Chapter 7: Chain Tattoo

The living room had a new sofa, made of leather that met Tan Zhuo’s standards.

Its color leaned toward a cool-toned white, and sitting on it felt like sitting on a cloud.

It perfectly enveloped every inch of the body, offering extreme comfort.

However, Tan Zhuo, sitting on it now, couldn’t enjoy it in peace.

Her slender fingers were holding the bright red marriage certificate.

Her eyelashes fluttered once, then again—still in disbelief.

She unconsciously murmured, “Just like that, I’ve become a married girl.”

Suddenly.

A shadow fell over her.

Long fingers effortlessly plucked the little red booklet from her hand.

Then came his cool, crisp voice, “Married girl—time for the next step.”

Tan Zhuo looked up in confusion, “Next step… what?”

Under the dazzling lights.

The hem of her red silk dress trailed from the sofa down to the carpet, revealing only a pair of delicate, beautiful feet nervously curled together.

Extreme, lush color clashed with icy white.

The striking beauty of the girl’s face was bold and flamboyant, but her eyes still held pure innocence—only making her more maddeningly irresistible.

Chao Huai Du casually played with the marriage certificate, rubbing the red edge with his thumb as he slowly said, “Naturally… the bridal chamber.”

Tan Zhuo couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t playing with the certificate—he was playing with her.

She reflexively hugged her knees and scooted deep into the sofa, “In broad daylight—can you show some restraint?!”

There were still a bunch of servants nearby!

Even if no one dared make a sound, Tan Zhuo swore—they definitely heard it!

Chao Huai Du replied, “Alright, I understand.”

Tan Zhuo: “…”

She watched helplessly as he handed the marriage certificate to the butler.

The butler took it and led the servants away.

Because Chao Huai Du liked quiet, they didn’t live in the main villa but in a separate one in the back.

Click—

A soft sound.

The main door closed.

In the vast living room, only the two of them remained.

Chao Huai Du had never been one to show restraint in this area.

As soon as everyone left, he politely asked, “Now that we’re alone—can we do it?”

Tan Zhuo was speechless: This is what you meant by “I understand”?

She tried to back away, “I don’t think… we can.”

Chao Huai Du casually removed the meticulously tailored suit he had worn for the marriage photo and lazily loosened his tie.

“Mrs. Chao.”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

“I was informing you…”

The last four words echoed faintly through the empty hall.

He said, “I want to.”

The meaning was clear.

He wanted to.

She had to cooperate.

It was Tan Zhuo’s first time entering Chao Huai Du’s room.

Her first impression was: bleak. Extremely bleak.

Black, white, and gray—those were the only three tones.

At first glance, she even wondered if she had suddenly gone colorblind.

She really wanted to give this room a total makeover.

But right now, that wasn’t the main concern.

She was facing a major “personal safety crisis.”

If not for tomorrow’s confrontation with Mr. Yuan—one that required Chao Huai Du’s presence—Tan Zhuo absolutely wouldn’t have stepped into this room tonight.

She tried reasoning with her newly minted husband, “It’s not that I don’t want to fulfill marital duties—it’s just, to be honest, I’m sick.”

Chao Huai Du happened to have her physical report.

All her stats were perfectly normal.

He placed the casually tossed report from the cabinet in front of her.

Tan Zhuo: “…”

No wonder the butler had shown her Chao Huai Du’s monthly health reports a few days ago, and then taken her for a check-up.

So it was a marriage check-up all along.

He really was thorough.

“Actually, it’s not a physical issue—it’s psychological. Ever heard of PTSD?”

“My body’s fine, but I have serious mental trauma.”

Chao Huai Du listened to her nonsense with a calm expression while opening the wardrobe, ready to shower.

Whenever Tan Zhuo got nervous or scared, she started talking nonstop—

“Hey hey! Keep your clothes on.”

“I can’t handle seeing that thing.”

“Ah—I’m having an episode!”

Chao Huai Du rubbed his brow in irritation from her noise.

He picked up the babbling girl with one arm and casually tossed her onto the bed, then leaned over her.

Tan Zhuo, startled by being suddenly picked up and tossed, nearly curled into a ball.

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

There were still two hours until midnight.

Not much time or mood to slowly coax her like last time.

Ten minutes later.

Tan Zhuo sat at the foot of the bed, patting her heart like she’d survived a disaster, staring at the now-lit bathroom.

Scared her to death.

Her little life was finally spared.

There was still a hard battle tomorrow.

She couldn’t afford to lose on the bed tonight and ruin her momentum for tomorrow!

Thankfully, Chao Huai Du realized she truly felt nothing and didn’t force her.

He was barely decent, she supposed.

Tan Zhuo naively thought the night was safe now.

So she didn’t rush to escape.

She planned to wait for him to come out so she could ask in detail about that Mr. Yuan and the so-called “genuine antique” in his grandfather’s hands.

Meanwhile, in the brightly lit bathroom.

The misted full-length mirror reflected the man’s tall, lean frame.

Broad shoulders, slim waist, long legs—his figure was proportioned with a striking intensity.

Strangely, his upper body and arms were wrapped in white silk ribbons.

