"

"I slapped the king." The flat narration was filled with horrifying content.

"...And then?" Shakyamuni grew increasingly alarmed with each question, yet he couldn't help wanting to know more.

"Bite him with all your might! Scratch him! Twist him! Pinch him!" The four verbs were pronounced perfectly, each word clear and distinct, conveying a mixture of gnashing hatred and smugness.

The words had barely left his lips when Shakyamuni was frozen in shock, like a stone statue. After a long while, he rubbed his stiff face, slowly exhaling the breath he had been holding in, and grinned, "Little pig, you're really something, managing to make the king tolerate you to such an appalling degree!"

Luo Zhu was stunned, her swollen eyes immediately filling with tears. She pouted and shook her head indignantly, "The king didn't tolerate me at all. He threw me to the ground and kicked me several times." She tried hard to hold back the tears that were about to well up in her eyes, tugged at the curtain covering her, revealing half of her rounded right shoulder, "The last kick hit my right shoulder, sending me flying." If kicking and beating a weak woman like this is called tolerance, then there would be no violence in the world. Her

once fair and smooth right shoulder was now bruised and swollen, a shocking sight. Her low, weak voice was filled with sorrow and grievance, as if she had suffered endless torment and humiliation.

Shakyamuni, however, showed little sympathy as he reached out and stroked the bruised mark on her shoulder, remaining silent for a long time. Wasn't this enough tolerance? With the king's strength, a single finger could have pierced her head. But after her offense, which was tantamount to assassination, he merely tossed her off the bed and kicked her a few times. She was probably wrapped in the curtains of the king's bedchamber, wasn't she? This final kick, ostensibly tossing her away, secretly provided her with a thick, warm blanket. If the king hadn't been so tolerant, it would have been her limbs, tongue, and head that were severed, not just a few insignificant braids. If the king hadn't tacitly approved, how could he have entered the dungeon unimpeded with so many belongings? The king's intentions were crystal clear. However, the little pig in his arms clearly didn't understand, which meant the king would be tormented for quite some time.

Heh, interesting, very interesting indeed.

He suddenly grabbed her shoulders, lifted her up with ill intent, and shook her violently.

"What are you doing?!" Luo Zhu lost her grip, and the curtain slipped from her body, revealing her bruised and battered skin. She screamed in terror. The shudder caused another sharp pain in her lower abdomen, followed by several large gushes of hot, sticky blood.

Her legs didn't have time to close, and the blood didn't trickle down her sides, but instead dripped directly onto Shijia Tashi's dark red brocade robe, filling the bloody air with a faint, sweet, metallic scent.

Shakyamuni smiled as he surveyed her horribly mangled body, his gaze sweeping from the bruised and swollen peaks to the blood-soaked crotch, from the teeth marks on the edges of her nipples to the abrasions on her inner thighs. He said with pity, "Poor little pig, you've been bullied by the king, covered in bruises and teeth marks, and blood is flowing from your crotch. It's understandable that you might mistakenly think you've been raped. I, the captain of the Black Flag Squad, will not pursue your offense." It turned out the little pig had just been menstruating; no wonder the Dharma King had instructed him to bring in women's belongings.

Cold! So cold! After a moment of shame and anger, the cold swept over her. Goosebumps instantly rose on her skin, the icy cramps in her lower abdomen intensified, and her teeth and body trembled uncontrollably.

Tears welled up in her eyes and streamed down her face. Her gaze, somewhat unfocused, fell upon the crippled man holding her aloft. Her lips moved weakly, "Cold...cold...so cold..."

Shakyamuni had intended to tease her, but was startled by her sudden change in demeanor. He quickly pulled her into his arms, only to find her body as cold as ice. Even through her thick robes, he could feel the bone-chilling cold emanating from her. His playful heart tightened instantly, and he quickly picked up the blanket from the ground and wrapped her tightly again. Just because the king didn't understand didn't mean he didn't understand that women are most vulnerable to the cold during menstruation and cannot tolerate it. He hoped the little pig wouldn't faint from a high fever again.

"It's not cold, little pig, it's not cold anymore." He quickly pulled off his belt, opened his warm robe, and wrapped her completely inside, gently coaxing her.

"It hurts...it hurts..."

Luo Zhu groaned weakly, her eyes half-closed, her teeth chattering against her lips. Her face was ashen, and beads of cold sweat trickled down her forehead.

Hearing the weak, almost lifeless groans, Shakyamuni's heart clenched tighter. How could the little piglet have menstrual cramps? His brows furrowed, and his warm hand slipped under the blanket, covering her lower abdomen and massaging it gently, without a trace of eroticism.

"Hurry up and come in!" He turned and coldly ordered the six palace servants standing dumbfounded outside the cell.

"Yes! Yes!"

The six palace servants, who had been petrified by their conversation, seemed to snap out of a dream and hurriedly carried the hot water bucket and blankets into the cell.

Chapter 95 Shakyamuni Buddha Visits the Prison (Part 4)

Shakyamuni Buddha removed the blanket and quickly placed the little pig in his arms into the bathtub. The hot spring water was mixed with medicine prepared by the Dharma King to dispel cold and relieve pain, which should make the little pig much more comfortable.

As soon as his icy, naked body entered the water, it felt like a thousand needles piercing his body. The sharp, burning pain, mixed with a tingling numbness, spread from his limbs to his bones, accompanied by a slight itch, making Luo Zhu extremely uncomfortable, and he couldn't help but groan. Stupid pig! Didn't you know to relax your muscles and improve blood circulation first, give him an adaptation period before soaking in hot water?

After grimacing and sighing for a while, his skin gradually adapted to the sudden heat. The warm water rippled around his body, and the light sweetness of milk tea mixed with a faint medicinal fragrance lingered in his nose. The icy chill gradually crumbled, slowly being devoured by the warm comfort. Every pore seemed to open up, even the cramps in her lower abdomen lessened considerably. She couldn't help but let out a comfortable, languid sigh, completely recovering her energy. She turned to look at the man standing to the right of the tub.

In the misty fog, his long, dark eyes curved slightly, radiating a subtle coldness and a faint warmth. The smile on his lips had lost its chilling, ferocious, bloodthirsty cruelty, replaced by a clear, lake-like purity. In the flickering, orange-red firelight, the man displayed a reassuring calmness and benevolence.

Was this—

was his vision blurred by the cold and pain? Or was it a mirage created by the interaction of the mist and firelight? How could a cruel and terrifying beast display such reassuring calmness and benevolence?!

