Ravaged, Bound by Hair as Husband and Wife

"Lance Quinn?" Serena Feng strode quickly into the room and shut the door behind her.

"Mm." Lance replied, his breathing a little uneven. Seeing Serena, he finally relaxed, the tension in his body unwinding at last.

"Your injury's gotten worse?" Serena could tell right away that Lance, as usual, didn’t care for his own body—he’d just made his wounds even worse.

"The wound split open again." Lance didn’t hide it; he answered matter-of-factly, and started unbuttoning his shirt and pants without hesitation.

He really didn’t dare let Serena undress him again—the strain on his heart was too much. He worried the wound would tear open even more, and honestly, he wasn’t ready to die just yet.

"You really know how to take care of yourself," Serena said sarcastically. Other than Prince Titus, Lance was her least favorite kind of patient—he never took his own health seriously.

Serena’s tone tonight was especially bad. Lance guessed it probably had to do with that hidden weapon. He wanted to explain, but in the end just touched his nose and kept silent.

Honestly, he could have found a more subtle way to return the item to Serena. But he didn’t want to hide too much from her. Even knowing she’d be angry, he’d chosen the clumsiest method to give it back.

It really was his fault. Lance obediently let Serena scold him, not daring to make a sound, comforting himself: A man should give way to his woman, whether she’s right or not.

Even though Serena was mad at Lance for secretly messing with her things, she wasn’t cruel enough to ignore his life. After a few more complaints, she noticed how good-naturedly Lance let her rant and felt embarrassed to keep going. She wasn’t unreasonable, after all—and she wasn’t anyone special to Lance, so he had no reason to put up with her.

Serena checked Lance’s wound and found it had just split open—not infected yet—but his body was burning hot. She didn’t need a thermometer to know he had a fever.

"Lie down on the bed. I’ll go get the medicine chest." Serena tossed out the words and turned to slip behind the screen.

The bed?

This was Serena’s bedroom, and there was only one bed. Since she’d invited him, Lance wasn’t about to be shy. He braced himself on the table, used it for leverage to stand, and paused as he passed the screen, glancing thoughtfully in Serena’s direction.

He couldn’t see anything through the screen, but he knew exactly where Serena kept her medicine chest. After all, the one she usually used was still with him.

For some reason, every time he saw Serena use that thing on her wrist, he felt uneasy. More than once, he’d wanted to stop her from using it, but he knew he had no right.

Lance let out a quiet sigh and leaned against the headboard, breathing in the subtle fragrance from her pillow. He took a deep breath; his silver mask hid the worry on his face.

When Serena came out carrying a compact medicine chest, Lance’s lips twitched slightly. If he remembered right, William Wang Jinling also had a chest just like this one.

It looked like the chest William had was a gift from Serena. Realizing this, a flash of coldness passed through Lance’s eyes.

Serena seemed to treat William unusually well. Lance couldn’t help noticing she’d never given him anything at all.

"Move a bit." Serena dragged the quilt over and propped it behind Lance’s back to make him more comfortable.

Serena bent her head, loose strands of hair slipping down and brushing against Lance’s cheek. With his human-skin mask and silver mask in place, he couldn’t feel a thing, letting her hair lightly graze his face.

To tuck the cushion in properly, Serena leaned forward, bringing them so close that with a single breath, each could catch the other’s scent. If Lance lowered his head just a bit, he could kiss the pale curve of Serena’s neck.

Lance licked his dry lips and swallowed, forcing himself to look away. He was afraid if he lost control, he’d kiss her right then and scare Serena off.

As he turned his head, Lance’s long hair shifted, and a few strands became tangled with Serena’s.

"All done." Serena clapped her hands and stood up, only to realize she hadn’t pinned up her hair. Her hair was tangled with Lance’s, and as she stood, it yanked painfully at her scalp.

Ouch... Serena rubbed her numb scalp, looking frustrated.

To bind hair is to be husband and wife!

Lance felt the tug too. Turning his head, he saw their hair intertwined. His heart skipped a beat, but before he could react, Serena yanked her hair free.

"Sorry, I’ll pin my hair up right now." Serena turned to look for a hair tie. Lance’s gaze flickered, and with a swift motion, he pulled out the strands of hair tangled with Serena’s and kept them.

Looking at the strands of hair tangled together in his palm, Lance’s eyes glimmered with a smile. While Serena wasn’t paying attention, he took out a white handkerchief and carefully wrapped the hairs inside.

Bound by hair, never doubting each other’s love!

Serena Feng, you’re fated to be mine. Men of the Lan bloodline go mad only for women of the Phoenixfield clan. You can’t escape me, and every secret you carry—I’ll uncover them all.

Once Serena finished pinning up her hair, she washed her hands again, pulled up a small stool, and sat by the bed. She noticed a shift in Lance’s mood, blinked in confusion, but sensibly didn’t ask. She took scissors from the medicine chest and cut away all the white cloth and bandages on Lance’s body.

The cold scissors touched his warm skin, and Lance couldn’t help but flinch. Only Serena could get away with this—if anyone else waved scissors around his body, no matter their intentions, he’d have killed them on the spot.

"Don’t move. Move again and I’ll cut your wound open." Serena glared at Lance, snapping the scissors twice for emphasis—a clear threat.

Uh... Lance went silent and really did stop moving.

Serena set the blood-soaked bandages aside, dipped a cotton swab in medicine, and carefully cleaned Lance’s wound. Seeing the sweat-soaked, inflamed injury, a flash of angry concern crossed her eyes.

How could his wound get sweat-soaked in this weather? What was Lance doing—did he really not care about his life? Infection isn’t a joke; if it gets serious, it could kill him.

"Lance, your wound is really serious. If possible, I hope you’ll rest for a while. This isn’t good for healing." After cleaning and dressing the wound, Serena couldn’t help but urge him to take care of himself.

Instead of answering, Lance asked, "Can I sleep here tonight?"

"You have nowhere else to go?" Serena frowned, clearly troubled.

She trusted Lance was a gentleman, but a man and woman alone in one room—still not ideal.

"No. Why, are you worried about tomorrow’s contest?" Lance probed.

"Tomorrow’s contest? You mean my painting match with Su Wan?" Serena replied while tidying up.

"Yes. Aren’t you worried about it?"

Serena packed away her tools with a crisp snap. "Nothing to worry about. I’ll do my best and leave the rest to fate. Besides, I’ve already beaten Su Wan twice—if anyone should be worried, it’s her."

Winners have earned their pride.

Lance nodded, slowly slumping down. "In that case, I’ll sleep here tonight. I’m afraid my wound will split open again."

To soften Serena’s heart, Lance played up his weakness and pain. Truthfully, the wound hurt quite a lot—he wasn’t faking. If he could, Lance would have taken off his mask and let Serena see his pale face and sweat-soaked forehead.

Uh...

Serena stood motionless in the room.