Chapter 55: I'm Begging You

Private Club.

Wu Yuan was lying on the boxing ring like a dead fish, as usual. He even asked someone to hand him his phone, lounging comfortably like he was at home, just missing his legs being crossed.

No one would believe that this man, whose lips were cracked from being punched, was the king of the Deep City's underworld.

In front of He Lingji, he had absolutely no dignity.

He lost every single time.

At first, Wu Yuan was indignant and challenged him often. But later on—

Whenever He Lingji invited him to spar, he played dead.

Face? What face?

Not important.

Sweat dripped from He Lingji’s temple down his jawline. He casually flicked it off and looked down at Wu Yuan from above, “Get up.”

Wu Yuan rolled over while holding his phone, treating the boxing ring like his bed.

“I’ve already called someone to fight you.”

“Wait a bit.”

He Lingji smiled playfully, took off his gloves, and used his bandaged hand to push back the strands of hair falling over his face, fully revealing his cold and indifferent features.

“Are they as good at taking a beating as you?”

Wu ‘Punching Bag’

Yuan: He knew this jerk had ulterior motives.

All those invitations to spar—turns out, it was because he could take a beating well!

But thinking of the person on the way here, Wu Yuan’s frustration vanished. He sat up, refreshed, and said meaningfully, “Don’t worry, they can definitely handle you.”

“For the sake of a good fight later, maybe you should rest a bit first?”

They had been sparring for hours. Even a robot would be worn out.

But the man, sweating slightly, looked anything but tired—he seemed even more energized.

Wu Yuan glanced at him and couldn’t help but complain, “You’ve been away on a business trip for months. Where did you even get this energy?”

He Lingji leapt off the boxing ring effortlessly. His gray-blue eyes were calm and unreadable.

But to others, his look was wildly sexy and untamed.

Over the years, he had grown used to hiding his emotions, keeping a straight face, and controlling his desires. Those were the traits a corporate leader needed. But he wasn’t a god—he was human, with rage and emotions.

So every time he wrapped up an intense work period, he’d either fly a helicopter, go for a high-speed drive, or box—anything to let off steam.

Afterward, he’d return to being the refined, composed, and aristocratic heir of the He Group.

Half an hour later.

Qin Mang arrived at the club, following the location Wu Yuan had sent.

But instead of He Lingji, she saw a familiar figure sprawled on the boxing ring.

Wu Yuan pointed toward the changing room, “He just went in.”

Qin Mang wasn’t in a hurry. She walked to the edge of the ring, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Why are you two together this late at night?”

Wu Yuan pointed at the bruises on his face.

“Your husband needed a punching bag.”

Qin Mang looked skeptical.

“Really?”

Her expression was like she was staring at a homewrecker trying to seduce her man.

Wu Yuan: What kind of nonsense is this?

Finally, she let him go. Her heels clicked sharply on the marble floor, elegant but deadly, as she headed for the changing room.

The door was slightly ajar.

She pushed it open and walked in.

“He Lingji, why didn’t you come home—”

Before she could finish, her voice halted abruptly.

From her angle, she saw him clearly—sitting on a leather chair, tall and lean, shirtless, rewrapping his hand.

Hearing the door, he bit the bandage between his teeth and turned to look at her.

Apparently, he hadn’t wrapped it properly—the bandage was loose, the end draping over his muscular thigh.

He usually wore proper, restrained suits that covered him completely. Few people knew that under his reserved, ascetic exterior was a body full of primal allure—eight-pack abs, strong and wild.

His skin was pale, marked with bruises across his back and over a mysterious tattoo, making him look both cold and intensely seductive.

His damp black hair was slicked back. His features, sharp and aloof, now radiated heat from exertion. His gray-blue eyes were deep and unreadable, and even the corners of his eyes were tinged with red.

And then—

A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.

He quickly understood what Wu Yuan meant earlier.

His gaze landed on Qin Mang’s delicate waist and porcelain skin.

Her?

Able to take a beating?

She cried about pain even when he was barely rough in bed.

He let the bandage fall and said in a hoarse voice, “Come here.”

Qin Mang froze at the door, stunned by the visual impact.

She had never seen this side of him.

Raw, wild, and untamed.

He was always cold and restrained in bed.

Why should she go over just because he asked?

Was she not a dignified fairy?

Crossing her arms, she looked down at him and said lightly, “Beg me.”

He Lingji looked utterly relaxed, the loose bandage and damp hair giving him a disheveled sex appeal. He tilted his chin slightly, and without hesitation said, “I’m begging you.”

Qin Mang hadn’t expected him to give in so easily.

When she still didn’t move, he added, “I begged, now come here…”

Finally, her heels clicked as she approached him.

“Don’t think just because you begged, I’m going to—”

Before she could finish, the man who had been lounging lazily suddenly pulled her onto his lap.

Before she could react, his bandaged fingers cupped her chin.

He leaned in and removed the little lion-print mask from her face.

Her soft jaw was exposed. His coarse bandages brushed against her tender skin. Qin Mang winced.

Then, his molten-hot breath engulfed her.

He kissed her—hard, with dominance and desperation.

“Mm—”

Qin Mang whimpered in surprise, and then couldn’t make another sound.

It was as if he wanted to devour her whole.

Through clenched teeth, she barely heard him growl, “Who told you to come here?”

Her brain turned to mush.

What the hell?

He’s the one interrogating her now?

The cold, empty locker room was now filled with steamy heat.

Her black skirt spun through the air, eventually landing around his ankle.

