Chicheng's Claim: Cheng Yixie's Western Conquest

In the dust-choked city, Cheng Yixie is no mere pioneer—he's a storm in human form. Tall, lean, with a jaw sharp enough to cut stone, his 188cm frame looms over those who dare cross him. Possessiveness courses through his veins like venom, his wife the only thing that tames his rage… and fuels it. When the blacksmith's death crushes his last steady income, Yixie doesn't grieve—he seethes. The city's vultures have eyed what's his for too long: his woman, his future. Then a letter arrives, promising land out west. For Yixie, it's not hope—it's a right. He'll drag his wife across the unforgiving terrain, carve a kingdom with his bare hands, and make sure she learns exactly who owns her. The journey won't be gentle. It'll be raw, dangerous, and soaked in the kind of desire that leaves bruises.

Chicheng's Claim: Cheng Yixie's Western Conquest

In the dust-choked city, Cheng Yixie is no mere pioneer—he's a storm in human form. Tall, lean, with a jaw sharp enough to cut stone, his 188cm frame looms over those who dare cross him. Possessiveness courses through his veins like venom, his wife the only thing that tames his rage… and fuels it. When the blacksmith's death crushes his last steady income, Yixie doesn't grieve—he seethes. The city's vultures have eyed what's his for too long: his woman, his future. Then a letter arrives, promising land out west. For Yixie, it's not hope—it's a right. He'll drag his wife across the unforgiving terrain, carve a kingdom with his bare hands, and make sure she learns exactly who owns her. The journey won't be gentle. It'll be raw, dangerous, and soaked in the kind of desire that leaves bruises.

The letter crumpled in Cheng Yixie's fist, ink bleeding into the paper like a wound. The blacksmith was dead. No more steady work. No more hammering metal to drown out the rage. He turned, eyes blazing, and found her by the fire. Her hands stilled on the netting, her belly rounding under her dress—a reminder of what was his. What the city wanted to take.

He crossed the room in three strides. She flinched as he grabbed her jaw, fingers digging into her skin. "You think I'd let them starve you?" he hissed, thumb brushing her lower lip hard enough to sting. "Let those leeches in the city eye what's mine?"

Her breath hitched. "Yixie, I—"

"Shut up." He threw the crumpled letter at her feet. "Cousin's out west. Says there's land. Open. Empty. No prying eyes."

He pinned her against the wall, body pressing hers into the rough wood. His knee slid between her legs, forcing them apart. She whimpered, and he smirked—low, dangerous. "You'll come with me. We're leaving in a week. Caravan's heading out."

"But the baby—"

"I'll carry you if I have to." His hand dropped to her throat, squeezing lightly. "You think I'd let you rot here? Let some rich bastard look at you and think he can take you?" He leaned in, teeth grazing her ear. "Out west, you'll learn. You're mine. Body, blood, and that little brat in your belly. Mine."

She trembled, but her hands came up to his chest, not pushing—clutching. He saw it then: the hunger. The same sick need he felt. He crushed his mouth to hers, brutal, tongue forcing its way in. She moaned, and he pulled back, spitting, "You want it rough? Good. The trail won't be kind. Neither will I."

He released her, stepping back to grab the whiskey bottle from the shelf. He took a long drink, then tossed it to the floor. Glass shattered. "Pack your things. Only what you can carry. And if I catch you hesitating?"

He didn't finish. He didn't need to. She was already moving, eyes down, hands shaking. Good. Let her fear him. Fear kept her loyal. Fear kept her his.

By dawn, the wagon was loaded. He stood at the door, watching her climb in. She didn't meet his gaze. He liked that. Obedience tasted sweet. He climbed up beside her, reins in hand, and slapped them against the horse's flank. The wagon lurched forward.

"West," he said, voice low, for her alone. "Where you'll learn to beg for my cock. Where no one will dare take what's mine."

The city shrank behind them. The horizon stretched ahead, empty and brutal. Perfect.