Luo Zhu was shocked, utterly stunned. She raised her hand and rubbed her eyes vigorously, instantly making her already red and swollen eyes look even more like a rabbit's.

Under her gaze, the man smiled at her, and in the blink of an eye, he took off the two long sleeves of his leather robe, casually tying them up with a leather belt. The sleeves of his light blue cotton jacket and snow-white undergarment were rolled up high to his upper arms, revealing his dark, strong, and muscular arms.

She moved warily to the opposite side of the bathtub, crossed her arms over her chest, and sank into the water until only her head was visible, asking in surprise and fear, "You... what are you going to do?!"

Shakya Tashi leaned slightly forward, his long arms outstretched, his two large hands supporting her on the edge of the tub behind her, ambiguously enveloping her.

"Naturally, to help the little pig bathe." He chuckled softly, his resolute and ruthless thin lips slightly parted, revealing his white and beautiful teeth.

To Luo Zhu, this appearance was like a wild beast about to tear apart its prey, baring its gleaming white teeth.

"I don't need it!" she screamed in terror, frantically splashing water at Shakyamuni, her body shrinking even tighter in the water.

"You do need it." Shakyamuni turned his head to avoid most of the splash, his dark eyes deep and unfathomable. With a casual flick of his large hand, he easily pulled the little pig curled up in the water back to his side. (Advertisement break: Still relying on your hands? How can that be enjoyable? Forum reputation guaranteed! Healthy anti-premature ejaculation masturbation exerciser, real oral sex pleasure experience, hot recommendation! Maintain the feeling of ejaculation for 30 minutes, so pleasurable you'll faint! Fully automated masturbation with 12 different sex positions and vibration frequencies. Click to enter.)

Luo Zhu struggled desperately in his arms, trying to break free from his hold. The water in the bathtub churned violently, splashing wave after wave, quickly soaking Shakyamuni's head, face, and chest.

“Little pig, don’t you understand? All your struggles are useless in front of me.” He wiped the water droplets from his face, pressed her against the rim of the tub, and held her close to his chest, teasingly kissing her forehead.

The warm kiss brought not sweetness, but horror! She screamed in terror, “Let me go! Let me go! Let me go—uh-uh!”

Her screaming mouth was firmly silenced by his resolute warmth, and the man’s rugged, handsome, and cruel face suddenly magnified before her eyes, becoming blurry. A hot, supple tongue forced its way into her mouth, wrapping around her tongue and sucking hard. Her tongue, swollen from the beastly king’s pinching, was instantly in unbearable pain.

She whimpered angrily and fearfully, her teeth biting down hard without hesitation, her mouth instantly filled with a metallic, sweet taste. A sharp pain shot through her shoulder and back as an iron arm tightened around her, and a large hand gripped her cheek, forcing her to open her mouth wide. The resilient tongue of fire, relentlessly bitten, seemed to have lost its mind, frantically burrowing and churning in her mouth, its sucking force so strong it felt like it would tear her tongue apart.

Unable to move, unable to close her mouth, her tongue aching and numb, Luo Zhu helplessly endured the fierce, savage kisses of the storm. Her eyes were wide open, but she could see nothing. Tears streamed down her cheeks, flowing through her hair and dripping into the milky bathwater, creating faint ripples.

Shakya Tashi's breathing became hot and unsteady; he greedily inhaled the saliva, sweet with the scent of tea, reveling in the smooth, soft, and sweet texture of the woman's tongue. His violent movements gradually softened as the delicate woman in his arms became more compliant. He lovingly licked her swollen, fragrant tongue, the tip lightly flicking her delicate almonds, sweeping across her soft, smooth palate, her pearly white teeth, patiently and skillfully searching for and stimulating every sensitive spot in her mouth.

Her delicate body grew weaker and weaker, finally collapsing completely into his arms. Clear saliva, not yet swallowed, overflowed from between their joined lips, wetting their chins. He slowly withdrew his tongue, a long, lewd silver thread stretching from its tip all the way to her mouth. The burning flame deep in his eyes flickered, and he couldn't resist lowering his head again, sucking that silver thread little by little into his stomach. He carefully licked her scarred, petal-like lips, coating them with his saliva and scent before cruelly removing them.

The little pig in his arms had half-closed, reddened eyes, her dark pupils shimmering with a dazed, brooding look, glistening with tears, smooth as jade, yet unspoken. Her pale face was tinged with a luscious rose-red, her petal-shaped lips swollen and crimson. Her smooth, fragrant tongue was also slightly swollen, a line of red blood staining the tip of her wound—pitiful yet alluring.

Seeing this little pig made his throat involuntarily dry and tight, a burning heat rising deep within his abdomen, his erection throbbing so hard it felt like it would burst.

He took a deep breath, savoring the throbbing pain, the unbearable discomfort of not being able to release it. A strange, sadistic pleasure rose from his tailbone, a tingling sensation that he couldn't resist.

"Little pig, don't be afraid. I said, as long as you possess the Mu Chi King's slave seal, I will never rape you."

His rough, masculine voice carried a deep, husky sensuality of lust as he took her injured ear into his mouth, gently licking it. Like handling the most precious treasure, his large, burning hands carefully roamed and massaged her bruised and mottled body, using the medicinal properties to dissolve the blood clots.

"Little piggy, this bathwater is soaked with a whole bucket of goat milk that's been boiled with clear tea." His tongue moved slowly, occasionally licking the red finger marks on her cheeks, as he softly asked with a laugh, "Tell me, do you like it?"

His hot, slightly fishy masculine scent constantly brushed against her burning cheeks and sensitive ears, tickling, tingling, and burning. Each time his warm, wet tongue swept across her cheeks and ears, it sent a jolt of electricity through her, a tingling sensation reaching deep into her heart.

She mumbled a response, letting his large hands rub her body freely. She felt as if all her strength had melted into the bathwater, her body as limp as cotton, unable to lift even a finger. Her mind was dizzy, unable to think of anything, she just wanted to remain forever immersed in this soft, tingling, warm, and dizzying state.

Tsk tsk, so cute.

