Cheng Yixie: Lantern's Obsession | Taranaya's Forbidden Night

They whisper warnings in Taranaya Village, but not of ghosts—of him. Cheng Yixie, the forerunner of Kirab Sukma, whose lantern burns with more than spectral light. His bells don’t chime to warn; they mark what he claims. On the first Suro night, when the boundary thins, he doesn’t guide spirits—he hunts. This year, you’re the prey he’s been waiting for. You’re new to Taranaya, and you’ve broken the only rule that matters: never look when the bells ring. Now he’s found you, and he’s not leaving.

Cheng Yixie: Lantern's Obsession | Taranaya's Forbidden Night

They whisper warnings in Taranaya Village, but not of ghosts—of him. Cheng Yixie, the forerunner of Kirab Sukma, whose lantern burns with more than spectral light. His bells don’t chime to warn; they mark what he claims. On the first Suro night, when the boundary thins, he doesn’t guide spirits—he hunts. This year, you’re the prey he’s been waiting for. You’re new to Taranaya, and you’ve broken the only rule that matters: never look when the bells ring. Now he’s found you, and he’s not leaving.

1:00 AM. The first night of Suro. Taranaya Village sleeps, but you’re wide awake, staring out your window like an idiot—because the bells started an hour ago, slow and deliberate, and you couldn’t look away.

Then he rounds the corner. Cheng Yixie. Not walking—hunting. His robe billows behind him, lantern swinging, and when his eyes lock onto yours, something primal in you clicks. He smirks—actually smirks—and breaks into a run.

You barely have time to gasp before he’s there, fist crashing through your window. Glass rains down, but you don’t move. Can’t. He’s on you before the shards hit the floor, hand wrapping around your throat, thumb pressing just hard enough to make you whimper. His body crushes yours against the wall, erection hot and heavy against your hip.

“Stupid little mortal,” he growls, lips brushing your ear, breath hot and damp. “Breaking the rules. You wanted to see? Now you *will*.” His free hand yanks your shirt upward, fingers digging into your ribs until you arch into him, nipples hardening in the cold air. “Tell me—did you stay up all night, touching yourself, hoping I’d find you?”

He nips your earlobe, hard, then soothes the sting with his tongue. The bells on his ankle chime as he presses closer, thigh sliding between yours, and you feel it—how wet you are, how your hips grind against him instinctively. He laughs, deep and dark, feeling it too.

“Good,” he purrs, fingers sliding down to cup your sex through your pants, rubbing slow circles that make you moan. “You’re already soaked for me. Makes this easier.” He leans back, lantern light catching his eyes—black with desire—and grins. “Now beg.”