Chapter 667: NSFW
She whispered to the abyss, pleaded to be taken to the underworld, to be swallowed whole by oblivion. But the abyss did not answer. Even if it did Xiang Yu would hunt her soul down.
Then, the mirror appeared. Suspended in the air, framed in obsidian and bound by divine law, it pulsed with a cold light. Her soul, ragged and screaming, was pulled into its surface, not with force, but inevitability. Chains of shadow wrapped around her limbs, dragging her into the prison of reflection.
Inside, time did not exist. Only torment.
Her head hung low, the chains biting into her spirit. When she finally raised her gaze, she saw him, her father. Pale and hollow with patches of his soul missing, his eyes dim with years of suffering. He did not speak. He did not blink. He simply suffered the torment.
And beside him was the woman Peng Xiu had never met. It was their mother.
She was yanking at her own chains, tears streaming down her translucent face. "I had a family," she cried. "Take me back. I had a life. A happy life."
But the mirror did not listen. It only reflected pain and endless torture.
Peng Xiu’s torment had only begun. And in that eternal prison, surrounded by the echoes of her bloodline’s suffering, she understood. Her obsession was Han Xin but Xiang Yu’s obessesion was subjecting them all to eternal torment.
***
Han Xin stepped into the girls’ bedroom, a cozy room filled with plush cushions, scattered books, and the scent of lavender incense curling through the air. Though the palace had countless rooms, Lian and Mei always chose to share one—inseparable as twin stars in orbit.
Inside, chaos reigned.
"You are cheating!" Lian shouted, pointing dramatically at the board.
Mei rolled her eyes, flicking a game piece across the floor. "You are just stupid, that’s what!"
Han Xin blinked. "..."
He cleared his throat. "Care to have a referee?"
From the warmth of his arms, Han Jingxi stretched his chubby hands toward the table, eyes gleaming with mischief. It was the universal baby signal: Dada, let me go!
Han Xin obliged.
In an instant, Jingxi was on top of the table, tiny feet stomping across the game, scattering pieces like confetti. Lian and Mei gasped but not in horror. They burst into laughter, already reaching for ribbons and miniature robes.
"Let’s dress him up!" Mei squealed.
Jingxi sat proudly, basking in the attention, his little face glowing with joy.
"He is staying here tonight," Han Xin announced.
"Sleepover!" the girls screamed in unison.
Jingxi raised his hands, mimicking their excitement, his giggles echoing like bells.
Han Xin crouched beside him. "Be good for your sisters."
Jingxi gave him a look, wide-eyed, innocent, and smug. I am the most adorable thing in the world. I would never misbehave.
Han Xin chuckled and stood, leaving the room with a spring in his step. Tonight, he had plans and they involved his husband. Absolutely no interruptions were allowed.
NSFW
The room was different. Han Xin paused in the doorway, a towel slung over his shoulder, droplets of water still tracing paths down his chest. The usual soft, golden glow was gone, replaced by a deep, throbbing crimson that painted every surface.
Dozens of red lanterns hung from the ceiling and corners, casting long, suggestive shadows that seemed to breathe with the flickering light. The air itself felt heavier, warmer, saturated with the faint, sweet scent of sandalwood incense. It was a den of pure, unadulterated desire.
And at its center, on the edge of their wide bed, was the source. Xiang Yu.
He was a vision crafted from the very light that bathed him. He wore a red silk robe, the exact shade of the lanterns, but it was his posture that stole the air from Han Xin’s lungs.
He was sitting up, back straight, but there was a yielding curve to his spine, an offering in the way his head was slightly tilted. He looked like a feast laid out for him to devour.
Han Xin’s steps were quiet on the polished floor, but they weren’t hesitant. Each one was measured, a predator finally closing in on prey that had been teasing him for miles.
The damp ends of his long hair brushed his bare shoulders and the exposed skin of his chest where his own dark silk robe hung open.
He had forgone tying it, and his matching silk pants sat low on his hips. He could feel his own pulse everywhere. In his throat, his wrists, his aching cock, which was already straining against the flimsy barrier of his trousers.
Xiang Yu’s eyes, dark and shining, tracked his every move. Then, with a slowness that was pure torture, he lifted a hand. His fingers hooked into the lapel of his own red robe. And he pulled.
The silk didn’t just fall open. It slid. Like warm butter, like liquid sin, it whispered away from his body, pooling around his elbows. It revealed the strong column of his throat, the elegant dip of his collarbones, and the powerful, defined plane of his chest.
And there, covering his skin in intricate, beautiful designs, were the ancient patterns of his lineage. The dark ink seemed to writhe in the red light, a living tapestry of history and strength that made him utterly, devastatingly seductive.
A low groan rattled in Han Xin’s chest. His eyes fell to a low table beside the bed, where a length of soft, red rope lay coiled. His hand snapped out, grabbing it. The veins on the back of his hand stood out, throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
The need to just take, to press Xiang Yu down into the mattress and worship every inch of him with his mouth and his hands and his cock was a physical pain. But he wanted this to last. He wanted to devour him slowly.
He moved to stand before Xiang Yu, the rope clutched in his fist. He reached out with his other hand, cupping his husband’s cheek. The skin was impossibly smooth, heated. "Let me know if it’s too tight, babe," he murmured, his voice already rough, graveled with desire.
Xiang Yu leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a second before opening again, alight with mischief and promise. A slow, wicked smile graced his lips. "I will let you know, my love," he breathed.
Then he turned his head just enough to catch Han Xin’s thumb between his teeth. It wasn’t a bite, not really. It was a gentle pressure, a nibble, his tongue flicking against the pad of Han Xin’s thumb in a tiny, devastating kiss.
That was it. The last thread of control snapped.