145. The Night of Shattering
2024.02.22.
A violent storm raged, as if lashing the island from every direction.
Trees bent and crashed into each other, repeatedly bowing their heads to the ground, completely surrendering to the disaster.
Roots buried deep in the muddy soil twisted and clung to one another, resisting more fiercely the stronger the cruel wind blew.
Rain poured down so heavily that nothing could be seen even an inch ahead, while sharp winds, slicing through raindrops like dismembered limbs, emitted eerie sounds along the mountain ridge.
A dark cave with only a narrow gap wide enough for a single person to pass through.
A space where the outside chaos and ragged breathing mingled thickly.
The broad back of a man, oppressive even to look at, completely shielded the woman’s body.
Something—sweat or rain, no one could tell—dripped from his wet golden hair, running down his vein-pulsing forehead, tracing his clenched jawline before falling downward.
Every part of his body, fleeing as if escaping the deafening noise of a battlefield, contracted and rushed in a single direction.
Fleeing from the flickering light of a small, blazing campfire.
Fleeing from the wind’s wail, like the cries of dead souls.
Fleeing from the chilling sound of rain pounding directly overhead.
Then the man suddenly seized the woman’s small feet as she tried to push herself away across the wet ground, biting out words.
“It was you who said to use me.”
His voice, distorted and muffled, sounded dark and low, as if seeping from the deepest part of the cave.
It poured down upon the woman whose crown, not the back of her head, began scraping against the rough wall.
Wounds, no one knew where they came from, burst open and festered.
Yet, despite moving wildly and bleeding, he felt no pain, as if awakened into a different state.
Instead of pain, the dark emotions he had suppressed poured chaotically into the woman being shaken violently.
“It hasn’t even begun yet.”
His voice, muttered as if to himself, grew increasingly sinister, soaking the space more with each passing moment.
At some point, he could no longer tell whether the words spilling from his mouth were mockery, curses, or merely the groans of a wounded beast.
There was no conversation between them.
The man simply moved, almost convulsively.
Pulling her in.
Biting, swallowing.
Forcing in, shoving in, again and again—all manner of filthy emotions.
The darker the surroundings grew, the more his eyes sank into deeper shadows.
Each time the wind and rain behind him perfectly masked his ragged breathing, he lunged forward again, fleeing.
Whether she was beneath him or before him—such trivialities didn’t matter.
His relentless movements showed no mercy.
Clutching the woman trembling beyond reason, on the verge of breaking.
Grabbing and biting every patch of skin within reach.
When his consciousness, staring at the woman’s face and eyes, now disheveled and blurred from being crushed, oxidized entirely until only ashes remained.
When he savored the spine-chilling thrill, believing he had now truly burned everything away.
When he opened his eyes, clenched tightly and gritted all this time, his face was painted not with ecstasy, but despair.
His hoarse, ragged voice poured down upon the woman, who could only blink wearily.
“…Why.”
Why was escape impossible?
He thought that if he poured out every hateful, filthy, and ugly emotion, he could finally flee.
Hatred.
Loathing.
Resentment.
If he crushed them deep into her small body, blocked them tightly, she would no longer belong to him.
But.
“Why exactly….”
The woman, slowly blinking, raised a trembling hand and cupped his fiercely rigid cheek.
For a moment, his face blurred.
He nearly went mad with hatred toward the woman, whose shaking hand seemed to urge him on as if everything were alright.
Even after pouring it all out, the dark emotions began rising uncontrollably.
As if it were still far from over.
A dreadfully sinister sensation soaked and flowed through his body, glistening—determined to drench her in every vile, filthy thing until she was so saturated she might drown.
“…Clade.”
A small voice, its final syllable muffled, cut through his uncontrollably wild breathing and pierced his ear.
He felt a sudden urge to crush and chew up her wet lips, which always seemed to taunt him, ready to provoke.
And at the same moment, stubborn defiance surged—never again would he press his lips to hers.
The thin thread of reason, already stretched far beyond its limit, snapped second by second.
The fact that the place he had desperately fled to was merely this dark cave stained his heart with darkness.
He did not meekly submit to the woman’s small hand cupping his cheek.
Looking down at her lips—refusing to meet his—he erased all warmth from his flawless face.
As if shrugging off insignificant comfort, he seized her slender arm, slammed it down to the ground, and moved his body again.
His pitch-black pupils, slowly regaining focus, blurred and faded once more.
If escape was impossible.
If returning always led back to such a place.
Then he began charging forward once more.
‘…Only breaking remains.’
Grabbing her when she writhed. Wrapping her legs, pushing against the ground, around his waist. Pressing her arms down when she tried to push away, pressing his body against hers, crushing, breaking.
Before long, Yuan Pelliese had turned into a soggy swamp, consuming every darkness he emitted.
Like a swamp that sucked in one’s entire body and soul—no matter how fiercely one kicked or slammed into it, one could not break free, only sink deeper.
The body, remembering the nightmare of the previous night, shifted from Yuan’s intent of venting rage to something closer to euphoric pain before he realized it.
Her wounded flesh, freed from rational restraint, willingly threw itself into that swamp, crashing its body against it.