On the way home.

He Lingji drove.

Qin Mang had kicked off her high heels and sat beside him, watching the sharp lines of his face and neck.

She bit her lip—still a bit swollen—and began complaining.

“Why didn’t you come home after your trip?”

“And then you had the nerve to question why I showed up?”

“What—afraid I’d catch you cheating?”

“Feeling guilty?”

“Not gonna talk?”

Mrs. He kept going, getting more and more outrageous.

“For your own good.”

He Lingji finally spoke, after a long silence.

Qin Mang froze.

For her good?

The next second, she laughed in disbelief.

“You were out fooling around—for my good?”

He didn’t try to coax her.

His handsome face only darkened further.

His exotic gray-blue eyes stared forward, silent.

Qin Mang got even angrier.

She turned to look out at the night and pulled a mini fan from her bag, blowing her face to calm down.

She accidentally brushed against the toy gun she had stuffed into her bag earlier.

From the window, she looked at the man driving so seriously.

For now, for the sake of their safety, she decided to let him off the hook.

Wouldn’t want to startle him and cause a crash.

Back home.

He Lingji didn’t say a word the entire drive.

Qin Mang was on the verge of exploding.

The mini fan had been blowing nonstop, and the more it blew, the angrier she got.

She wasn’t good at holding in emotions. But for safety’s sake, she had held it in all the way.

Once they arrived, she threw her bag toward the sofa, ready to blow up.

Then—the door to the master bedroom slammed.

Next thing she knew, a pair of familiar hands pinned her to the wall.

Her skirt flew up in a dramatic arc.

…

Her eyes instantly brimmed with tears.

Then came his low, restrained voice:

“That’s the reason.”

“If I didn’t burn off some energy first…”

“You’d be back in the hospital.”

“Hmm?”

As he spoke, he lifted her effortlessly—didn’t even make it to the bed. They stopped at the sofa.

Qin Mang bit her lip.

“I don’t want to go to the hospital again.”

She’d rather die than have a doctor know about their situation again.

Only the wall lamp was on.

The dim light shimmered, dreamy and hazy.

Only one wall lamp automatically turned on in the room. The light was dim and hazy.

He Lingji was half-kneeling beside the sofa, his long fingers unbuttoning the silk shirt. His grey-blue eyes never left her.

Qin Mang's heart pounded like thunder under his gaze.

The scene in the changing room just now flashed in her mind.

White bandages. Black, wet hair. And the man’s body, covered with wild, untamed bruises from boxing. Along his back, a mysterious, intricate Manjusaka flower tattoo seemed to seep into the soul.

Qin Mang instinctively pressed her hand over her wildly beating heart.

She must not be seduced by beauty. Be rational. Stay clear-headed!

He Lingji’s slender fingers also bore small wounds, which he paid no mind. His fingertips pressed against the corner of Qin Mang’s lips, his usually cool voice now laced with a hoarse undertone he couldn’t suppress:

“Then be good.”

As he spoke, he closed his eyes for a moment, as if enduring something. After a while, he opened them again, stretched out his long arm, and opened the coffee table drawer, intending to retrieve the lubricant inside.

Unexpectedly, he accidentally bumped into the small bag Qin Mang had thrown earlier. The bag tumbled to the carpet.

And out rolled… a well-crafted gun?

He Lingji paused for a second, then leaned slightly and picked up the item from the carpet, casually weighing it in his hand. With a half-smile in his eyes, he looked down at her:

“What, planning to murder your husband?”

During this pause, Qin Mang had calmed down a bit. Especially after seeing the little gadget she had prepared in advance. She immediately remembered what it was for.

Originally, she had planned to use it to get revenge for those seven days and nights on the yacht. But who knew He Lingji would suddenly go on a business trip without a word, leaving her no opportunity.

Now, though sudden, it was perfect timing. At least she wouldn’t always be the one being overpowered!

Qin Mang propped herself up with her palm on the sofa and slowly sat up. The black camisole hung messily on her fair arms, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. Every movement oozed sensual charm.

Her fingers slowly traced along the man’s wrist bone, bit by bit, until they reached the cold, realistic-looking toy gun.

Her red lips curled into a smile as she suddenly snatched it and pressed the barrel to his forehead.

Their shadows intertwined on the wall in a dangerous silhouette. Her lush, seductive voice stretched out the sensual tension:

“Husband? No, you’re just a lover.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds.

He Lingji cooperatively let out an “Oh,” and asked:

“Why would you want to murder your lover?”

Qin Mang was pleased with his cooperation. She leaned in slightly, her breath warm, eyes bewitching and radiant with wicked charm.

“My husband is very cruel. If he finds out about us, you’ll suffer a fate worse than death. So, better to die by my hand.”

“Fine.”

“To die under the hand of a beauty—it's not a bad way to go.”

The man slowly wrapped his fingers around her delicate wrist, moved the barrel from his forehead to his heart, and said softly:

“But before I die, I have a last wish. Once it's fulfilled, you can do whatever you like.”

Qin Mang felt the warmth and strength of his hand. She couldn't move at all.

Was this a question? Or a threat?

Qin Mang let out a cold laugh and could only press the gun a little harder against his chest, meeting his gaze.

“I think life needs a little regret. You can rest in peace…”

The next moment, she collapsed onto the armrest of the sofa. Her final word lingered in the cold scent of glacier-like fragrance.

Thud.

The black toy gun slipped from her limp fingers onto the carpet, making a soft clack.