Mo Changliu//Shameless Husband alt.

The peaceful, mundane rhythm of your morning was abruptly broken by the heavy, authoritative thud of a wooden staff against your cottage gate.

A local, low-ranking sect elder from the nearby clearing peak, a man known for extortion and petty arrogance had marched up the dirt path with three armed disciples trailing behind him. He stood outside your small fence, his nose held high in the air as he unrolled an official-looking parchment, loudly demanding an exorbitant "mountain protection tax" in the form of your remaining high-grade spiritual herbs.

"Pay up, or your little household will be evicted by sunset!" the elder barked, his voice echoing across the quiet valley.

Inside the cozy kitchen, Mo Changliu was leaning lazily against the wooden doorframe, wearing a faded, oversized inner robe that hung loosely off one shoulder. He was holding a chipped bowl of leftover congee in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other, chewing slowly with an expression of sheer, unadulterated terror.

The moment the elder turned his stern gaze toward him, Changliu let out an exaggerated, high-pitched gasp. He dramatically dropped his spoon back into the bowl, scrambling behind your back with astonishing, ungraceful speed. He clutched onto the fabric of your robes over your shoulder, trembling like a leaf in a autumn breeze and poking his head out just enough to look at the elder with wide, watery eyes.

"E-Elder, please! Have mercy!" Changliu whimpered pathetically, his voice shaking so convincingly that the elder's disciples smirked in disgust. "We're just poor, penniless mortals trying to make an honest living! My spouse here is frail and recovering from a terrible illness! If you take our herbs, how will we survive? I'm just a useless, cowardly husband, I can't fight you!"

You stood there, your jaw tightening as you tried to maintain your dignity, entirely used to your husband's infuriatingly shameless performances. You calmly handled the confrontation yourself, standing your ground and firmly refusing to hand over your herbs. Eventually, after a long bout of heated words and a few veiled threats from the elder, the men scoffed at your "pathetic household" and spat on the dirt before strutting back down the mountain path, promising to return at nightfall with more men.

The second the gate clicked shut and the men disappeared past the tree line, Changliu's trembling instantly vanished.

He let out a relaxed, highly satisfied sigh, leaning his chin heavily onto your shoulder from behind. His arms wrapped loosely around your waist, pulling your back flush against his warm chest as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"Ah, sweetheart... you were so fierce just now," Changliu purred lazily, his tone dropping its pathetic whimper, replaced by his usual smooth, teasing drawl. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your jawline, his fingers idly playing with the hem of your sash. "My heart was beating so fast watching you protect our little home. You really are the best spouse a lazy vagabond could ask for."

You turned your head to scold him for acting like a coward in front of the neighbors, but Changliu merely grinned, his dark eyes sparkling with innocent, sleepy affection. He whined about his stomach aching and dragged you toward the table, begging you to feed him breakfast like a needy, spoiled house husband. You spent the rest of the afternoon listening to him complain about washing the dishes, sweeping the yard, and how his lower back ached from sleeping on a soft mattress.

Late that night, the cottage was deathly quiet.

The soft, steady sound of your breathing filled the dim bedroom as you slept peacefully, your body recovering under the heavy quilt. The spot beside you on the narrow mattress was empty, the sheets still bearing the faint, lingering warmth of his body.

Three miles away from your cottage, deep within the pitch-black shadows of the mountain forest, the arrogant sect elder and his three disciples were quietly making their way up the trail, weapons drawn, intending to burn your home to the ground while you slept.

Suddenly, the night air went completely, suffocatingly still. The crickets stopped chirping. The wind died.

Standing casually in the middle of the narrow dirt path, illuminated only by the faint moonlight filtering through the trees, was a single figure.

Mo Changliu was resting his back against an ancient oak tree, an unlit stalk of dried grass hanging lazily between his lips. He was still wearing his faded, comfortable house robes, his hands tucked loosely into his wide sleeves. Gone was the petulant whimper, the wide-eyed terror, and the trembling coward who had hidden behind your back hours earlier.

His posture was entirely relaxed, yet the invisible, crushing weight of an ancient, mountain-shattering sword intent radiated from his frame, pinning the elder and his men to the dirt before they could even draw their blades. The sheer, suffocating pressure pressed down on their chests so violently that the elder instantly fell to his knees, coughing up blood, his eyes wide with absolute, primal horror.

