Eventually, as Olivia filled Cryer’s vision completely, the raging aura around him disappeared as though it had been washed away.
“Heh, heh.”
Unaware that she had stopped breathing, Olivia managed to let out a breath with a gasping sound, unknowingly reaching for her throat.
Once, then again… no, hadn’t her throat been cut by his hand four times?
Perhaps her frantic scratching at her throat was instinctive.
Cryer carefully took her hands in his own.
Her small, fragile hands in his were as cold as a corpse’s, constantly shaking.
That’s why Cryer couldn’t bear to look directly at her.
Hadn’t he sworn not to hurt her?
Even though he hadn’t hurt her…
Cryer reached out to Olivia.
At this, Olivia did shudder slightly, but soon she looked straight at him, her eyes wide open.
Her blue eyes burned like flames, reducing to ashes the viscous things boiling in his crimson eyes for a moment.
Just like purification.
Then Cryer, who had carefully lifted her in his arms and laid her on the sofa, knelt before her.
He moved slowly, very slowly, as if reassuring a wary stray cat with its fur standing on end.
Holding her pale and soft, yet trembling hands, Cryer whispered as if confessing.
“I’m sorry.”
He apologized many times.
Without any excuses or grand words, he just repeated his sincere apologies.
Olivia looked down at his silver hair.
This wasn’t the first time she looked down at him.
Because when he swore for her, he kneeled before her without hesitation.
But, very oddly…
Despite feeling threatened, being terrified, and even now still trembling, wasn’t she the one trembling?
Then why did it seem like Cryer was crying?
Feeling unbearable, Olivia opened her mouth.
“It’s… it’s okay. I know it wasn’t meant for me. Just, you were too powerful and it surprised me.”
She shook her head with a dry laugh.
“I guess I should worry about the tournament opponents. Among them, some I’ve known since they were young….”
While Olivia was rambling, Cryer’s gaze was scanning her neck.
Although her nails were short and smooth for document handling, and thus despite the fierce scratching there was no visible blood, the swollen nail marks were swelling up like a brand.
“Ah… did I not tell you? I’ve had my throat cut by you and died, every time.”
Feeling his gaze, Olivia too awkwardly reached to touch her neck and hesitated.
When her fingertips brushed the swollen area, a weak pain surged.
Quietly taking her hand in his, Cryer just hung his head.
Looking at him, who seemed to be repenting, Olivia cursed at herself.
Why did I bring up the fact that I’ve died!
With the awkward silence flowing, Olivia said anything that came to mind.
“I’m not that weak.”
At her words, Cryer finally lifted his head slowly and asked with a puzzled look.
“Weak?”
“No, I mean, I’m not such a coward.”
She had blurted out “weak” since the Bolshevik historical book referred to a timid and fainthearted person as ‘weak.’
Olivia subtly pulled her hand out of his grasp, grabbed the shaking hair from her collarbone, covered her neck and continued speaking.
“I’m not going to tremble like this just because I’ve been exposed to a bit of aura.”
“Yes.”
Cryer acquiesced without a word, but somehow Olivia wasn’t satisfied with his response.
“You know, too. I’ve been through war four times.”
How many people had died before her eyes?
Countless times she had trodden on mountains of corpses, crossed rivers of blood.
A woman like her wouldn’t be brought to her knees by just a couple of attacks.
Cryer nodded his head calmly again, and Olivia, letting out a long sigh, added.
“Because it’s you.”
If a layman heard it, might it not sound exciting?
Because it is you, and no one else.
But the past shared between Olivia and Cryer wasn’t so beautiful.
It might be different if it was the smell of blood that lingered.
“So in the future, when we move together, if it’s not you but other guys rushing in, I won’t be frozen like this. Don’t worry.”
Olivia, who tapped on his bulging arm, flinched her neck where his gaze lingered.
Perhaps this red mark won’t fade away so easily.
Olivia opened her mouth, exhaling.
“And don’t worry about the mark on this neck, it’s going to last.”
If he keeps watching her like that during her recovery period…
Olivia emphatically stressed again.
“Don’t worry.”
Although the mark was not going to heal in a split second, it wasn’t so severe that it would cause alarm over the long term.
Instead of responding, Cryer asked a question.
“It’s going to last?”
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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