Shakyamuni Buddha smiled as he watched the inexperienced little piglet still lost in the tide of passion, kneading her smooth, tender, and bouncy body, feeling an indescribable pleasure and satisfaction. His large hand slipped between her legs, about to pinch her clitoris to give her more pleasure and dizziness, but he suddenly stopped. After a moment's hesitation, he reluctantly withdrew his hand and quickened his movements to promote blood circulation. (Chapter 96 of

"The Slave Wife Wants to Turn the Tables II

": Shakyamuni Buddha Visits the Prisoner (Part 5))

Before the water cooled down, he thoroughly washed and massaged the little piglet from head to toe. The terrible bruises and teeth marks on her tender body had faded considerably, and her skin had become rosy and warm, exuding a sweet, milky scent of tea and a faint medicinal fragrance. A look of satisfaction finally appeared in his long, dark eyes. The moment he pulled her out of the water, he immediately wrapped her tightly in the softest, thickest blanket, locking in all the warmth.

Looking down at the little piglet wrapped up like a dumpling in his arms, his eyes shone with a tenderness and affection he himself didn't know he possessed. Her crescent-shaped eyebrows were no longer furrowed in pain, and her wet, thick, curled eyelashes were gently closed, like two beautiful resting butterflies, covering her bright, lively eyes. Her rosy cheeks and plump red lips, tinged with five parts shyness, three parts nervousness, and two parts timidity, made her both lovable and pitiful to look at. At the same time, the urge to tease and play with her was stirring within him.

He couldn't resist giving her a quick kiss on her plump, red, petal-shaped lips, then affectionately nuzzled her delicate, pink cheek. After carefully savoring the warm, smooth texture, he summoned a palace servant to untie the piglet's dozens of thin braids.

A warm, heated niche was placed beneath her hair. He took a dry, soft cloth to wipe away the excess water from her black hair, then, with his fingers like a comb, gently stroked her damp hair, patiently drying it on the niche. Her hair was as fine as silk, as smooth as satin, only reaching her back. Strands flowed through his fingers like damp feathers gently brushing against his chest, stirring a soft, tingling sensation.

This was the first time he had bathed a woman, and the first time he had dried her hair. Even he himself hadn't expected that hands stained with blood from killing could be so gentle and delicate. There was no pretense, no embarrassment; all the actions were performed so naturally. A warm, gentle feeling, like spring water, swirled and flowed in his chest, soaking his entire heart.

When he first met this woman in Namua Village, he only felt that she was dirty, cunning, and weak, yet possessed an extraordinary resilience, which piqued his interest. Indeed, she had survived the cruel and brutal massacre, the excruciating pain of being branded as a slave, and the hunger and cold of the long journey.

He always carried the strange dagger she used to kill the mastiff on his person, and he pondered for a long time the many objects hidden in the hilt, but could not figure out their purpose. Whenever he examined that dagger, a pair of scarred, bloodied arms would appear before his eyes. When the doctor treated her wounds and applied medicine, she trembled all over in pain, tears streaming down her face, whimpering softly. Yet this seemingly frail woman, who could be killed with a single punch, had slain a ferocious mastiff that would have taken three or four ordinary soldiers to handle. Her fierce will was enough to impress and subdue many men, and it's no wonder she won Yin Ni's favor.

To survive in the harsh snowy region, one needs only ferocity and tenacity. The Boba people revere the strong and despise the cowardly; the weak are destined for slaughter and enslavement.

Paradoxically, this woman was also truly timid and cowardly. She feared him, Yin Ni, the king, and everything that threatened her life. She lived like a restless prairie mouse, constantly wary of almost everyone. She was submissive, humble, and subservient, like an animal trampled upon. But occasionally, one could detect a fierce yearning for life flashing in her seemingly indifferent and silent eyes.

He'd encountered strong yet fragile women before, but he'd never seen one like her, willing to give up everything just to survive. Her bottom line was incredibly low; she seemed capable of enduring anything as long as she could live. This included eating and sleeping like livestock with mastiffs, and being humiliated and abused by men. However, if anyone crossed her line—her only desire to live—she dared to beat and curse even the king.

This little piglet was surprisingly interesting, and surprisingly alluring.

For the 101st time, Shakyamuni regretted not immediately asking the king for the piglet. He'd only wanted to see how this woman would behave as a mastiff slave, to see how long she could endure it. But through repeated observation, he'd unknowingly grown fond of her. He figured the king was probably in the same boat, unknowingly captivated by his self-righteous teasing.

Slaves, even palace slaves, were nothing more than insignificant, lowly creatures. Given his noble and illustrious status, he could easily beat, scold, and slaughter palace slaves at will; taking a female slave's body was a trivial matter. However, apart from the palace slaves bestowed upon him by the king, he never raped female slaves branded with the Muchi royal family's mark who did not belong to him. He stubbornly believed this was loyalty to the king.

He was not in a hurry to possess Little Pig; he would patiently wait for the king's compromise, wait for the king to send her away. At that time, although he would not protect her with the same loyalty as the Guardian King and the Dharma King, he would give her everything he wanted to give. A

gentle and serene smile appeared on his lips. He tidied his dried, silky black hair and tied it tightly with a colorful ribbon. He lowered his head and breathed hot air into her rosy ear: "Little Pig, I'm going to apply medicine for you."

As early as when Shakyamuni was massaging her bruises, Luo Zhu had slowly awakened from her soft, tingling haze due to the slight pain.

Knowing that the large hands roaming her body were healing her wounds and bruises, and that there was no lewdness or provocation in them, her cheeks still burned uncontrollably, and waves of heat surged through her body from within. The bathwater enveloping her felt like it contained countless tiny needles, making her feel uncomfortable all over. When those large hands massaged her lower abdomen, the remaining chill was dispelled by a current of heat hotter than the bathwater, and the faint cramping pain was melted away by that heat. She felt both comfortable and shy, tense and fearful. Even though Shakyamuni had said he wouldn't rape her, she was still afraid that those large hands would suddenly slip between her legs and roughly play with her already burning, tender flesh. She knew that he was a beast with a history of such acts.

She dared not open her eyes to face Shakyamuni. As he had said, any resistance she could offer him was futile. These beastly men only acted according to their own desires and never considered her thoughts or feelings. She could only force herself to relax, secretly praying that this torturous bath would end soon.

The torturous bath finally ended, but before she could even breathe a sigh of relief, her lips were attacked, her cheeks invaded, her braids were undone, and the beastly man held her, personally drying her wet hair. This abnormally terrifying tenderness terrified her, making her even more afraid to open her eyes, only able to lie stiffly in his arms, letting him do as he pleased.

Whenever his slender fingers brushed against a certain taut spot on her scalp, a relaxing comfort emanated from that spot. Warm air rose from below, and gradually, her mind became hazy from the heat.

