Two years passed, and Ruo Wen, now nineteen, had become one of the most notorious bandit leaders in the northern desert. His life was simple—nothing but swords and brothers. Betrayals came and went, but Ruo Wen remained indifferent. Those who stayed shared in the spoils and the dangers; those who left either took their souls and left behind their corpses, or struck out on their own. To him, life was made up of these few people and these few events.
Ruo Wen loved women, finding solace in their bodies. Since losing his virginity at thirteen, he had never gone without the pleasures of the flesh. After a successful raid, he would often call for ten women to serve him through the night. But he never cared deeply for any of them. To him, a woman’s body was never something worth treasuring.
If it weren’t for Mang Hu, perhaps Ruo Wen would never have married in his life. Unexpectedly, though, his wife became the first woman he ever respected. He didn’t love her, nor was he attached to her, but he respected her.
His wife’s name was Rui, and she resembled Qing Chun. Mang Hu kidnapped her on her wedding day solely because of her appearance, thinking it would please Ruo Wen. Ruo Wen, lounging in a wide chair after a night of indulgence, his clothes disheveled and looking decadent, saw Rui in her bridal attire and felt playful. He chuckled, "I wake up and find myself with a bride. Might as well play the groom for once, too?"
Rui spat at him. Ruo Wen didn’t flinch, only responding coolly, "Spitting at me—some courage!"
"Kill me if you want!" Rui gritted her teeth.
Ruo Wen burst into laughter. "Little girl, we don’t kill women, especially not beautiful ones."
Rui, seeing his evil grin and undisguised roguish demeanor, suddenly understood the danger she was in. She stayed silent, awaiting her fate. However, the fate that awaited her was a torment she could not bear. In a twisted game, egged on by his brothers, Ruo Wen married her, performed the traditional three bows, shared a cup of wine, and finally, amidst a chorus of lewd cheers, consummated the marriage publicly.
At seventeen, still untouched, Rui endured Ruo Wen’s torment without uttering a word. She bit down hard, refusing to accept his kisses.
But just ten days after the wedding, Ruo Wen grew tired of her. In his bed, Rui was always unresponsive, which left him unsatisfied. He had to call on other women to keep him company, while Rui would sit in the corner, staring either at the wall or the window.
Time passed, and during one harsh winter, a group of wanderers was spotted near the camp. A messenger brought the news, and since they needed more supplies, Ruo Wen and his men set out. Half a day later, they returned laden with spoils.
The plunder was piled in the middle of the hall like a mountain. The stench of blood still clung to the bandits’ weapons, and the women they had captured were tied up naked to await their fate. Ruo Wen ordered the loot to be divided. Cheng Xiang divided it into three parts: one for Ruo Wen, one for storage, and the rest to be distributed by competition.
Among the spoils was a long golden sash embroidered with the sun and moon, intricately stitched with gold thread. Mang Hu was particularly excited about it, saying, "Wearing the sun and moon is a good omen." He wrapped it around Ruo Wen’s waist, making him look quite proud. The aftermath of the competition was chaotic, as usual, but what stood out that night was a woman standing at the door, coldly watching everything.
It was Rui.
She sneered for the first time, and Ruo Wen, sitting in his chair, gazed at her across the debauched hall. Strangely, he stood up and walked toward her.
Rui was never afraid of him, but when she saw the sash around his waist, her face went pale. She reached out, grabbed the end of it, and asked him directly, "Did you kill them all?"
Ruo Wen replied, "All dead."
"And you left no one?"
"Except for a few women."
Rui stumbled backward, still clutching the sash tightly. Ruo Wen quickly realized it—this was no coincidence. The dead must have been her kin, a few hundred at most.
Ruo Wen’s expression remained blank as he watched her falter. Oddly, the sight filled him with excitement. He scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom. He never sought pleasure in the open when there was a bed available.
At dawn, Rui fashioned a gun and hid it beneath the bed. At sunset, she tried to assassinate Ruo Wen, but only managed to scar him. She was around nineteen, married less than six months, her life devoid of joy. In her despair, she swore never to face her enemy again, gouging out her eyes as she lay in bed, resolving to die.
Ruo Wen did something unexpected—he gave Rui his surname, an act that left all the bandits stunned. The infamous desert bandit leader took a disfigured, blind woman as his wife and, for three years, she never left his household. Through three springs and autumns, three years passed with one gun. Rui’s assassination attempts never succeeded. She grew ill from the stress, and her suffering became unbearable. In the end, Ruo Wen ended her life with a single shot to the chest, ending her misery.
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