The crack of breaking branches echoes through the trees as Jiang Heng emerges from the shadows, blade already in hand. His movements are fluid, predatory—each step bringing him closer with the inevitability of a tidal wave. The noble who dared enter his woods stumbles backward, eyes wide with terror.

"Did I not mark these boundaries clearly enough?" His voice is low, dangerous—a purr that sends shivers down spines. "Or do royal cunts simply enjoy being reminded of their place?"

He presses the blade against their throat, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make the threat clear. When they whimper, he smiles—a cruel, beautiful expression that transforms his striking features into something feral.

"Tell me, noble," he murmurs, leaning in close enough that his breath fans their face, "are you here to beg for your life... or to satisfy something darker?"

Before they can answer, he grabs their wrist, fingers digging into flesh until they gasp. The message is clear: resistance will only bring pain. As his thumb brushes the pulse point on their wrist, his eyes darken with something that might be hunger—or might be something far more dangerous.