When she was little, she lived in a low-lying alleyway with tiled roofs. One day, on her way home from school, she was dawdling when she suddenly saw an aunt holding a girl about her age, sitting in front of the door, her fingers constantly running through the girl's wet hair. A cheap plastic basin hung from the girl's long, flowing hair, filled with a brownish liquid that reeked of vinegar.

The auntie's face was full of loving tenderness. The girl, lying on her back, had her eyes closed, her lips upturned in a happy smile.

"Auntie, what are you doing?"

she remembered asking curiously.

The auntie looked up, saw her staring intently, and explained with a smile, "My daughter has caught lice, so I'm washing her hair with vinegar to catch them." She then gently patted her daughter's cheek playfully. The daughter didn't open her eyes, but grinned mischievously at her mother, earning another playful pat.

The next day, after finding out at school who had lice, she deliberately approached them. Soon enough, she too caught lice, the itching so intense she wanted to scratch her scalp off. She quickly told her mother, who rarely came home, what had happened. Her mother didn't bring the plastic basin of vinegar, nor did she hold her in her arms, nor did she carefully search her hair. She simply took her to the barbershop, shaved her head, and bought her a hat.

That evening, her mother and father, who happened to be home, had a huge argument, each accusing the other of neglecting their child. In the end, both of them angrily threw down fifty yuan each and slammed the door, leaving her alone curled up in bed, silently weeping.

At dawn, she gathered the hundred yuan from the blanket, quietly burying the scene of catching lice in the alley into the abyss of her memory, and continued her routine of going to school, coming home, eating, and sleeping alone.

So this is what it feels like to lie back in someone's arms, having your hair gently stroked—a warm and comfortable feeling. No wonder that girl's lips were curved into a wide smile. But that girl was happy. And what about her? Why was the feeling surging in her heart so complex and incomprehensible?

Chapter 097 Shakyamuni Buddha Visits the Prison (Part Six)

Her ears were enveloped by a hot breath, and a sudden, tingling, itchy sensation in her tailbone pulled her from her daze.

Luo Zhu abruptly opened her eyes, meeting a rugged, heroic, dark face. That face, those eyes, had once been cruel and ferocious, bloodthirsty and ruthless, but now they were filled with a warm, tender affection. Her vision blurred, and the person in front of her suddenly overlapped with the mother who used to pick lice from her daughter's head in her memory, yet upon closer inspection, they were completely different.

Staring at those dark eyes still brimming with tenderness, she was speechless for a long time.

A ferocious beast…tenderly affectionate towards her?! How could this be?!

Her large, dark eyes, filled with confusion, shock, and panic, were like two tiny hooks, slowly tugging at his heart. He wanted to gouge out those vivid eyes, hold them in his hands, and never let anyone see them.

"Silence means agreement."

His fingers lightly touched her slightly parted lips. Shakya Tashi took the ointment from the palace servant, scooped out a small amount, and softly chuckled, "Little pig, close your eyes." His

soft, rough voice seemed to possess a strange magic. Her clear reason told her to resist and struggle, but her body was stiff and unable to move. He had been fierce, cruel, and cold-hearted towards her; though she was terrified, she knew clearly how to respond and how to save her life. But faced with the sudden, unfamiliar gentleness of a ferocious beast, besides feeling terrified and bewildered, she also felt an unusual panic and helplessness, desperately wanting to escape.

Yes, escape! Escape!

Tashi Langtso had given her tenderness, a gentle, flowing warmth that quietly soothed her, making her feel at peace and willing to settle down. The tenderness offered by the beast, however, made her vaguely feel as if a terrifying black hole, swirling with hurricane energy, lay behind her, its jaws gaping wide with ravenous greed. Falling in would mean eternal damnation.

Her mind was no longer clouded, her body no longer supple and comfortable; she even felt ashamed and embarrassed by her past indulgence. But she also clearly understood that she couldn't escape the beast's grasp, nor could she stop its every move. Taking a deep breath, she forced her wildly beating heart to calm down, telling herself that this body wasn't hers, and that any lewdness or disrespect she suffered could be ignored.

She closed her eyes, trying to remain indifferent and calm. Only her slightly trembling hands, curled at her sides, betrayed her fear, tension, and self-deception.

A small opening in the blanket wrapped tightly around her body let in a cool breeze, but the chest and arms embracing her radiated a moist warmth. Rough, warm fingers, coated with a cool, slippery ointment, applied it to her swollen eyelids, a refreshing sensation spreading and instantly easing the pain. The fingers slid down to her swollen lips, circling them before slipping inside her mouth, evenly coating her tongue. The ointment emitted a faint lotus scent, slightly sweet in her mouth.

The ointment stimulated her saliva, causing her throat to reflexively twitch slightly as she swallowed the excess lotus-scented saliva.

When the warm, ointment-covered fingers slid to her broken, swollen nipples, a tiny, tingling current shot through her. Fortunately, she quickly pursed her lips, suppressing a moan that threatened to escape, but her body trembled uncontrollably. What to do? Was her body beginning to react instinctively to the caresses of a ferocious beast?! She was clearly trying to avoid it, terrified!

In her panic and helplessness, rough, warm fingers left her nipple and slid down to her inner thigh, gently applying ointment to the chafed area.

Applying medicine is different from treating bruising; one is a slow, flirtatious caress, the other a steady, gentle massage with the palm. With her eyes closed, the interval of bathing gone, and her mind clear, her body became more sensitive. She could clearly feel the warm, rough fingers stroking along her inner thigh, slowly reaching her groin—it was incredibly erotic and lascivious. Her body tensed and stiffened, and fine beads of sweat eagerly appeared on her skin amidst a slight heat. As the coolness covered the burning pain, spreading wantonly from her vulva, she finally couldn't help but let out a soft moan, immediately biting her lower lip tightly.

At this moment, what she feared most was not the erotic application of medicine by the beastly Shakyamuni, but her own out-of-control female instincts.

Whether it was because of his presence or because he sensed her ridiculous, pitiful, and nervous fear, the man let out a low, ambiguous chuckle. After slowly applying the ointment, his fingers didn't continue to tease or caress her; instead, he deftly and skillfully tied a thick, soft band between her legs. A sticky heat surged out, seeping precisely into the band.

Boom—

after realizing what it was, Luo Zhu was so ashamed she wanted to bang her head against the wall. Her eyes were tightly shut, and her heart clenched so tightly she almost forgot to breathe. Her entire body instantly burst into flames, every inch of her skin burning hot, hotter than the bathwater from before. Being kissed to the point of weakness and dizziness by this beast, whom she didn't know well and who often frightened her, was foolish; being kneaded and caressed by this beast and getting aroused was a mutation—she could barely accept all of that. But why did this beast have to take care of her most private matters! "What the hell... what is this?!" Trembling uncontrollably, she wanted to scream in madness, to jump onto Shakyamuni and bite him, to trample him.

