Moroha hadn’t expected the pale girl before him to smile, her voice calm and composed. He stared, taken aback, as Yao Ji’s smile grew more certain. “Moroha, do you take me for a fool?” Did he truly believe a few casual provocations would sow discord between her and Zong Jun?

Besides, even if Zong Jun had delayed rescuing her to quell the rebellion, Yao Ji wouldn’t blame him. Zong Jun was the Great Lord of the Youjin Tribe. He had a responsibility to his people as well as to his wife. If anyone deserved blame, Yao Ji’s gaze fell upon Moroha, shouldn't it be the one who caused this whole ordeal?

Moroha hadn’t expected such fortitude from Yao Ji. In his mind, this Han Chinese girl had always been simple, almost foolishly so. So delicate and fragile, he'd assumed a few threats would leave her distraught.

He couldn’t have foreseen this. Perhaps the sheltered Princess of Xincheng might have reacted as he’d expected, but Yao Ji was the Celestial Emperor’s daughter. Years of exposure to courtly life had not only broadened her understanding but also forged a resilience within her, hidden beneath her gentle exterior.

“What do you want?” Yao Ji asked again, her voice sharp. “Moroha.”

What did he want? Moroha pondered darkly. He wanted revenge on Zong Jun. He wanted him dead. His plan was simple: kidnap Zong Jun’s beloved. If Zong Jun came to rescue Yao Ji, he could use her life as leverage, forcing Zong Jun to take his own life.

If Zong Jun didn’t come… His gaze drifted to Yao Ji. Then, naturally, he would kill her. It would sever the ties between the Youjin Tribe and the Great Yan Dynasty, and he would also eliminate Zong Jun’s heir.

He had meticulously rehearsed this plan countless times, never wavering.

Yet, he couldn’t deny a strange flicker of something else for Yao Ji. He still hadn’t deciphered this unusual interest. She bore Zong Jun’s mark, a symbol of his deepest hatred, yet sometimes, he felt like a fool, drawn to her against his will.

When Hu Lan had tried to manipulate him with her sweet words, Moroha had scoffed at her stupidity. That woman was perhaps even more foolish than Yao Ji. But when he’d feigned anger at Hu Lan’s insults toward Yao Ji, he hadn't been sure if he was acting or genuinely enraged by Hu Lan’s disrespect.

He had easily deceived Hu Lan, using her to abduct Yao Ji from the golden tent. Hu Lan was likely dead by now. As for Yao Ji…

A smile crept across his devastatingly handsome face, a smile tinged with something sinister. “You want to know the answer?” His fingers traced a path down her cheek. Yao Ji instinctively tried to swat his hand away, but her weakened arm was easily caught, his fingers caressing her delicate wrist.

“I want you,” he murmured, his voice a low chuckle.

Whatever this feeling was, and regardless of its origin, Moroha thought indifferently, if he was drawn to this woman, he might as well indulge himself. His intention had always been to seek revenge on Zong Jun. Sleeping with his woman… what greater humiliation could there be?

“You’re mad!” Yao Ji struggled desperately, but the drug Moroha had administered robbed her of her strength. She was trapped beneath him, utterly helpless.

“This is Zong Jun’s debt,” Moroha said, the amusement in his eyes turning icy. His fingers moved over Yao Ji, ripping her skirt with a harsh tear.

He yanked her ankle, pulling her closer. Panic seized Yao Ji. Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded, “Don’t do this, please… I have a child. You can’t do this…”

“Child?” A sharp pang pierced his heart, yet his hands moved faster, stripping away her clothes until only her undergarments remained, offering little cover for her snow-white skin.

A child. Zong Jun’s child… Moroha wanted to sneer, but looking at the small, pale face beneath him, the sneer wouldn't come.

He should have been exhilarated, on the verge of humiliating Zong Jun and satisfying his own hidden desires. Yet, a chilling coldness washed over him. Even with such beauty before him, his mind was a chaotic mess, his chest aching with a strange pain.

A real pain now shot through Yao Ji. “It hurts…” she gasped, clutching at his arm, beads of sweat rolling down her forehead. “It hurts…”

Moroha’s gaze sharpened. Through the thin fabric of her undergarments, he saw a faint stain of blood blooming between her legs.