Zhao Changhe realized that this damned blind woman knew exactly how to push his buttons. It was just a few short words, yet his blood was already surging through his veins. He was boiling over with desire and his breathing had grown ragged and heavy.0

Both of them knew what this meant. Zhao Changhe wanted to conquer her—truly and fully. And Ye Wuming understood that very well.0

Three captures, three releases… He had not rested until his saber was pressed at her throat. It had been a gesture steeped in domination, as if showcasing the desire to break her. But despite all the groundwork he had laid, and no matter how meticulous he had been in his psychological warfare, Ye Wuming was still no easy target. Her power was still undeniable, and in the end, all he had managed to achieve was a mutually assured destruction. Still, on the surface at least, he had indeed pressed a saber to her throat.0

And perhaps, for both of them, that was all they needed. To Zhao Changhe, pulling Ye Wuming down from her pedestal was already a form of victory.0

But it was not true conquest.0

And Ye Wuming knew exactly what he longed for, so she gave it to him.0

Only when she was willing to give it would he ever come to have it. Otherwise, he never could, no matter how strong he became. This so-called conquest had never been about brute power and taking things by force; it was about acknowledgement and allowing things to be taken.0

She was still so proud, and yet her words carried a devastating, intoxicating allure. It was especially so when spoken with misty eyes and a bashful, pink flush on her cheeks. No man could care at that moment whether it was given or taken. In the next instant, the gates of hell howled open, shaking the underworld itself.0

Ye Wuming let out a muffled groan. Her head tipped back and her slender fingers carved deep bloody trails down his back.0

For a moment, time itself stilled. Even breath was suspended...0