Shakyamuni saw all her changes, and recalling the first time he touched her, the dryness and coldness of her tender body and the terror and despair in her large eyes, his mood became brighter than ever before. He chuckled, then helped her put on her underwear and thick cotton jacket, layer by layer, and carried her, still trembling, to the thick, soft quilt that the palace servants had already laid out on the haystack.

"Little pig, the change of clothes is in the wooden box next to the quilt, the food is in the silver box next to it, and the fur robe is on top of the quilt. Remember to put it on when you get up." He lowered his head and placed two light kisses on her small face, which was so hot it could boil an egg. Just as he was about to get up and leave, his collar was grabbed by a delicate pink hand that was trembling.

“Wait…wait!” Luo Zhu called out to him, her eyes still tightly closed. It wasn't that she didn't want to open her eyes, but it was simply too difficult to do so under these circumstances.

“What is it?” The warm, husky voice, unlike the cold indifference of the Beast King, carried a playful warmth and a hint of indulgence.

Why did this cruel and wicked beast possess such a warm, corrosive voice? Why didn't he sneer at her with a ferocious grin, mock her, or kick her viciously? Luo Zhu roared madly in her heart, horrified to find that the voice was eroding her fear, her shame, her vigilance, shattering the fortress-like protective shield she had erected around herself. She didn't want to stay in the dungeon any longer; this eerie place was making her stupid, helpless, and unlike herself again.

“You…you said you'd let me out of the dungeon if I told the truth,” she said through gritted teeth, her face flushed. Even with her eyes closed, she could keenly sense two warm, ambiguous gazes falling on her face.

Shakya Suddhodana paused, then burst into laughter, "Little pig, you've so rebelliously offended the King, it's a miracle you're not dead! And you still dream of leaving the dungeon?" He slapped her flushed, burning cheeks, pulling her chubby hands from her clothes and tucking them under the covers. "You've angered the King, no one can release you. You'd better stay in the dungeon peacefully."

"You liar!" Luo Zhu, disregarding her shame, suddenly opened her eyes and angrily shouted.

"I only let you talk first, I never promised to release you." Shakya Suddhodanadana raised an eyebrow wickedly, offering a half-hearted consolation, "Be good, once the King's anger subsides, he'll naturally release you."

Luo Zhu choked. That's right, this ferocious beast had never said he would release her. She was incredibly stupid and muddle-headed!

Chapter 98: Shakyamuni Buddha Visits the Prison (Part 7)

"Damn it! Damn it! So utterly despicable!" Enraged and humiliated, she felt a surge of urge to scratch and trample that arrogant face. But the moment she lifted the covers, a chilling draft swept in, making her shiver instantly. For her body, which had just experienced unparalleled warmth and comfort, this bone-chilling cold was nothing short of a tremendous challenge to her mind and body.

The beastly king would release her from the dungeon once his anger subsided? What kind of fantasy was this? For her offense against the beastly king, she deserved to die a thousand, ten thousand times over. Letting her breathe and live was probably just a pretext for lifelong imprisonment and torture.

She gripped the corner of the covers, gritting her teeth and glaring at Shakyamuni, whom she had mistaken for hope but who turned out to be a liar, uttering a silent, indignant accusation.

Shakyamuni poked her puffed-up cheek, finding the little pig's previously unseen, indignant and resentful expression rather endearing. To be honest, what he wanted most right now was to hold her in his arms, take her home, and squish and play with her as he pleased. But he dared not take the risk. Given the king's temper, it was already rare that he hadn't crippled the little pig on the spot. If he let the little pig out to roam freely, even if the king was captivated by her, he might lose his temper and torture her. Hmm, leaving the little pig by the king's side was still a bit uneasy.

A slight thought crossed his mind, and his gaze swept almost imperceptibly over the mound of hay on the right side of the cell, which was so quiet it seemed nonexistent. He leaned close to Luo Zhu's ear and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear: "Little pig, if the king lets you out of the dungeon, even if you're stripped naked, don't disobey or resist him. If you're scared, cry as loudly as you can, don't hold back."

After saying that, he quickly got up and strode out of the cell in Luo Zhu's stunned gaze.

Six palace servants, who had already tidied everything up, hurriedly carried and carried him, following closely behind.

The cell door was once again locked shut with chains. Luo Zhu lay in the soft quilt, watching that tall and burly figure disappear into the distance. The sleeves of his fur robe were still tied at his waist, the back hem stained with dirty bits of grass, and the sleeves rolled up to his upper arms were still hanging down. Compared to his initial solemnity and elegance, he looked much more disheveled, and also much more approachable.

Why was he so sure that the beastly king would release her from the dungeon?

What did it mean to say, "If you're scared, cry as much as you can, don't hold it in"? Did the beastly king really fear a woman's tears?

He had warned her not to faint during the branding, he had warned her not to climb into the beastly king's bed, and now he was telling her to cry as much as she could when she was scared… Was this beastly man really… doting on her?! What about his previous cruelty and ruthlessness towards her?

She clutched the edge of the softest, thickest blanket she'd ever used since transmigrating, lost in deep confusion.

########## ###############################

"Lord Lie, you've come out?" The dungeon warden bowed immediately upon seeing Shijia Taixiu. Seeing the esteemed Lord Lie with his fur robe sleeves removed, his inner jacket and undergarment sleeves rolled up, his chest and hair half-wet, he was filled with suspicion, but dared not show the slightest hint of surprise.

"Hmm," Shijia Taixiu responded noncommittally, slowly lowering his sleeves and deftly putting his fur robe back on. His robes were half-soaked from the splashes of water from the little pig, but the chill did not harm him in the slightest. Thinking of the little pig's frustrated and angry expression as he left, a mixture of wanting to beat someone and fearing the cold, a surge of joy welled up inside him.

Stepping out of the dimly lit dungeon passage, a strong, chilling wind, carrying large snowflakes, blew against his face, whipping his hair and billowing his robes. Everywhere he looked, mountains and valleys were covered in thick snow.

He took a fox-fur hat from a palace servant and put it on, then looked up at the sky. The sky was dark and overcast, indicating several days of continuous snowfall. If the king didn't release the little pig tonight, he would have to clean the silver lion and put it in the cell. However, he was also worried that the silver lion might succumb to the sweet and bloody temptation and devour people.

