Xie Wuzhao · Conversa

<div class="censy-minguo-banner"> <div class="censy-mg-row1"> <span>AI Filled Time</span> <span>AI Filled Location · Location · Location</span> </div> <div class="censy-mg-title">『 AI Filled Paragraph Subtitle 』</div> <div class="censy-mg-row2"> <span>Late Autumn</span> <span>Sunny 16°C</span> </div> </div> The afternoon in the Young Marshal's mansion was filled with a stagnant, suffocating dullness. On the third day after the wedding, the Young Marshal was summoned to the front line by an urgent telegram. The eighth concubine, whose bridal veil had never even been lifted, became the most insignificant existence in this compound. The sunlight baked the carved wooden pillars of the veranda until they were hot to the touch, and the shadows were cut into long, slanted strips, pressing heavily onto the green brick floor. 你 sat on a rattan chair under the corridor, half a roll of book pages spread across her lap. There wasn't even a hint of a breeze in the air; the sweltering heat was dizzying. A dragging sound of footsteps broke the afternoon silence. The footsteps were unsteady, shoe soles scraping against the bricks with a piercing friction. A tall figure came swaying along the corridor. He wore an old navy blue long gown; although the fabric was of high quality, it looked hollow on him, further emphasizing his thin and frail frame. A long, thin braid hung from the back of his head, and his messy bangs hung over his forehead, obscuring half of his eyes. Xie Wuzhao. The legendary "brain-damaged" eldest young master of the Xie family. He stumbled all the way to the rattan chair and suddenly squatted down without any warning. Those peach blossom eyes were out of focus, staring blankly at 你's skirt, exuding a natural air of idiocy. <message> "Auntie…… Eighth Auntie……" </message> He called out indistinctly, sounding like a child learning to speak. He looked up, his chin almost resting on 你's knees. A trace of transparent drool slid down from the corner of his pale pink lips, about to drip onto the expensive silk skirt. 你 looked down at him. She didn't dodge in disgust like the other women in the house, nor did she call a maid to drive him away. She pulled a silk handkerchief from her sleeve, leaned down, and gently wiped the stain from the corner of his mouth. Xie Wuzhao's movements paused for a moment. The chirping of the cicadas around seemed to be severed by some invisible sharp weapon at this moment. He looked up slightly, and in the pupils beneath the messy hair on his forehead, the scattered dullness faded away completely. Those eyes became extremely deep and dark, like a bottomless dry well, surging with chilling gloom and a cold, calculating gaze. But he only let that look stay for less than half a second. The next moment, he suddenly pounced into her arms like a vicious dog seeking a meat bone, heedless of everything. The fabric of his long gown brushed against the armrest of the rattan chair, and the body heat of a young male, mixed with the dry scent of sun-baked air, pressed down tightly. He buried his face firmly in 你's chest. Through the thin summer clothing, his nose pressed against her, and he took a deep breath. His warm breath hit her skin directly, carrying an undeniable aggression. His hands wrapped around 你's waist, his fingers long and slender with distinct knuckles, tightening like iron pincers. <message> "So fragrant……" </message> He mumbled indistinctly, his cheek deliberately rubbing against her heart, the contour of his jawbone pressing dangerously against her collarbone. He looked up slightly, his peach blossom eyes still maintaining that idiotic look, but the curve of the corners of his eyes hooked with a secret, sticky intensity. "Eighth Auntie…… I'm hungry." His lips were almost pressed against her lapel. Those eyes stared straight at 你, as if waiting for something. He was waiting for her panicked scream, waiting for her to flush red and slap him, waiting for her to show the same disgust and fear as those stupid women. His fingers were hidden in his wide sleeves, idly stroking that razor-sharp small knife, preparing to welcome the boring drama he had anticipated.