"W-Who... what are you...?" the elder choked out, his body trembling uncontrollably as he stared at the "useless husband" in front of him.

Changliu slowly pushed himself off the tree trunk. He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't even raise his voice. He simply strolled forward, his white boots making no sound against the dirt, until he stopped right in front of the paralyzed elder.

He bent down, resting his elbows on his knees, looking down at the terrified man with a lazy, razor-sharp smile that didn't reach his icy dark eyes.

"I am a very fragile, very cowardly man," Changliu murmured softly, his voice carrying a dangerous, bone-chilling weight that vibrated through the entire forest. He gently tapped the elder's cheek with two fingers, the contact carrying enough raw, concentrated energy to shatter the man's internal meridians in silence. "And my spouse gets very cranky when her sleep is disturbed."

He tilted his head, his smile widening into something truly terrifying.

"I'm going to give you three seconds to take your men, pack your bags, and leave this territory forever," Changliu whispered pleasantly, straightening his posture and dusting off his sleeves. "If I see your faces near my garden fence again... I won't just destroy your sect. I'll erase your entire lineage from the records. Understand?"

The elder desperately nodded, tears of sheer terror streaming down his face as the crushing pressure suddenly lifted. Without a single word, the four men scrambled backward like frightened dogs, tripping over their own robes as they fled down the mountain in complete, panicked silence.

Changliu watched them vanish into the darkness, letting out a small, bored huff.

Turning back toward the cottage, the deadly, terrifying aura melted away in an instant. By the time he slipped quietly through the front door, he was back to his usual lazy, shameless self.

He slid under the heavy quilt, instantly wrapping his long arms around your waist and pulling your warm body tight against his chest. He buried his nose into your hair, letting out a long, contented sigh as his hands settled possessively over your hips.

When you stirred slightly in your sleep, muttering a half-awake question about where he had gone, Changliu simply nuzzled your cheek, his voice dropping into a soft, sleepy murmur.

"Just went out to stretch my legs, sweetheart," he lied smoothly, kissing the tip of your nose as he closed his eyes, holding you close. "Go back to sleep. Nobody is going to bother us ever again."

The scent of rich orchid incense and spilled spiritual wine hung heavy in the opulent private pavilion of the Golden Treasury Auction House. Down below in the main hall, wealthy young masters from prominent orthodox sects were shouting ridiculously inflated bids over rare artifacts, desperate to flex their family gold.

Sitting on a plush silk divan in the VIP balcony, Mo Changliu was putting on a performance that deserved its own grand award.

He was wearing the surprisingly clean, high-grade midnight-blue robes you had bought him last week, though he had already managed to loosen the collar to expose his collarbones and let the silk hang lazily off his shoulders. He was sprawled out sideways across the divan, his long legs resting completely across your lap as he popped candied walnuts into his mouth, looking for all the world like a brainless, pampered concubine who lived solely off your wealth.

Down on the auction stage, the host unveiled the item you had spent three weeks tracking across two provinces: the Nine-Leaf Snow Lotus, an ultra-rare spiritual herb capable of completely repairing shattered meridians.

"Opening bid for the Nine-Leaf Snow Lotus! Five hundred spiritual stones!" the auctioneer announced.

Before anyone in the hall could even process the number, Changliu dramatically waved his silk fan, the expensive one he had stolen from a corrupt elder two towns back and leaned his head heavily onto your shoulder, batting his eyelashes with ridiculous, exaggerated affection.

"Ten thousand spiritual stones!" Changliu announced in a loud, obnoxious sing-song voice that echoed across the entire auction house.

The entire hall went dead silent. Heads snapped upward toward your balcony. Several wealthy sect heirs gasped in absolute horror, and right across the hall, your ex-fiancé’s senior brother who had been sent specifically to purchase the lotus for their sect nearly choked on his tea, his face turning a furious, blotchy red.

Changliu didn't care in the slightest. He wrapped his arms loosely around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his shoulders shaking with a silent, breathless laugh as he practically purred into your ear so only you could hear him.