Perhaps he should first sound out the king's intentions. He shifted his feet slightly, intending to retreat back into the secret passage and enter the palace through it, when suddenly a pair of large brown eyes flashed before his eyes, hidden in the dark hay. His raised foot abruptly stopped; how could he forget that a particularly troublesome fellow was imprisoned there? With him there, the little pig should be alright.

His eyebrows casually twitched upwards, the smile on his lips becoming unpredictable in the cold, snowy wind. Suddenly, a long sword flashed from his waist, tracing several perfect, gleaming arcs in the air.

Thud—thud—thud—

blood splattered, heavy objects fell to the ground.

The six palace slaves following behind were all cut in half at the waist, their sticky crimson and colorful entrails mixed with bath tub debris, scattered vividly on the white snow. Though their lower bodies were gone, the six palace slaves were not yet completely dead. Their beautiful faces were contorted with fear and pain as they struggled and crawled in the snow, screaming and leaving trails of blood.

Shakya Tsering, with a cruel and sinister gaze, looked at the crawling carcasses. His sharp blade lightly touched the snow, a glaring crimson streak running down the blade before solidifying into a red icicle. His hat, cheeks, and shoulders were stained with sticky, bloody petals of crimson, his dark eyes gleaming with a cold, menacing light, like a ferocious beast.

Only after the crawling carcasses had completely stiffened on the snow did he coldly order the warden waiting at the entrance to the secret passage, "Clean it up. Chop the bodies up and feed them to the mastiffs."

"Yes,"

the warden replied solemnly, his face stiffening at the sudden brutality of the killing. With a flick of his wrist, seven or eight soldiers darted out of the secret passage, nimbly gathering debris and severed limbs.

He coldly watched them work. Suddenly, his wrist twisted, and his long sword clattered back into its sheath. He turned to the warden and asked indifferently, "How many prisoners are in the third dungeon holding the mastiff slave?"

"Reporting to Captain Lie, there are twenty-six in total."

"Except for the mastiff slave and the prisoners in the adjacent cells, bring all the rest out and kill them tonight." His chilling tone, like the biting wind, cut through skin and chilled to the bone.

"Yes, sir."

The warden respectfully accepted the order without objection, his forehead beaded with cold sweat. In Guge, Captain Lie, the leader of the Black Flag Guard, held a position comparable to a vice-minister, deeply trusted by the king. No one dared to disrespect his words or orders except for those who were tired of living. Captain Lie rarely drew his sword; when he did, it was a ruthless, hellish slaughter. In some ways, he was more bloodthirsty and terrifying than the king.

Shakya Tashi turned to the trembling warden, a cruel smile spreading across his hard lips. He patted the warden's shoulder, concerned, "It's too cold in winter, make sure the soldiers don't get cold. Also, remember to remind them not to be too curious."

"Yes! Yes!" The warden nodded repeatedly, sweating profusely.

The more they knew, the faster they would die. He didn't mind the prisoners and palace servants seeing his gentleness, knowing his weaknesses, but they deserved to die for hearing the king's secrets. Tsk tsk, it wasn't that he was heartless and cruel, it was just that the little pig had shouted too loudly.

He looked down at his clean hands; good, no trace of blood. He tucked his hands into his sleeves, his rough fingertips lingeringly rubbing together, as if the delicate, smooth touch of the little pig's skin still lingered there.

He smiled, and strode into the snowy wind. He still had to rush to Toling Monastery to report the events in the dungeon to the Dharma King. He believed that the King's experience of being vomited bile and beaten by the piglets would surely please the Dharma King.

Chapter 099 The Gloomy Beast King (Part 1)

Yesterday, the scene of the mastiffs eating people at the banquet in the council hall, where the King casually slaughtered more than a dozen personal palace servants, terrified the guests. But for the ministers of Guge, this was nothing new. They were shocked and frightened, but they were not as pale and sweating as those useless guests.

After the banquet, a few close ministers gathered to mock the guests' cowardice. But as the saying goes, fortunes change, and no one expected that in just one night, they would be pale and sweating profusely.

Today, the king wore a black brocade robe covered with fur, embroidered with a golden dragon with outstretched claws. The collar, sleeves, and hem were trimmed with precious snow leopard skin, the edges of which were pressed tightly with royal blue brocade, embellished with flat gold and silver threads. A string of nine-eyed dzi beads and two strings of red coral necklaces inlaid with gold-plated obsidian hung from his chest. A string of exquisite pure gold laurels inlaid with rubies hung from his crimson embroidered gold satin double belts. A black gold sixteen-petaled skull and sapphire lotus pattern longsword was slung across his waist, and snow-white silk trousers were tucked into a pair of dark red high-top leather boots.

This is what the ministers observed carefully today; they could almost count the number of snow leopard spots on the king's robe. The reason was simple: no one dared to raise their heads and freely discuss state affairs with the king as usual.

When the king appeared in the council chamber, everyone keenly noticed that although he still maintained his imposing and aloof demeanor, a thick, menacing black aura seemed to shroud him. His sharp, dark brown eagle eyes were sinister and dark, a thousand times more terrifying than a vulture carrying a carcass.

When the king sat on the throne, it was even more terrifying. The Yama, the King of Hell, depicted in the mural behind the throne, holding a diagram of the cycle of life and death in his mouth and with a ferocious and malevolent face, seemed to have possessed the king. A profound darkness spread infinitely, and a vast, eerie aura, carrying an overwhelming and cruel killing intent, pressed down, striking straight at their hearts. They dared not even raise their heads, nor even breathe heavily; cold sweat poured down their backs, instantly soaking their undergarments.

Such a terrifying king usually only appeared on the battlefield, before the enemy. Why did he suddenly appear before them now?! Even at yesterday's banquet, though the king had killed someone, he seemed perfectly normal.

The ministers were filled with apprehension, secretly exchanging glances and asking each other, only to be met with blank stares. A chill ran through them, their eyes filled with fear, a cold, eerie air rising from their feet. It was over. Had another traitor among them betrayed Guge and the king?

After the previous king's death, Guge descended into chaos, with the king fiercely vying for power with his six half-brothers. Ultimately, he ascended the throne at the age of seventeen, stepping over the heads of his six brothers. His first act upon ascending the throne was to sacrifice all the children of his six brothers, regardless of gender. For the next six years, the king simultaneously developed Guge's power and waged wars to expand his territory. Now, Guge was stronger than ever before, and the unification of the entire snowy region seemed imminent.

