Chapter 5

“Heh.”

Wen Jianxin laughed—a laugh laced with scorn and hatred. Her head lifted proudly, her eyes burning like starlight, yet the words that followed were cutting enough to draw blood.

“Cripple. Your body’s broken, your mind’s just as twisted. You want to play games? Fine, I’ll play along. Just don’t let me see that leg of yours—I find it disgusting.”

Without sparing him another glance, she braced herself with her uninjured arm and sat up. Gripping the blade lodged in her arm, she pulled it free in one smooth motion. Blood spurted out, but not once did her expression twitch.

She knew all too well—this pain was nothing. Worse pain was waiting for her soon enough.

She no longer counted on her family to save her.

Everything, she would bear alone.

And she’d already made peace with it. She wouldn’t die from this. Pain was just pain—she could endure it.

As long as she sent him to hell before she broke, it would all be worth it.

“Cripple…”

Xú Wangzhi mouthed the word to himself, his eyes half-lidded, as if savoring some secret connection hidden inside that insult.

His gaze lingered on her dazzling, defiant eyes, a strange stirring rising in his chest.

They were extraordinarily beautiful eyes, their pale, misty silver-gray the result of lacking pigment—eyes that gave the illusion she was gazing at you with aching tenderness.

But Xu Wangzhi knew it was only an illusion.

The restless hunger inside him didn’t fade. It stretched, grew, consumed.

For one fleeting instant, he even thought about treating her well.

He wondered if they could live like ordinary husband and wife.

Not breaking her pride, not testing her limits—just cherishing her, spoiling her, until those luminous eyes held only him.

The thought was fragile, fleeting. Reality crushed it the very next second.

Wen Jianxin turned away from him with naked disgust, clutching her chest as though to stifle the nausea.

“Don’t look at me with those sticky, filthy eyes. It’s revolting.”

Exactly the same kind of look she’d endured from him since childhood—always obscene, always grotesque.

Xu Wangzhi’s gaze went cold in an instant. He mocked himself for that brief lapse of softness.

Of course. He should have known. Unless it was absolutely necessary, there was no room for mercy with her.

Every time he softened, she shattered his delusion without hesitation, forcing him to retaliate with merciless cruelty, grinding her into submission until only he filled her world.

Only then could he see his reflection in her eyes.

Only then could he be sure she truly belonged to him.

By now, tormenting her wasn’t just pleasure. It was necessity.

It was proof of possession. It was the hollow satisfaction of conquest.

The thought curved his lips into a genuine smile. He stepped toward her, his voice hoarse, heavy with insinuation.

“Since you’re so eager, let’s begin…”

Wen Jianxin never remembered how she endured that day.

She only knew it hurt. It hurt so much that even recalling it made her very soul tremble.

He hadn’t treated her like a human being—worse than livestock.

No one would torment an animal like that. No one would torture a living person so savagely.

After that day, she collapsed, bedridden for more than a month.

Her body bore no visible wounds anymore, but the pain lingered—searing into her bones.

She understood: he wanted her to beg, to show weakness. That was why he hurt her like that.

But she would never beg. She would only despise him more.

A man who only knew how to bully women was nothing but a coward.

No—that was too kind. He wasn’t even worthy of being called a coward.

Even if it killed her, she would never beg him for mercy!

The bedroom door creaked open. A small head peeked inside.

Hearing the sound, Wen Jianxin lifted her head.

At the door stood Xu Wangzhi’s elder brother’s daughter, Xu Zheqian, smiling shyly at her.

By now, Wen Jianxin had no fondness left for anyone in the Xu family. Even the little girl’s timid smile stirred no warmth in her heart. She merely withdrew her gaze, her cold indifference making her rejection plain.

The child’s smile faltered. She gripped the doorframe, her little face crumpling with grievance, and called softly:

“Little Auntie…”

Wen Jianxin jolted like a cat with its tail stepped on. Her eyes turned sharp, her voice a harsh warning.

“Shut up! I am not your aunt!”

Xu Zheqian flinched at her fierceness, retreating a few steps. Her face went pale. She wanted to run, yet forced herself to stay, stammering nervously as she tried to show concern.

“L-little Auntie… are you sick? You don’t look well…”

She remembered her mother’s words before leaving the house: Your little aunt is sick. Don’t disturb her. Just greet her, ask how she is, then leave right away so she can rest. That way she’ll get better sooner—and marry your little uncle.

Understanding dawned, and the fear faded from the child’s face, replaced with worry. She took a few steps closer, speaking with the seriousness of a little adult.

“Little Auntie, I know you’re sick. You didn’t mean to be mean to me. Take your medicine and get better soon. I’ll go now, I won’t bother you. I’ll come visit another day.”

She turned to leave, but her steps were heavy with reluctance.

Her little aunt was so beautiful—she really liked her.

Just a short visit, and she already didn’t want to go.

But it was fine. Once Little Aunt married Little Uncle, she could see her every day.

The thought cheered her instantly, and she skipped away happily.

But when she saw her little uncle emerging from the stairwell, she stopped at once, schooling her face into ladylike composure.

“Little Uncle, I’ve finished visiting Little Aunt. I’ll go downstairs now.”

Her mother had told her: whenever her little uncle was near her little aunt, she must leave immediately. Otherwise, her uncle would be angry.

She had to listen, to be a good girl—only then would everyone love her.

Xu Wangzhi gave her a faint nod.

“Mm.”

His gaze shifted to the door left slightly ajar. A deep, unreadable look passed through his eyes.

Since that day, he hadn’t seen her for over a month.

The Xu and Wen families had been bound together for generations. Otherwise, they never would have given their youngest daughter to him.

As long as he didn’t go too far, neither family would interfere.

But the last incident had been too much. His aunt had sought him out, warning him to mind his actions—for the family’s reputation, if nothing else.

If he drove her to desperation and caused a scandal, even she wouldn’t be able to protect him.

He’d agreed easily. But it wasn’t true obedience—only a pause, giving Wen Jianxin time to recover.

He’d gone too far, nearly killed her. The thought left a chill of unease in his chest. He didn’t dare push again—yet.

Not because he was afraid of losing control. Not because he feared her death.

But because she hadn’t fallen for him yet.

She couldn’t die. Not until she loved him.

“Wen Jianxin…”

He rolled her name on his tongue, his brow knotting tight.

The pain in his skull was worse than any battlefield wound. She was harder to conquer than any enemy.

Since childhood, no matter how he tried to please her, she’d never once given him the light of her smile.

He remembered once sewing a dress for her with his own hands, only for her to dismiss it as disgusting and walk away without even touching it.

That moment had frozen him to the bone, his heart plunged into icy water, stripped of all warmth.

And he had made his decision then.

Never again would he try to please her.

That was when the twisted, toxic bond between them began.

But he never knew—she had seen what he did with that very dress, something unspeakable, shameful.

She had only been a child.

Ten years old, perhaps?

At that age, she was just beginning to understand the world. To witness that—it had carved a wound in her young heart deeper than he could imagine.

The fact she hadn’t spat on him every single time they met was already mercy enough. Expecting her kindness?

Wake up. Stop dreaming.