A silver of pleasure

"Who are you and how do you know Jiang Lang?"

"Let me go!" Xu Ling struggled against the man's strong grip. Her ankle throbbed,it was a persistent most excruciating kind of pain, but she ignored it. "They're killing him in there!" Oh, heavens.

The memory of what she had seen was so sharp and brutal, it flashed behind her eyes like the glint of steel, the crimson bloom on white robes, the strangled gasps.

She swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat. The eerie silence in her mind offered no comfort now; instead, a raw terror clawed at her.

"Jiang Lang will be fine," the man said, his voice a low murmur. Ling had seen the sickening crack as his nose broke, only to witness it mend itself in an instant, leaving no trace of injury. Now, the man's hand left her waist, his fingers tracing the curve of her temple, gently pushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. "You'll see."

"No, I won't see!" she choked out, tears welling in her eyes. "Let me go, please!"

"As much as I dislike denying your request, I must. You were causing him undue distress."

"I was causing him undue distress? I wasn't the one wielding the blade! Now, release me!" Desperation lent her a fragile courage. She stilled her struggles and looked up at him, pleading in her gaze. His eyes were the color of a clear summer sky, his skin as pale as moonlight. His hair, a striking mix of dark ink and rich earth, framed a face of impossible beauty. He was like a jade carving brought to life, too perfect to be real. And all she craved was to escape his unsettling presence.

"Relax," he murmured, a slow, knowing smile curving his lips. It felt rehearsed, a practiced charm that even her naive heart recognized as such. "You have nothing to fear from me, little beauty. I am all about pleasure."

A surge of fury and fear, grief and frustration, lent her strength. She slapped him, the sound echoing in the tense air. He had stood by, he was a silent witness to Jiang Lang's brutal assault, and now he dared to flirt with her? She had every reason to fear him.

His smile vanished, replaced by a frown. "You struck me." Surprise colored his tone.

Ling slapped him again, harder this time. "Let. Me. Go!"

His frown deepened. He rubbed his cheek, his blue eyes fixed on her with a mixture of annoyance and something else she couldn't quite decipher. "Women do not strike me. They adore me."

She raised her hand again, ready to strike a third time.

He sighed, a sound of weary resignation. "Fine. Go then. Jiang Lang's cries have ceased. I doubt you can trouble him now, cold as he surely is." His arm dropped away from her.

Ling didn't hesitate. Freedom surged through her, and she bolted down the corridor, ignoring the sharp pain in her ankle. She burst into the room and stopped dead, her breath catching in her throat. The bed was a horrifying tableau of crimson, and a figure lay still and silent amidst the stained silk.

Oh, merciful heavens.

Jiang Lang's eyes were closed, his chest utterly motionless.

A sob tore from her, and she pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. Hot tears blurred her vision. "They killed you," she whispered, her voice thick with grief. She rushed to the bedside and cradled his face in her hands, tilting it gently. His eyelids remained stubbornly shut. No breath stirred his nostrils. His skin was already losing its warmth, the pallor of death creeping in.

She was too late.

How could someone so vibrant, so full of life, be extinguished so cruelly?

"Who is she?" a voice murmured.

Ling whirled around, startled. Jiang Lang's killers stood to the side, their voices low and conversational. How could she have forgotten them? Every few moments, their gazes flickered in her direction, yet none addressed her directly. They continued their discussion as if she were no more significant than a shadow. As if Jiang Lang's life held no value.

"We should take her to the city, but she has seen too much," a harsh voice cut through the quiet. It was the coldest, most devoid of emotion she had ever heard. "What was Jiang Lang thinking?"

"All this time, I lived under the same roof as him, and I never knew the torment he endured," Li Fan with his angelic face and emerald eyes said softly. He was clad entirely in black, his hands encased in gloves that reached his elbows. "Is it always like this?"

"Not always, no," the one who had wielded the sword replied, his voice was rough with a dark weariness. "He is usually more... accepting." His black eyes, sharp and intense, flickered towards Ling. "The woman..."

Murderer! The silent accusation screamed in Ling's mind. All her life, her strange sensitivity had brought her more sorrow than solace, forcing her to endure echoes of hatred and fear. And the one man who had offered her a sliver of peace had been brutally cut down.

Do something, Ling She scrubbed at her burning eyes with the back of her wrist, her legs trembling beneath her. But what could she do? They outnumbered her. They possessed a strength that felt otherworldly.

A man with intricate tattoos covering his face and arms frowned at her. His hair was cropped short, revealing two metal rings piercing his eyebrows. His lips were surprisingly soft and full, a stark contrast to the violent images etched onto his skin. He would have been handsome, in a dangerous, unsettling way, if not for the disturbing artwork that adorned him. Even his cheeks bore depictions of war and weaponry.

His eyes were the same striking violet as Jiang Lang's, yet they held no trace of warmth, only a chilling emptiness. Blood trickled from his nose as he rubbed his chin with two fingers. "We must decide what to do with the girl." That same cold, emotionless voice. "I do not like her presence here."

"Even so, Yan lie, we are forbidden to harm her." This new voice belonged to a man with hair as dark and lustrous as polished ink, framing a face marred by a tapestry of scars. His eyes were mismatched, one a deep brown, the other a startling blue. At first glance, he was grotesque, but a strange magnetism emanated from him, enhanced by the faint scent of roses that clung to the air around him. "By the morning light, she will be as she is now. Breathing and clothed."

"Just like Jiang Lang, always spoiling our amusements."

The dry voice came from behind her, and Ling gasped, spinning around. The pale, beautiful man stood in the doorway, his blue eyes fixed on her with a predatory hunger, as if he were undressing her bare with his gaze and finding pleasure in what he saw.

A shiver started at the crown of her head and raced down her spine to her toes. Bastards, every single one of them! Her gaze, wild with a dawning understanding of the danger she was in, fell upon the bloody sword carelessly discarded on the floor. The very weapon that had ended Jiang Lang's life as easily as slicing through silk.

"I want to know who she is," the tattooed , looking at Yan lie, he demanded. "And why Jiang Lang brought her here. He knows the rules."

"She must have been one of the mortals on the hill," the angelic-faced man said quietly, "but that still does not explain why he brought her into our sanctuary."