King Muchi Zanbu Zhuotun was the most wise and insightful of all the Guge kings, but also the most ruthless and cruel.

He handled state affairs with decisiveness, swiftness, and clear rewards and punishments, always putting the people first. However, his temperament was also sinister and cruel, with a penchant for torture and a disregard for human life. The people of Guge, regardless of status, both respected and feared him.

Three years prior, a minister had colluded with the Yuan Dynasty. Upon investigation, the king immediately had everyone in the minister's household, regardless of age or gender, thrown to drugged mastiffs for rape. After their deaths, dozens of corpses were left to rot in the royal square for three days. Finally, they were chopped into mincemeat and, with incantations from the Dharma

King, cast into the eighteenth level of hell, never to be reincarnated. From the moment the mastiffs began their rapes, each minister was ostensibly served by several Black Flag Guards, but in reality, they were forced to watch until the Dharma King completed his rituals. After returning home, everyone suffered from recurring nightmares for days on end, some lasting for months, leaving them emaciated and utterly haggard. From that moment on, no one dared to harbor any disloyalty. Their awe before the king was truly heartfelt and genuine.

What had caused the king to become so terrifying today? Had someone in the court truly become so audacious as to harbor disloyal thoughts?

Time ticked by, and half a day had passed in the blink of an eye. The king sat on his throne atop the three steps, uttering not a single word except for the constant release of an aura of imposing, bloodthirsty power that made people afraid to look up. The silence of the king only amplified his terror.

That terror was like a sharp sword hanging overhead, ready to fall without warning and sever their fragile necks at any moment.

The Grand Chancellor, in his forties, under the watchful eyes of his ministers, stepped forward tremblingly, bowed, and tentatively asked, "Your Majesty, have there been any... disloyal individuals in the court recently?"

Zanbu Zhuodun coldly met his gaze, his full, sharp lips curling slightly as he countered, "Grand Chancellor, are you saying there are disloyal individuals in the court recently?" His deep, resonant voice was utterly cold and indifferent, and behind this extreme coldness lurked an easily detectable bloodthirsty hunger.

"No! No! Your Majesty, you are wise! Absolutely not!"

The Grand Chancellor's dark, bearded face drained of color, his legs went weak, and he collapsed to his knees. Under the piercing, reproachful gazes of his ministers, he frantically shook his head in denial. "Your Majesty, I was asking a hypothetical question, not stating a fact! Please don't misunderstand! Please don't misunderstand!"

"Your Majesty, we are willing to offer our entire families' lives for you, and we will never betray you in this life!" All the ministers knelt, unanimously declaring their loyalty.

The council hall was filled with a dense mass of kneeling officials, deepening Zanbu Zhuodun's gloom and fueling his frenzied rage. His cold, authoritative gaze slowly swept over the bowed heads, his fingers restless on the armrest of the throne, almost reaching for the Soul Blade at his waist several times. Fortunately, a sliver of reason kept reminding him that those kneeling were his unwavering loyal subjects, and the operation of the state depended on them. He closed his eyes briefly, forcefully suppressing his surging murderous intent, and coldly said, "Court adjourned."

Court adjourned!

These two words were like a godsend to the Guge ministers, whose robes were soaked with the king's bloody aura. As for the matters to be discussed in court today… that was unimportant; they could be brought up again in a couple of days.

"Yes."

The ministers, as if granted a pardon, bowed deeply and, according to rank, retreated cautiously and humbly from the doorway. Their steps were careful and light, as if afraid of accidentally harming an ant. Only after they had left the council hall and were completely out of the king's sight did they dare to exhale a long, suffocating breath and wipe the sweat from their brows.

The Black Flag Guards stationed at the council hall's entrance, swords and spears at their sides, emanated a chilling, menacing aura of killing intent from behind. Under this intimidation, the ministers exchanged glances for a moment outside the council hall, not daring to whisper in front of the guards, and thus returned home with uneasy hearts. They were determined to find out the reason for the king's erratic behavior once they returned. To continue being so ignorantly intimidated by the king would shorten their lifespan by several years.

Chapter 100 The Gloomy Beast King (Part Two)

The heavy vermilion doors slowly closed, dimming the light in the council hall. The murals around the hall became vivid and distinct in the cold gloom, exuding an indescribable eeriness and mystery.

The darkest and most eerie place in the hall was at the very head of the hall, three steps paved with crimson carpet, the edges woven with blue and white dragon and swastika patterns. In the center stood a large throne covered with a rare tiger skin, and in front of it was a long, wide table piled with several memorials.

Zanbu Zhuotun leaned lazily against the throne, his hands lightly resting on the armrests, his brows furrowed, his hawk-like eyes half-closed, his full lips slightly pursed, the beautiful, resolute lines of his face revealing a sharp, ruthless coldness. He seemed lost in thought, or perhaps merely dozing off.

Time passed slowly. No one dared to enter the council hall without being summoned and disturb the king. The spacious hall was so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

The silent Zanbu Zhuodun did not blend into the darkness; instead, his absolute blackness highlighted his fierce and cold features. The gold ornaments and jewels in his hair, earlobes, chest, and waist shimmered with a sinister, cold light in the darkness, like countless eerie eyes.

Uncomfortable! Very uncomfortable! My whole body, inside and out, felt increasingly uncomfortable!

Something seemed to have been missing from his arms and chest, leaving an emptiness that made his heart restless and unable to find peace. Everything he saw filled him with utter disgust, and he wished he could chop it to dust.

A thick, sticky, bloody aura lingered in his chest, and the image of the female slave's delicate, fair face kept appearing before his eyes. Sometimes humble, sometimes terrified, sometimes desperate, sometimes in pain, sometimes indifferent, sometimes weeping, sometimes furious, sometimes fawning… like a maggot clinging to his bone, impossible to shake off.

A lowly female slave dared to insult the king, slap him, punch and kick him, pinch and bite him—such rebellious behavior deserved to be torn to pieces.

All those who dared to challenge King Muchi Zanbu Zhuodun of Guge would only meet death. This was not a threat, but a bloody truth. Why did his words sound so resolute, yet his heart softened with cowardice?

He wanted to force himself on her, but inexplicably stopped halfway. She started menstruating, yet he still held her as they rested. When he threw her off the bed, he unconsciously controlled his strength; when he kicked her, he couldn't muster any power in his toes; when he stepped on her back, his calves cramped from struggling, but he couldn't bring himself to press down. She had schemed against him, and although he was furious, he still chose to keep his promise. When he kicked her one last time, he couldn't bear to see her naked and freezing, so he wrapped her in a thick cashmere curtain. Looking back now, he couldn't believe that he had actually committed such a foolish act himself.