Clade Euphris, believing it better to shatter Yuan Pelliese—the nightmare he could not escape—threw his entire body against her, yet failed to realize he, too, was breaking apart.
From the mouths of the shattering man and woman, anguished cries burst forth.
Clade clenched his teeth, forcefully suppressing his ragged breath.
The woman would pay dearly for walking willingly into his nightmare.
And for grabbing him when he tried to turn away—she would pay dearly too.
Dearly….
Dearly….
A final, lightning-like flash blinded his eyes.
Thunder, as if shattering the ceiling, pierced through his skull, burning every nerve.
With this intense sensation as its end, the surrounding darkness briefly receded.
Resting his wet forehead against the woman’s shoulder, catching his breath, his contracted, damp back faintly reflected the dim campfire’s glow.
The woman’s hand, which had been scratching his back frantically, slid down in a trickle.
Each time he twitched forward on instinct, her pale hand twitched in spasm, scraping the damp ground.
Soon.
A dreadful chill covered his back.
As his vision, once swallowed in darkness, gradually brightened, the storm’s roar faded as if it were a lie.
Faint light squeezed through a narrow crack.
Dawn had broken, without them noticing.
The body, which had run relentlessly without pause, froze as if drenched in cold water.
Clade lifted his head, as if tearing through the scattered fragments of flickering darkness and light still dancing before his eyes.
The woman’s composed, pale face, breathing faintly with closed eyes, seemed like that of a complete stranger he had never seen before.
His body, which had twisted and burst with unruly euphoria, now forgot pain and grew endlessly languid.
Then why did he feel such wretchedness?
His entire face, sticky with sweat, rapidly lost warmth, unlike the humid heat of the surroundings.
His eyes, which should have reflected the remaining embers with a bright gleam, began dimming with each labored breath.
His darkened gaze stared down at the woman’s equally damp face, as if pressing it flat.
…It would have been better never to have met her from the beginning.
Never to have felt that strange emotion.
Never to have experienced such uncontrollable sensations.
If only he could return to the time when he knew none of this…
His disheveled face hardened, then slowly twisted.
The future—of stepping out of this filthy, damp place, only to wake again reaching for the empty space beside him—shredded his soul.
Suddenly, a flicker of light passed through the eyes of the man buried unfathomably deep underground.
Instead of kissing her damp eyelashes, he shook the woman once more.
Ignoring her hand reflexively pushing away, he pulled her trembling shoulders into a crushing embrace.
Driving his body harder against her slippery skin.
Accelerating, charging forward as if he didn’t care if he drowned in the deepest part of the swamp.
Running. Running. Running again.
A sound close to sobbing drenched his mind with heat.
And finally, at the end of that swamp.
He buried everything he had into Yuan Pelliese, his broad shoulders heaving.
A rough sound—whether sigh, sob, or moan, no one could tell—forced its way out of his mouth.
“…Rather.”
Rather, you…
The words, spoken amidst endless breaking, dissolved into his ragged breath, crumbling before they could reach the woman’s ears.
The woman’s eyes, which had faced the same darkness and light as the man’s, slowly fluttered open.
The man muttered for a long while.
The woman, silently piecing together fragments of his voice, briefly lost focus.
The voice once tangled in ecstasy, the breath freely expelled under the excuse of the storm, now quieted.
Her eyes, completely unfocused and fixed on the ceiling, slowly closed.
Transparent tears slipped through her trembling eyelashes.
Male lead is a Divorced Husband
She said to him: “Tell me, what makes you like me? I’ll change it!”
Liu Changning transmigrated into a female cannon fodder character in a female-dominant novel.
After reading the first half of the novel’s plot, the first thing she did upon transmigration was to divorce the Pan Jinlian-style male protagonist she had just married.
She indulged herself, pretending to be ugly and poor.
But as time passed, the way that man looked at her became more and more unusual…
Liu Changning was dumbfounded: Tell me, what makes you like me? I’ll change!
――
This lifetime, Pei Yuanshao was rejected by the same woman twice!
The first time, she drove him away. Forced by the situation, he endured the waves of anger in his heart, yielding and humbling himself.
That person lay slanted on a rocking chair, her sallow face emotionless: “If you don’t want a divorce, go cook!”
Pei Yuanshao’s face was dark and gloomy: “You!”
The second time, after the crisis in Jinling City was resolved, the new emperor sent someone to pick him up. He turned around, stammering: “I… I have to go. If you keep me…”
That person lay on the kang bed, her back to him, as if she had long anticipated this day, crisp and clear: “Goodbye!”
Pei Yuanshao was so angry his fingers trembled: “You… you!”
The mission of family and country made him restrain himself, averting his eyes and turning to leave this broken household.
Two years later, they met again. Seeing her ethereal face, his body shook like a sieve.
“She was originally a ‘she’!”
At the Qionglin Banquet, the top scholar of the imperial examination, a talented person with exceptional speech and conduct, all the unmarried young gentlemen from aristocratic families looked at her with shy and timid eyes.
The peerless imperial official Pei Yuanshao felt the anger in his heart erupt. He pointed at the woman surrounded by the crowd at the Qionglin Banquet, his thin lips slightly curled: “Little sister, I wants that person to be the wife-master of my Mingde Prince Manor.”
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