When the cold water poured down and soaked the ribbons, hidden patterns began to surface.

Tattoos of scriptures slowly emerged—stretching from shoulder to waist, winding from chest to spine.

The complex, dense script formed one binding chain after another, imprisoning him in layers.

Before long, the bathroom felt like an ice chamber.

But cold water didn’t help much.

Chao Huai Du’s handsome, deep features were now drenched in darkness.

Five minutes later.

He turned off the shower.

The man’s indifferent voice carried a trace of manic irritability, “Tan Zhuo, come here.”

Over here, Tan Zhuo was wondering whether she should offer a gesture of goodwill in another way.

Like blow-drying his hair?

Applying some hair oil?

Or… maybe help him put on a face mask?

She was really good at that!

While brainstorming all this, she suddenly heard Chao Huai Du call her — it seemed like this was the first time he had called her name so seriously.

Tan Zhuo walked toward the bathroom, confused, “You didn’t bring a bathrobe?”

“Which cabinet is it in, do you want me to get it for y—”

Before she could finish, a hand still damp and cool from water pulled her inside.

“Hey, you—”

Tan Zhuo was caught off guard and almost stumbled.

That’s when she realized — he had showered with cold water.

The bathroom was freezing.

She shivered.

Lifting her chin, she was about to get angry.

But what she saw made her eyes go wide — not just in fear, but in awe.

The silk ribbons around the man’s body were loose, and on his well-defined skin, chains of scripture-like tattoos appeared faintly, the script tiny and intricate, resembling ancient Sanskrit.

Under the bright lights, she stared at Chao Huai Du’s body — a form that radiated both divine grace and decadent temptation.

Her lips parted in disbelief, so dazed that water droplets slipped into her mouth unnoticed.

That morning, she’d accidentally seen the ribbons beneath his robe — it hadn’t been her imagination.

They were there to hide these tattooed scriptures.

Chao Huai Du had once imagined that if she ever saw the tattoos, she would be afraid, would want to flee.

But he had never imagined—

That she would be stunned, even tempted to touch.

His cool fingertips pressed firmly against her flushed, delicate lips.

In the enclosed space, he slowly exhaled two deep, inescapable words:

“Can I?”

Tan Zhuo’s brain took several seconds to process.

Sensing the dangerous undercurrent in his tone, she snapped out of her fascination with the tattoos and shook her head frantically, “I-I-I-I-I might not be able to…”

Frightened, she wanted to close her eyes, but was too scared this completely shameless man would come at her if she did, so her lashes just fluttered wildly, refusing to shut.

She saw everything clearly.

Chao Huai Du slowly pressed down on her slim shoulders.

His amber eyes were noble and clear, but when he lowered them, the corners turned slightly downward.

The lighting cast long, narrow shadows, adding an eerie allure that pulled one helplessly into a mysterious vortex.

His low voice seemed to enchant: “Just try.”

The girl seemed spellbound.

Her black hair, damp and clinging to her pale back, was so long it trailed onto the porcelain floor like an ink painting drawn on the ground.

The already-soaked white silk ribbons slid down the man’s perfect, lean muscles like flowing water, section by section, landing on the girl’s equally soaked hair.

Finally.

A soft voice echoed in the room: “Can I… study the patterns on your skin?”

She had recently been authenticating an ancient manuscript that contained very similar Sanskrit.

She really wanted to study it.

Chao Huai Du leaned down to her ear and whispered:

“Of course…”

“Not.”

—

One hour later.

Back in her own room.

Tan Zhuo sat at her dressing table, looking at the overly glamorous and dramatic face in the mirror.

While applying lipstick, she sulked.

The man’s calm, elegant voice floated over: “Need help?”

Tan Zhuo glanced at him coldly in the mirror.

Chao Huai Du had already changed into a flawlessly fitted white loungewear set.

It was soft and quiet, and he stood behind her like a refined gentleman from a noble family.

He was nothing but a hypocritical scoundrel!

The little girl huffed angrily, “I don’t need your fake kindness!”

But her throat was sore and swollen — her protest lacked power.

Chao Huai Du, feeling a touch of patience for this flower he had just “watered” himself, tapped the table lightly with his fingers, motioning toward the corner.

“Don’t you like the roses your husband gave you?”

Tan Zhuo instinctively looked over, her gaze pausing slightly.

In a minimalist white porcelain vase sat several champagne-hued roses, delicate and elegant, yet rich and layered.

She could tell at a glance — these were specially cultivated, a bouquet like this couldn’t be found anywhere else in the world.

The vase and the flowers — both were one of a kind.

Tan Zhuo liked it.

But she wasn’t that easy to coax.

She pouted, “I also like jewelry from my husband, jade, haute couture gowns, limited-edition bags…”

“Will you still give me those?”

“Yes.”

The man answered without hesitation, like a decadent emperor blinded by love for his favored consort.

Tan Zhuo’s expression softened slightly, but she still asked again, “Then I also like the scripture tattoos on your body. Can I copy them for study?”

Chao Huai Du: “No.”

Tan Zhuo’s little face fell.

What a fake emperor.