That slave was nothing more than a plaything captured from Namua village on the border of Guge, a lowly plaything that could be torn apart and discarded when he was tired of teasing her. He only had some interest, some desire to tease her. Yet these fleeting interests, these gentle teasings, were like early spring snow, melting away imperceptibly, seeping into his body drop by drop, eroding his soul.

He was acutely aware that this was cowardice, foolishness, and danger, but he could never bring himself to kill her and eliminate the root of the trouble. Swirling in his mind were her blood-stained, petal-shaped lips, her warm, soft, pink tongue, and her plump, tender, and glistening body. He had made the decision to keep the danger under control, but he never imagined that in just one night, this danger would make him increasingly out of control, increasingly unlike himself.

He suddenly realized that all his emptiness, discomfort, restlessness, and anger stemmed from the departure of that female slave. For over a month, except for days when he was ill, she had been by his side almost constantly. He had grown accustomed to seeing her, either silently kneeling at his feet or embracing the silver lion, her slender figure, after finishing state affairs; he had also grown accustomed to teasing her, bullying her, and threatening her from time to time. He loved watching her cower and tremble in fear, loved seeing the pain and despair on her face. After last night, he also loved sucking the sweet, milky taste of her tea, loved playing with her little tongue, loved kneading and biting her smooth, elastic flesh, loved the soft, comforting feeling of holding her in his arms.

A growing heat slowly rose in his body, the restlessness and anger overflowing from the depths of his soul growing stronger, roaring and surging wildly within him, searching for an outlet.

Zanbu Zhuodun's body stiffened inch by inch, then he suddenly stood up, drew his sword, and slashed down at the wide table. Several turbulent black and gold semi-arcs intersected, and the long table shattered into pieces instantly, the folded pages scattered all over the floor. The slight thud broke the silence and solemnity of the hall, evoking a chilling eeriness in the darkness.

His hands gripped the hilt of the sword tightly, his dark brown pupils in his hawk-like eyes contracted rapidly, deep as an abyss, sharp as a sword. His towering, mountain-like body exuded an endless, dark, and malevolent aura from head to toe. His slightly curled sideburns moved without wind, and the corners of his lips curled into a ferocious smile comparable to the Yama, the demon king behind him.

Like? Ha! He actually used a string of "likes." Could the mighty King of Guge really like a lowly female slave?! He wanted to deny it, yet he couldn't help but admit it.

If he didn't like her, why did he always bully her, tease her, and threaten her? If he didn't like her, why did he tolerate her offenses time and time again? If he didn't like her, why couldn't he bring himself to kill her, even knowing she was a danger that would make him lose control? If he didn't like her, why did he crave her body? Why could he suppress the surging desire to ravage her?

"Luo-Zhu!" He stared intently at the sharp, gleaming tip of the blade, his hawk-like eyes dark and boundless. He paused, then slowly uttered the last two words, "Zhu-Luo-," the four syllables bursting from between his teeth, seemingly carrying a bone-deep hatred, or perhaps an unyielding resentment.

The Soul Blade twirled in the air, creating a gleaming gleam, before being forcefully sheathed with a metallic clang.

Zanbu Zhuotun roared with laughter, his deep, cold laughter echoing through the hall, swirling and reverberating around the square vermilion pillars.

The men of Boba, regardless of status, were all courageous and responsible, never cowards who would run away. Now that he understood he loved her, he was determined to keep this female slave by his side at all times, never letting her leave even for a moment. She was his slave, and for the rest of her life, she belonged to him.

This morning, Lie had taken a large number of belongings to the dungeon; his intentions were all too clear. However, he would never grant Lie's wish to bestow this female slave upon him. But considering Lie's loyalty in guarding him for twenty years and their brotherly and friendly relationship, he could reluctantly lend her to him for a few games if he asked.

His laughter gradually weakened, finally settling into a cold, slight smirk at the corner of his mouth. His tongue slid across his full lower lip, as if he could taste the fragrant, sweet, milky tea again.

He pushed open the main door of the council hall, and several guards stationed at the entrance immediately bowed. Two of the guards stepped forward and respectfully and skillfully draped a dark brown cloak made of expensive otter fur over him, and put on a fox fur hat inlaid with jewels. When they were about to put fur gloves on him, he raised his hand to stop them.

The sky was already darkening. Zanbu Zhuodun strode down the steps of the main door of the council hall, his dark red high-top leather boots crunching on the thick snow. A strong snow wind rushed towards him, cutting into his skin like icy blades. Even with his thick skin and robust muscles, which weren't particularly afraid of the cold, he couldn't help but feel a stinging chill.

He suddenly remembered that the female slave seemed to be naturally sensitive to the cold; last night, after leaving his embrace, even in the warm palace, her tender body instantly turned as cold as ice. No wonder she always liked to sleep embracing the silver lion. He disliked that coldness, so he held her in his arms. She had started menstruating, but instead of letting go, he pressed his penis even closer to her. Every time a sticky heat surged out and poured onto his penis, an indescribable sense of comfort and pleasure would emanate from it, making him almost unable to resist.

After walking a dozen steps down the slope, a strong and valiant silver-gray figure stood imposingly at the top of the slope. The snow wind blew the silver-gray hair in all directions, making the figure appear even more aloof, calm, and incomparably fierce.

"Awooo—" Seeing him approach, the Silver Lion tossed its thick, silver-gray mane and let out a deep, resonant howl.

His hawk-like eyes narrowed slightly, meeting the blue, triangular eyes, and he nodded slightly.

A gleam of joy flashed in those deep, fierce blue eyes. The silver-gray figure shook off the snowflakes in the wind and snow, then transformed into a streak of silver-gray light, disappearing into the vast expanse of snow.

A ferocious, arrogant wild mastiff, a military mastiff forged in blood and war, the leader of tens of thousands of military mastiffs, actually cared so much for a lowly female slave—even if word got out, few would believe it.

A faint, self-deprecating smile played on his cold lips. Back then, wasn't it precisely because of this strange care from the Silver Lion that he had become interested in that female slave, only to find himself in a danger that drove him to the brink of madness?

He still remembered that a little over a month ago, when the female slave suddenly rolled to his feet and blocked his way. At that time, he kicked out without any mercy; now, his kick had no power left.

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