The moment the light clicked off, she saw a faint shadow at the door. Ming Ming jumped. The sudden darkness made it hard for her eyes to adjust, so she tentatively called out, “Yan Junsheng?”
The figure gave a low hum in reply.
“What is it? Do you need something?”
He came over and sat at the edge of her bed. Ming Ming immediately caught the heavy scent of alcohol on him.
Had he really drunk that much tonight? On the way back, she hadn’t noticed it—maybe because they’d been outside?
Before she could figure it out, he spoke.
“Do you like Wang Hu?”
“What?” Ming Ming froze. “N-no, I don’t…” Then she second-guessed herself—maybe she should’ve said yes.
What if he was asking because he wanted to bring up divorce?
Just as she was about to change her answer, he exhaled like a man relieved.
Her eyes were adjusting to the dark. Though she couldn’t see clearly, she could sense the gloom hanging over him, the way he sat slumped, dejected.
For once, Ming Ming felt a twinge of sympathy.
After all, Yan Junsheng had left his family behind to join the educated youth program in the countryside, lonely and struggling, while his home situation wasn’t exactly rosy either. And she? She hopped through different worlds just to die as cannon fodder.
Pretty tragic all around.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “Things will get better.”
He lifted his head as if to look at her, but in the dark, everything blurred.
Her words had no context, no explanation. She chuckled at herself. Imagine that—feeling sorry for a fictional man inside a fictional world, when she barely had enough pity to spare for herself.
He was the male lead. No matter what, he’d suffer, endure, and rise to the top, with a devoted childhood sweetheart waiting for him in the city.
She wasn’t like that. The plotline was shifting, yes, but the more it shifted, the more unpredictable her future became. Every step she took was like crossing a river on slippery stones—maybe it led to safety, maybe to a plunge into the abyss.
And when she thought about it… even if she got back to her real world, no one was waiting there either.
Ming Ming pouted in the dark. Forget it. Pitying men only brings bad luck.
“Don’t like him,” Yan Junsheng muttered, his voice thick with wine. “What’s so great about him?”
She didn’t understand what he was trying to say.
He suddenly leaned closer. Instinctively, she leaned back—but he pressed forward, relentless, until she was trapped.
“And if I do like him?” she asked.
“You can’t like him!” His voice cracked into a growl. “You married me. Marriage is for life!”
Then, softer: “Since we’re married, we owe it to each other. Don’t you think?”
His sudden sense of duty baffled her. Maybe it was just the era—they were still too earnest, too simple.
Is he waiting for me to say something first?
“You can always divorce. It’s not impossible. If you want—”
“I don’t want a divorce!” His eyes burned into hers.
Wait—wasn’t this supposed to be about separating? Why was this going sideways?
“You’re drunk,” she tried to push him away.
“I’m perfectly sober,” he said quietly. “Didn’t you say our relationship is up to me?”
“That’s true, but I thought—”
“You thought what?”
She fell silent. Even in the dark, she could feel the heat of his gaze.
Then he said, “Didn’t you ask me before, about that night—what really happened?”
“Wh-which night?” she stammered.
He leaned so close their foreheads almost touched, their breaths tangled with the smell of alcohol. His voice rasped in her ear. “That night, I caught your drunkenness like this. Tonight, why don’t you catch mine?”
“Yan Junsheng, you’ve definitely had too much.”
“Need me to remind you?”
“No thanks, that’s—mmph!”
He cupped the back of her neck and kissed her, firm. Ming Ming’s eyes flew open wide, her hands pushing at his chest, but he pressed in harder, pulling her against him. His tongue teased at her lips, then slipped deeper, tasting everything.
Their mouths parted just barely, his sharp nose brushing hers as he grabbed her hand and tugged open the top two buttons of his shirt.
Ming Ming shuddered, gasping. “You can’t—”
Your little sweetheart in the city is still waiting for you, damn it!
“Why not? You’re my wife.”
His eyes glinted as he teased her: “Listen—your heart’s racing.” He guided her hand to his chest. “Feel mine. It’s just as fast.”
No. Hold it together, Ming Ming.
There’s a saying… what was it? Does forced love never sweeten? But this sure tasted pretty sweet.
And another saying: life is short, seize the moment.
Holy crap—abs!
Holy crap—they’re huge!
Forget sayings. Forget morals. In this fake world, morality didn’t apply. She’d lived by that rule for years, reading racy novels.
If I have no morals, morals can’t restrain me.
Whatever. Tonight, I’m drunk too.
…
“No, no—I can’t—are you an ox or something? Get off—mmph! Stop already!”
He twisted her words, murmuring, “Don’t stop? Fine, I won’t.”
“You bastard—you’re bullying me—”
In the end, she was sobbing too hard to even cry properly anymore.
She never imagined this city boy… would have stamina like that.
By the time the rooster crowed four or five times and dawn light seeped through the window, Young Master Yan finally let up.
“You damned mule, you’re gonna kill me…” Ming Ming collapsed on the bed, too tired to open her eyes, muttering curses even half-asleep.
But Yan Junsheng, sleepless as well, looked perfectly refreshed. Content, he kissed her eyes, nose, and lips, tucked the blanket around her, and slipped quietly off the bed.
“Sleep, sweetheart.”
Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152