Chapter 437: Chapter 435: Seize Her Before His Coffin
A tall, slender figure appeared before the mourning hall.
Lu Ying stood with his hands behind his back, gazing at the delicate, thin woman kneeling upon the ground.
After a moment, he raised his hand, signaling the maids serving inside the mourning hall to withdraw.
He looked at Shen Yinning’s swollen, tear-stained phoenix eyes, and spoke softly: "You have shed tears for him."
The night wind swept in, stirring the white funeral banners so they shivered and fluttered.
Shen Yinning braced one hand against the pitch-black coffin, her face half-turned down: "Even now...I still refuse to believe he is truly gone."
Lu Ying stepped forward slowly, entering.
He knelt beside Shen Yinning on one knee and reached out, gently caressing the rim of her reddened eyes: "He accompanied you through three years in Gan State. I know the deep bond you share from enduring hardships together—no one else can compare. But that person is gone now, and all Zhaozhao can do is accept it."
Three years in Gan State...
Shen Yinning lowered her lashes, countless memories flickering through her mind.
She sat in a rocking chair amidst flower vines, a book covering her face, listening to Cui Ji practicing the Central Plains dialect beside her...
She brought Cui Ji to the shops in the city, personally selecting for him the clothes to journey to the Capital for the imperial examination...
By moonlight, she and Cui Ji shared a quiet drink, playing chess, matching wits...
Bit by bit, she had taken that poor, penniless scholar and shaped him into who he was now.
And he had done her proud, guarding her unceasingly these past two years in the Capital, ever loyal to her, seeking out volcanic Ganoderma to turn her hair white overnight, presenting the Red Book Iron Certificate for her protection.
He had long ceased to be merely a piece in her game of vengeance.
He was her family!
After her entire household was exterminated, he was the only one who protected her unconditionally and without reservation.
She squeezed her eyes shut, and finally two lines of pearly tears slipped freely down her cheeks, hopelessly uncontrolled.
Lu Ying’s narrow eyes darkened, heavy with gloom.
The pad of his finger met her tears—scorching hot, as though burning into his heart.
He drew the maiden into his arms.
He pressed down his contorted jealousy with every ounce of strength, his voice growing more gentle and sweet: "Though Cui Ji has died, I shall protect you in her stead. Zhaozhao, let me take care of you, yes? For the past, I already admit my faults—from now on, I wish to care for you."
The man’s chest was broad and powerful.
Since ascending the throne these past days, though beset by endless affairs of state, he had never once neglected training in sword, archery, or horsemanship.
The masculine scent unique to men pervaded the mourning hall, winding itself tightly around Shen Yinning, at once soothing and invasive, tangible threads burrowing into her every inch of skin; even the gaze he cast down from above seared with irrepressible heat and dominance.
The sovereign robbing his subject of his wife.
A brother seizing his brother’s wife.
Shen Yinning lifted tear-soaked lashes, catching with perfect clarity the possessiveness burning in his eyes.
She slowly shook her head, attempting to break free of Lu Ying.
Yet Lu Ying’s broad palm clamped immovably around her slender waist, pressing her firmly against the coffin.
His breath grew heavy: "Zhaozhao..."
Shen Yinning’s eyes, ringed with red, voice hoarse: "Lu Ying, do not force me to hate you."
"I cannot bear to see you shedding tears for him..." His rough hand wiped away the tears from her face; he leaned in, dropping kisses, gentle and lingering, upon her brow, eyes, and lips. "Zhaozhao, my heart aches for you."
The young Emperor, dressed in dark robes and golden hairpin, bones and features as refined as gold and jade, his cold countenance seemingly ignited with fire—even his dignified, solitary bearing was tainted by desire.
The voluminous sleeves of his black dragon-patterned robe fell in layers beside Shen Yinning, like a peerless, solitary black dragon entwining a fragile blossom of haitang, intent on swallowing her whole.
"Zhaozhao, my heart aches for you..."
His kiss fell once more upon the little white flower adorning her hair.
Though his touch was tender and lingering, there surged in his lowered gaze toward that flower a restless, violent malice.
As if reveling in Cui Ji’s death.
He curled the edge of his thin lips, hiding the malice in his eyes, and murmured to the delicate flower imprisoned in his arms: "Zhaozhao is the most shrewd girl—for nothing else, in the Capital you must find another protector, no? In this vast Capital, apart from me, who could stand as your shield?"
He pressed her against the coffin.
Beauty like jade, soft and fragrant.
The aggression emanating from Lu Ying intensified, his very breath roughening further.
"Lu Ying!" Shen Yinning struggled, fiercely shoving at his chest. She slapped him across the face. "Are you mad?! This is a mourning hall! I am already Cui Ji’s woman, and here you force yourself upon me before his coffin—do you truly care nothing for the morals, norms, and rites of humanity?!"
Moral bonds of humanity.
Rules and rites.
Lu Ying’s eyes gleamed scarlet, mocking: "I remember, Zhaozhao never cared for such things before, always complaining I was too bound by convention... Now, for Cui Ji, you’ve learned to value rules and rites with me."
Shen Yinning’s face was ghastly pale.
Lu Ying plucked out the little white flower from her hair and threw the hairpin that bound up her tresses onto the ground.
The night wind swept in; the woman’s dress was pure white mourning garb, her long hair like flowing silk now in wild disarray, painting in the dim hall a slender, shimmering, heartbreakingly fragile silhouette—like a stray duckweed adrift, rootless.
Her hands pinned high above her head by Lu Ying, her upper body forced to recline against the coffin; as her belt slipped away, her snowy-white mourning clothes also slid to the ground.
She gritted her teeth, nearly breaking down: "Lu Ying!"
"I, have already been led astray by Shen Zhaozhao."
Lu Ying leaned in.
The candles flickered in and out.
The man’s dragon robe draped down, hiding the unsightly scene beneath.
Yet the wanton sounds of water echoed through the room, a clear reminder to Shen Yinning that once again she had been violated by Lu Ying.
He took her, here in front of Cui Ji’s coffin and within his mourning hall.
"Shen Zhaozhao delights most in the collapse of rites and music..."
Amid the darkness, the man’s narrowed eyes were somber, his voice raspy.
"Let me accompany you—to defy all rites and order, together with you."
The pitch-black coffin lay beneath her.
The woman was forced to endure the Emperor’s intimacy.
Shen Yinning’s eyes burned red but she could not escape; her words of insult were stifled by Lu Ying, and in the vast mourning hall only ambiguous sounds echoed, making Haitang and the others waiting outside blush to the ears.
A bright moon hung high in the night sky.
Candlelight flickered.
Shen Yinning slid weakly to the floor, crimson marks trailing down from her neck, ravishing and conspicuous.
She trembled as she tried to crawl away, but Lu Ying caught her ankle with a sigh from behind.
He sat, clothes neat and cross-legged, tenderly stroking her ankle in his palm, as if admiring a peerless treasure of the world.
Shen Yinning turned her back to him, shaking all over, her brows furrowed, tears falling like broken pearls: "Lu Ying, let me go..."
Utterly exhausted, she knew this young Emperor was unmoved by resistance, so she begged him in a low voice.
Lu Ying pulled her into his arms.
Ignoring her cries of sorrow, he possessed her yet again.
With her long hair twined in his hand, he forced her to lift her torso.
He looked down upon her, golden hairpin and dark robes, as cold and solitary as carved jade, yet with savage crimson violence swirling in his eyes.
Both a sigh and a sneer, both mercy and derision: "Zhaozhao, I do all this because I love you."