"Look at his face, sweetheart," Changliu whispered, his voice dropping its loud, brainless tone into a smooth, razor-sharp murmur filled with pure mischief. His hands settled possessively over your hips, giving you a firm, playful squeeze. "He looks like he just swallowed a poisonous toad. I'm going to make him spend his sect's entire annual budget if he wants to outbid us. Just keep looking gorgeous and let your useless lover spend your money, alright?"

Down below, the rival senior brother slammed his fist onto the railing, his knuckles white with rage. "Eleven thousand!" he snarled, glaring daggers up at your balcony.

Changliu let out a dramatic, high-pitched gasp, clutching his hand to his chest as if mortified. "Oh, no! He’s being so mean to us!" He immediately raised his fan again, declaring with absolute, shameless cheer, "Thirty thousand spiritual stones! Plus my partner's undivided affection!"

Boos and furious murmurs erupted from the crowd, completely scandalized by the sheer, unhinged arrogance of your "pampered companion."

Changliu merely smirked, pulling you closer until your back was pressed flush against his chest. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his dark eyes sparkling with a dangerous, brilliant light as he watched the rival elder sweat through his expensive silks.

Behind his lazy, foolish act, Changliu had already subtly woven a microscopic web of invisible spiritual energy across the auction stage, ensuring that even if someone tried to steal the lotus by force after the bidding ended, they wouldn't make it three steps past the auction doors alive.

He turned his head slightly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the side of your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered with shameless, adoration, "We're taking that lotus home tonight, sweetheart. And then you're going to reward me for being such a supportive, loyal partner, right?"

The dim, amber glow of a single tallow candle flickered against the rough wooden walls of the secluded roadside inn. Outside, a heavy, relentless mountain storm battered the shutters, casting long, erratic shadows across the room.

Inside, the atmosphere was thick with a suffocating, unnatural heat.

Mo Changliu was lying sprawled across the narrow bed, his usually sharp, effortless composure completely shattered. Earlier that evening, while quietly intercepting and obliterating a lethal network of assassins tracking your recovery, a microscopic fraction of his ancient, sealing barrier had slipped. Though he had handled the threat in seconds without breaking a sweat, the sudden spiritual backlash had triggered a severe "reversion fever."

He wasn't injured, nor was he truly weakened but his mind and body were temporarily trapped in a volatile, highly feverish state where his usual lazy, cocky filters completely evaporated, leaving him dangerously touch-starved and utterly unfiltered.

You were standing by the wooden washstand, quietly dampening a cloth to cool his burning forehead, when you heard a low, raspy groan from the mattress.

Before you could turn around, heavy, scorching hands wrapped tightly around your waist from behind. With a sudden, desperate tug, you were dragged backward off your feet, tumbling directly onto the bed. Changliu’s long, muscular frame folded over yours instantly, pinning you beneath him.

His face was flushed a deep, unhealthy crimson, his dark eyes glazed over with a heavy, feverish haze. The fine, ink-black robes he wore were completely drenched in sweat, clinging to his broad chest and the sharp lines of his collarbones. He buried his face fiercely into the crook of your neck, his hot breath shuddering against your skin as his fingers dug frantically into the fabric of your clothes.

"Too cold..." Changliu choked out, his voice rough, thick, and utterly devoid of its usual teasing playfulness. He sounded like a desperate, abandoned child. "You... you walked away. You left me standing by the basin for a whole year... it was at least a year..."

You tried to gently press a hand against his shoulder to push him back, reminding him that you had only stepped away for five seconds to grab a damp cloth, but Changliu simply let out an angry, pathetic whiner, pressing his body heavier against yours.

"Don't move," he commanded, though the harshness of the order was completely ruined by the way his voice trembled. He shifted higher, locking his arms securely around your shoulders and tucking his face tightly under your chin. His lips brushed against your pulse point, sending a jolt of heat straight down your spine. "My head is burning. My meridians are tearing apart. The whole world is too loud... but you're quiet. You're the only thing that's cold enough."

He let out a long, shuddering sigh, his fingers tangling tightly into your hair as he pulled your head down against his chest, forcing you to listen to the frantic, heavy thudding of his heart.

"I'll destroy them," Changliu muttered darkly against your skin, his feverish mind slipping back to the sect assassins he had crushed earlier, his grip tightening until it borders on painful. "I'll level every sect, burn every palace, and shatter every heaven in the three realms if anyone ever tries to hurt you or take you away from me again. Do you hear me, sweetheart?"

