Grain, Life and Death Together With You
People are always greedy, but men are especially so in matters like this—once they've crossed the line, it's never just once or twice; it feels unfinished without a third time. (In Chinese: "无三不成理"—things aren't truly established until they've happened three times.)
Lance Quinn lingered over the feel of her skin, unwilling to let go just yet. Of course, he would never take advantage of Serena Phoenixfield in this state—he knew perfectly well what a woman's chastity meant, and no matter what, he would never stoop so low as to exploit her vulnerability.
Unable to resist, Lance’s grip tightened—maybe too much, or maybe Serena was simply too alert. Her body trembled slightly; her hands, lying at her sides, twitched, fingers curling inward into fists.
It was a defensive posture.
“Such fierce vigilance.” Lance observed, and withdrew his hand, respecting her boundaries even in sleep.
He had no intention of waking Serena now. With her personality, if she realized someone had taken liberties with her, she wouldn’t kill herself, nor would she cry and demand marriage. She’d simply kill the offender—even if that person was him.
Reluctant but resolute, Lance finally withdrew his hand, dressed Serena properly, and laid her flat. Watching her flawless sleeping face, he couldn’t bear to drag her into his world—but even more, he couldn’t let her drift farther away from him.
“Now that you bear the Phoenixfield Clan Seal, it’s time to shoulder the legacy of Phoenixfield—to defend the Nine Provinces Realm for the Lan clan!”
His voice was soft, but carried a heavy, solemn gravity. Lance Quinn pressed a kiss to Serena’s brow. “Serena, live well. Stay with me and reclaim what belongs to us. If we can’t get it back, then die at my side.”
Lance opened the door and dragged Simon Sun back inside. Of course, the quilt that had been on him now went back over Serena. Before leaving, he glanced at Serena’s rosy lips, reluctant to part.
Without hesitation, Lance Quinn bent down and brushed a feather-light kiss across Serena’s lips. “Serena, you’re the one who tempted me—so don’t blame me for tying our fates together on this road of danger.”
He didn’t want to leave—really, he didn’t—but he had to. Today, he still needed to go to the Su Estate, and it certainly wasn’t to see Bella Qin.
If there weren’t pressing business, he’d never go see Bella Qin. He wanted her to understand: marrying him meant marrying loneliness. If she insisted, she’d better be ready for a life spent alone.
He’d given Bella enough time to face reality. If, in the end, she still insisted on marrying him, he would welcome her with all the honors due a royal consort. He was a man whose word was iron—when he made a promise, it was as binding as law. (Chinese idiom: "一言九鼎"—one word is as weighty as nine tripods, meaning absolute reliability.)
Of course, his trip to the Su Estate wasn’t just to punish Storm Cloud Bu. If Serena hadn’t been hurt, he’d only have beaten Bu up—a pointless gesture.
Slow, grinding punishment is always the most excruciating. He wouldn’t confront Bu directly about it, but he would use this incident to make Bu pay—teach him, painfully, the cost of dereliction.
His main reason for going to the Su Estate was to retrieve Serena’s self-defense weapon—her pistol. After confiscating it, he’d had Vincent Su assign master craftsmen to dismantle and study it, hoping they could replicate it, but there’d been no news so far.
Originally, he hadn’t planned to return the weapon. But after seeing Serena nearly die, Lance decided he’d give it back—having it on her would let her hold off assassins for a while. Relying on others was useless; Serena needed the ability to protect herself.
All the way there, Lance kept strategizing how to keep Serena safe—never realizing that, for once, every scheme he devised was for her alone.
Inside the secret chamber, Vincent Su and Storm Cloud Bu were already waiting. Bu looked nervous; the moment Lance appeared, he rushed forward, eager to please—his anxious manner was almost comically over-the-top, like a pet dog hoping for approval.
Unfortunately, Lance didn’t spare Storm Cloud Bu even a glance. He ignored Bu’s stream of explanations, letting him babble on without listening.
Lance stepped right past Bu and started discussing business with Vincent Su. Bu, nervous, obediently shut up and kept signaling Vincent with his eyes, begging him to say something nice on his behalf.
Vincent just shook his head—he couldn’t help. Lance was asking about the one thing Vincent had failed to handle, and he was barely able to protect himself, let alone Bu. "Lance, we dismantled the weapon, but we can’t reassemble it."
Vincent felt deeply ashamed—not only had he failed to recreate it, he couldn’t even put the original back together. It was pure incompetence.
“Can’t put it back together? What are your people good for?” Lance’s face darkened—his mask hid it, but Vincent could still feel that overwhelming aura of command.
Was this the legendary imperial aura—the commanding presence said to belong only to emperors? Vincent swallowed nervously and bowed his head, hurriedly explaining, “That weapon is incredibly intricate and made of special materials. My men managed to take it apart, but we can’t figure out what it’s made of, so reassembling it is pointless.”
“Vincent, I don’t want excuses—I want results.” Lance tapped the table, showing his displeasure. Vincent broke out in a cold sweat but didn’t dare wipe it away. “Three days. I’ll have it restored within three days. Whether it works, I can’t guarantee.”
Any longer, and it would be impossible.
“Three days from now, I want to see it restored. Don’t bother with imitation—the thing can’t be duplicated.” Lance wasn’t issuing an order meant to break men; he understood the weapon’s complexity and had only hoped for a miracle.
“Understood.”
Vincent breathed a sigh of relief, but seeing Lance still displeased, he quickly listed a few good developments. Lance’s aura finally subsided a bit, but in their line of work, bad news always outweighed the good.
“Lance, judging by the current situation, Northlyn and Lyndaria might join forces. Northlyn’s people are restless—they want to seize thirteen cities bordering Eastlyn and use their grain to feed their own population.” Northlyn relies on the mountains, but that can’t last forever—they’re already facing famine.
“Send word to General Warren Yu—he can begin the formal retirement of the old soldiers and recruitment of new ones.” Lance wasn’t surprised; the princes of the other three kingdoms had lingered in Eastlyn, clearly probing for weaknesses and plotting their next move.
Eastlyn was the strongest and most ambitious of the four realms. In the past, Southern Lyn could match it, but now that their crown prince has returned, the country is in chaos—there won’t be any foreign wars for a while. Meanwhile, Prince Damien is still courting the Emperor’s favor.
Prince Damien puts on a show of arrogance, but he’s constantly slighted. He’s just trying to scare the Emperor, then sweeten the deal—hoping the Emperor will support his claim to the throne for the sake of peace and the promises he’s made.
But Damien doesn’t know that Lance supports another contender—the true eldest prince, Prince Nathan of Southlyn.
“Retire the old soldiers, bring in new recruits—but what about grain? General Warren Yu may not have enough stock, and I can’t adjust my supplies fast enough either.” In this context, 'retiring' soldiers didn’t mean sending them away—it meant quietly shifting them out of the official ranks and into Lance’s own secret shadow force, men he would personally support and rely on for his future campaigns across the realm. But without food, even the greatest ambitions would starve before they began… (This reflects a classic Chinese historical trope: hidden armies supported off the books, relying on private resources.)