Just then, a knock came from the door. Yin Zhi rose lazily from his chair.
"Who is it?" Mo Tian asked.
"Your Majesty, the Empress is ready," a voice replied respectfully from outside.
Yin Zhi stretched and let out a lazy yawn. "Well, I'll be on my way. I wouldn't want to be the third wheel on your wedding night. It's already morning anyway—I need to catch up on my sleep."
With that, he strolled out of the room.
A moment later, the servant girl entered, followed by an obviously irritated Feng Ling. Her face was as dark as the bottom of a pot.
"You may all leave," Mo Tian said coldly, his expression unreadable.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Zǐyān replied, though her tone held clear unwillingness. Before leaving, she turned to Feng Ling and shot her a glare filled with venom. Then she exited, shutting the door behind her.
Now only Feng Ling and Mo Tian remained.
Feng Ling's fingers tightened around the hidden knife beneath her sleeve as she forced herself to move forward. She walked toward the bed and lay down without a word, still in her outer robe. She didn't spare Mo Tian a glance.
Her spiritual energy was drained—she was weak. But she still had the blade. If Mo Tian dared to touch her, she'd rather fight to the death.
Let him try. She won't go down without a fight, she thought grimly.
Mo Tian looked at her, noting the hatred burning in her eyes. Instead of angering him, it amused him. He liked it. He liked seeing her resist him.
Slowly, he walked to the other side of the bed. Feng Ling's body tensed the moment he moved.
He removed his outer sleeping robe and lay down beside her.
Before she could react, Mo Tian pulled her into his arms and pressed her against him.
Her body trembled beneath his touch.
In one swift motion, she reached into her sleeve, pulled out the knife, and pressed it firmly against his throat.
Mo Tian froze.
Feng Ling finally let out a shaky breath, her voice sharp and steady.
"Your Majesty knows this marriage is a sham. I already have someone I love." Her eyes met his without flinching. "I will never sleep with you. I'd rather die than let you touch me."
"Oooh? So the little witch has someone she likes," Mo Tian said with a smirk, his finger trailing slowly from her neck to her cheek, teasing and deliberate.
Feng Ling's breath hitched. Even though she was the one holding a knife to his throat, she couldn't stop her hands from trembling. After all, it was her first time doing something like this.
But then she remembered—her entire family was dead because of this man.
Her eyes turned cold. She pressed the knife harder into his neck. A thin stream of blood trickled down his pale skin.
Yet Mo Tian didn't even flinch.
Instead, he laughed.
The sound echoed through the room—low, cold, and unhinged. The guards standing outside shivered, their spines stiffening at the eerie sound.
Feng Ling's grip faltered. She hadn't expected him to laugh—while bleeding, no less.
"Has the little witch ever killed anyone before?" Mo Tian asked, his voice calm, but his red eyes glowing faintly.
"Do you know the thrill of it? The moment you see the light in their eyes fade… the way they beg for mercy before you take it away? That—" he leaned closer, his voice like frost "—is the joy of a true hunter."
Before Feng Ling could react, the knife was no longer in her hand. In one swift motion, he had disarmed her and pressed the blade against her neck.
Her body went rigid, every instinct screaming at her not to move.
"I'll say this once," Mo Tian murmured, his tone like a whisper from the abyss. "If you ever think that just because I need you, I won't do anything to you—you're wrong. Dead wrong. Anyone who dares put a blade to my throat or threaten me has only one fate: death."
His smile returned, slow and cruel. "If you try this again, I'll start with your two maids. I'll kill them right in front of you. And that ex-fiancé of yours… Bai Chen, isn't it? I'll make you watch as I tear him apart piece by piece—until you beg me to end it."
The knife's cold edge trailed down her neck, stopping just above her chest.
Feng Ling's eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears fall. Just days ago, she was the cherished daughter of the Witch Kingdom. Now she stood alone in the demon realm, her family slaughtered, facing a man who was nothing but a nightmare given flesh.
"Mm… is my little witch about to cry?" Mo Tian's voice was mocking, almost playful.
Feng Ling turned her head away, refusing to let him see the wetness in her eyes.
With one hand still holding the knife, he grabbed her chin with the other and forced her to face him. His lips brushed against the tears on her lashes, then trailed down her cheeks before stopping at her ear.
"I love it when you cry," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. "What do you say, little witch? Cry for me every day. It makes me want to bully you more."
"Who wants to cry for you? I will never cry, you monster," Feng Ling said, her voice laced with hatred.
Mo Tian's lips curled into a cold smile. "Then I suppose I'll have to bully the little witch every day—just to see those teary eyes again."
The knife in his hand moved swiftly, slicing through the front of Feng Ling's sleeping robe. She froze, stunned, left only in her bellyband. But instead of showing weakness, she mocked him.
"I never thought the great Supreme Demon Emperor of the demon realm had such a strange habit—forcing himself on women." Her voice dripped with disgust and defiance.
Mo Tian chuckled low. "Then watch me closely, little witch. Only then will you know how I do things."
He leaned in, his cold breath brushing against her skin, trailing from her collarbone toward her neck. Feng Ling shut her eyes in dread. Then—suddenly—sharp pain shot through her as his teeth sank into her neck.
She screamed, struggling beneath him, but her magic failed her. No matter how hard she tried, it was useless.
Finally, Mo Tian raised his head. Blood stained his lips. "The little witch's blood… is sweet. Unique." His finger brushed against his mouth, collecting a smear of red, which he slowly licked away.
Before she could react, his lips captured hers. Feng Ling tried to push him away, but the kiss only deepened until she was out of breath. When he finally released her, she slapped him hard across the face.
He only smiled. "The little witch is quite feisty, isn't she?"
His hand moved to her neck, drawing a strange pattern as he whispered an incantation. A crawling pain spread under her skin, making her grit her teeth. When it ended, her face was damp with sweat.
"Perfect," Mo Tian said with satisfaction. "Now everyone will know who you belong to if they see this."
Standing, he looked her over and smirked. "Don't worry. I won't do anything more to you tonight. After all, you're still a child—and rather… quite flat."
Hearing him mock her figure made her chest burn with anger. Flat? Who's flat? she thought angrily.
Mo Tian's tone turned cold. "And don't waste your energy trying magic. It won't work here." With a flick of his hand, crimson hellfire surrounded the bed.
Feng Ling instinctively backed away.
"Stay within the circle, and you won't burn to ash," he said, stepping through the fire without so much as a scorch on his body.
She watched his retreating back, hatred boiling in her heart. But she knew she needed to rest and regain her strength if she wanted to fight back. Curling up in the corner of the bed, she wrapped the torn robe tightly around herself, closed her eyes, and forced herself to sleep.
Mo Tian returned to the bedchamber to find Feng Ling already asleep. Silently, he removed his outer robe, lay down beside her, and closed his eyes.
By noon, warm sunlight poured through the curtains, casting golden patterns across the crimson sheets. Feng Ling stirred, letting out a soft groan as she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the brightness.
Slowly, she blinked them open, her gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar surroundings. A faint crease formed between her brows as confusion set in.
The other side of the bed was empty. The ring of red hellfire that had surrounded her when she slept had vanished without a trace.