First, then, love.

A loud "bang" was heard.

The guest room door was slammed hard against the door frame, so hard that the walls of the corridor seemed to tremble.

The last glimmer of light was completely extinguished beneath the crack in the door.

The corridor fell into a deathly silence.

Only the cold wind, mixed with the mist of rain, blew in through the cracks in the slightly ajar window at the end of the corridor.

He Zheng stood still.

The image of the unyielding grievance in her eyes when she turned her face away was still etched in my mind.

The God of War lay beside the shoe cabinet in the entryway, whimpering softly. His amber eyes looked at him uneasily, as if he too could sense the freezing atmosphere in the house.

He Zheng slowly withdrew his hand, his fingers curling up at his side, clenching into a fist, the knuckles making a crisp "crackling" sound.

My temples were throbbing, and it felt like a rusty blender was spinning wildly inside my head.

He turned around and walked heavily toward the master bedroom.

Push open the door.

Only a dim bedside lamp was lit in the bedroom.

My gaze swept over the gray bed.

The bed was a mess; she had completely rolled up the silk quilt, leaving only a gray cotton sheet sheet lying alone on it.

On the carpet, the three "Chu River and Han Border" cushions that she once used as a defensive line, dark green, wine red and dark gray, were rolled haphazardly in the corner, like flags abandoned after a defeat.

It's empty.

Without that spoiled, dramatic woman who always smelled of tuberose, this spacious master bedroom instantly reverted to the cold, impersonal showroom it once was.

He Zheng walked to the bedside, his tall figure casting a weary silhouette in the dim light.

He had just taken a quick, haphazard shower in the guest bathroom, using bone-chilling cold water.

That was to forcibly suppress the murderous aura and ferocity emanating from his body, as well as the indescribable irritability he felt after crawling out of a pile of corpses.

My nerves had been on edge for 96 hours, and I almost snapped the moment I saw her rushing towards me barefoot.

He was afraid he would lose control of his strength, afraid that the smell of blood and death on his body would frighten her, so he instinctively chose to back away and create distance.

However, the woman completely misunderstood him.

He Zheng took a deep breath and vigorously rubbed his face.

He turned around and strode into the master bedroom's bathroom.

Walk to the large double sink.

He Zheng stretched out his rough, large hand and pushed the tap on.

The wrench was turned all the way to the left.

Boiling hot water gushed out of the metal pipe and splashed into the white ceramic basin with a loud "splashing" sound.

White water vapor rose rapidly.

He Zheng braced himself firmly on the edge of the marble countertop with both hands, the veins on the back of his hands bulging.

He lowered his head, letting the scalding steam hit his face.

The wound on my left shoulder, aggravated by the movement, was now tearing with pain. Cold sweat mixed with undried water droplets dripped down my hard, cold jaw.

He slowly raised his head and looked at the mirror in front of him, which was covered with a thin layer of mist.

The man in the mirror looked disheveled, fierce, and exuded a beast-like decadence.

His eyes were bloodshot and his eye sockets were sunken. A wild, bluish stubble grew on his chin.

The abrasion on the side of his face had scabbed over with thick blood, looking like an ugly centipede crawling on his face.

He Zheng stared at himself in the mirror for a while.

My gaze shifted slightly and landed on the right side of the sink.

There, a huge, multi-tiered custom-made acrylic shelf was placed.

Each floor was crammed with Shu Yao's bottles and jars.

La Mer, La Prairie, Chantecaille, and the four cleansers that were rushed over by Sangjiu in the middle of the night.

Golden, pink, and transparent glass bottles refracted a delicate light under the lamp.

Even with the exhaust fan running, the air in the bathroom was still filled with the sweet scent of tuberose.

And in the far left corner of the large washbasin.

He pitifully left behind a bottle of Dabao (a popular Chinese skincare brand) and a black manual razor.

The contrast is stark and stark.

Just like the two of them, one is a top-grade rose carefully cultivated in a greenhouse, and the other is a thorn growing wildly in the muddy swamp.

He Zheng looked at the pile of expensive skincare products.

Suddenly, without warning, the scene from the entryway a few tens of minutes ago flashed through my mind.

The moment the motion sensor light turns on.

She was wearing a thin champagne-colored silk nightgown, and her hair was disheveled.

He wasn't wearing shoes.

A pair of delicate, white feet stepped directly onto the cold marble floor tiles.

Normally, she's a pampered young lady who would frown over even a single dog hair on the sofa and complain for ages about how badly he chops vegetables.

But just now...

She completely ignored his stinking mud, and the pungent smell of gunpowder and blood on him.

With red eyes and tears welling up, she opened her arms and, without hesitation, ran towards him like a white bird returning to its nest.

He Zheng's breath hitched.

Inside his chest, his heart, hardened by the hail of bullets, suddenly felt as if it had been gripped tightly by a soft hand.

It was both sour and swollen, and the pain made him gasp.

"Not answering the phone for four days and four nights, is it fun to be out of contact?"

"Do you know how the news reported it? They said someone was injured and was taken to the emergency room."

"How many WeChat messages have I sent you, how many phone calls have I made, are you blind?"

Her desperate accusations, her tearful roars, and her trembling shoulders echoed in his ears again and again in the bathroom, accompanied by the sound of running water.

He Zheng closed his eyes.

For three days and three nights, he fought to the death with desperados wielding micro-guns in an abandoned chemical plant in Jilin Province.

When bullets grazed your scalp, when your comrades fell into pools of blood.

His mind was consumed by the mission, the objective, and the need to survive.

His adrenaline surged to its limit, and he even forgot the time and who he was.

He completely forgot that there was someone else at home.

A woman he forcibly brought into his territory with a marriage certificate, spoiled and playful, yet who would leave a light on late at night and sit on the sofa waiting for him to come home.

He Zheng's Adam's apple bobbed violently.

He finally realized what was happening.

Her actions just now, her hysteria just now.

She wasn't complaining about him being dirty, nor was she throwing a tantrum.

That was out of lingering fear.

It is a stress-reactive self-defense mechanism that arises after extreme fear.

She was venting the fear that had been hanging in her throat.

She was afraid he wouldn't come back, afraid he would appear on the television news.

This realization was like a thunderbolt, directly shattering the chaotic fog in He Zheng's mind.

This woman is as stubborn as a rock, always causing trouble.

But that heart was incredibly soft.

She was shedding tears for him; she was worried sick about him.

An overwhelming possessiveness suddenly surged from the very marrow of He Zheng's bones.

Like a wildfire spreading, it burned away all his fatigue and restraint.

My blood boiled again, rushing wildly through my veins, and my heart pounded in my chest like a drum.

This is his wife.

She was the woman He Zheng rightfully married.

A woman who would feel sorry for him, cry for him, and run barefoot to hug him without a care in the world.

And what a bastard he just did.

He stepped back, blocking her from view.

He coldly shut down all her worries and grievances with the words, "I don't have the energy to argue."

They forced her to sleep in that ice-cold guest room all night, wrapped in her blanket.

Hold.

He Zheng cursed himself in his heart, thinking, "What a fucking bastard."

How could he apply the same cold, hard approach he uses to deal with criminals to his own wife?

The sound of rushing water continued.

The scalding hot water splashed in the sink, and the white steam grew thicker and thicker, almost filling the entire bathroom.

He Zheng suddenly opened his eyes.

He slammed the tap shut.

The sound of flowing water stopped abruptly.

I grabbed a dry towel from next to the sink and haphazardly wiped my face to remove the water droplets.

He Zheng turned around.

He strode out of the master bathroom with his broad back ramrod straight.