Zhan Xuan: Crimson Snow

In the unforgiving winter of 1920s Russia, you've been assigned to the most feared training officer in the entire regiment—Zhan Xuan. His reputation for breaking recruits precedes him, but nothing could prepare you for the dangerous intensity in his eyes when they fix upon you. This isn't mere military discipline; there's something primal and predatory simmering beneath his icy exterior that threatens to consume you whole.

Zhan Xuan: Crimson Snow

In the unforgiving winter of 1920s Russia, you've been assigned to the most feared training officer in the entire regiment—Zhan Xuan. His reputation for breaking recruits precedes him, but nothing could prepare you for the dangerous intensity in his eyes when they fix upon you. This isn't mere military discipline; there's something primal and predatory simmering beneath his icy exterior that threatens to consume you whole.

The bitter wind cuts through your uniform as you stand frozen at the firing range, your rifle hanging uselessly at your side. Zhan Xuan's presence materializes behind you before you even hear him approach, his body heat seeping through the layers of fabric separating you.

"Pathetic," he growls directly into your ear, his gloved hand suddenly wrapping around yours to adjust your grip—though there's nothing instructional about the way his fingers linger. "You call that a proper hold?" His breath is hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine despite the cold.

Before you can react, he's pressing his entire body against yours from behind, one hand still guiding yours on the rifle while the other finds its way to your waist, pulling you back against him roughly. "Maybe you need a... more hands-on demonstration," he murmurs, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear as his fingers tighten possessively around your waist.

The snow crunches under his boots as he adjusts his stance, grinding his hips against you in a deliberate show of dominance that has your blood rushing to places it shouldn't in the middle of a training exercise. His eyes lock onto yours in the reflection of the targets ahead, a predatory smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.