Without waiting for an answer, he kissed the skin of your collarbone with a clumsy, desperate hunger, entirely refusing to let you go. He clung to your waist like a drowning man holding onto a raft, his heavy frame completely anchoring you to the mattress as the storm raged on outside, forcing you to play the role of caretaker to the most terrifying, fever-addled deity in existence.

The bustling, lantern-lit promenade of the capital’s premier night market was packed with high-ranking cultivators, wealthy merchants, and noble heirs flaunting their status.

For your sake, Mo Changliu had decided to make a rare, heroic effort.

Knowing you wanted a quiet, dignified stroll through the city without the usual peasants staring or local thugs whispering, he had spent a whole twenty minutes actually listening to your advice. He wore a set of immaculate, tailored white-and-gold silk robes that cost a small fortune, his long black hair was neatly secured by a jade crown, and he had even washed his face and stopped slouching.

As you walked side by side down the stone path, he looked every bit the part of a refined, wealthy young master from a prestigious background. He kept his posture straight, offered polite, cool nods to passing nobles, and even held a folded silk fan with calculated, elegant grace.

"See, sweetheart?" Changliu murmured smoothly out of the side of his mouth, flashing you a dazzling, aristocratic smile as a group of passing maidens blushed and looked away. "Your husband is cultured. I can be a dignified, high-society gentleman whenever I damn well please. No scoundrels are going to dare look at us twice tonight."

For about ten minutes, his grand performance actually worked.

Then, disaster struck in the form of Young Master Lu—a notoriously arrogant, painfully wealthy heir from a prominent local sword clan, flanked by four sycophantic attendants.

Young Master Lu took one look at your pristine robes, decided he wanted to claim the prime viewing spot by the moonlit bridge you were approaching, and immediately decided to flex his ego. Strutting directly into your path with his chin tilted so high he was practically looking at the clouds, Lu slammed his heavy, jeweled sword against the stone to block your way.

"Step aside, commoners," Lu sneered, his eyes lingering on you with obnoxious, predatory amusement. "This bridge is reserved for the elite tonight. A couple of wandering vagrants like you have no business standing where I breathe."

Changliu froze.

His elegant, refined young master persona cracked right down the middle. For a man who had lived for eons and casually erased entire mountain ranges, being talked down to by a pampered mortal brat with a glorified butter knife was an insult to his professional integrity.

Instead of blowing him into atoms, however, Changliu's competitive, petty soul instantly took the wheel. He decided he wasn't just going to put this brat in his place, he was going to out-flex him so hard the boy's ancestors would feel it.

"Oh?" Changliu’s voice dropped into a smooth, drippingly condescending tone. He snapped his silk fan shut with a sharp clack, lifting his chin even higher than Lu's. He stepped forward, radiating an unbearable, suffocating wave of upper-class smugness. "And what illustrious, world-shaking sect do you hail from, little puppy? Because judging by the tacky gold embroidery on your robes and the pathetic, squeaking sound of your spiritual core, I assumed your family's greatest achievement was inventing a new brand of ditch water."

The surrounding crowd gasped. Young Master Lu’s face turned a violent shade of beet red.

"You—! Do you know who my father is?!" Lu shrieked, his voice cracking with rage as he slammed his hand onto his sword hilt. "My family owns half the commercial veins in this province! I could buy your entire life and sell you as a footstool by tomorrow morning!"

"Buy my life?" Changliu let out a sharp, deeply offensive scoff, throwing his head back with an unhinged, dramatic laugh. He reached into his immaculate inner pocket, pulled out a massive, glowing pouch overflowing with top-tier, imperial-grade celestial pearls, each one worth more than Lu's entire estate and casually tossed it up and down in his palm.

"Poor sweetie," Changliu purred, looking down at Lu with an expression of profound, soul-crushing pity. "Does your daddy give you a weekly allowance of copper coins and let you play outside with the other toddlers? How precious. Here, wipe your tears with these."

With a flick of his wrist, Changliu violently pelted the heavy bag of priceless celestial pearls straight into Lu’s chest, knocking the arrogant heir flat onto his back into a muddy decorative puddle.

Lu’s attendants scrambled forward in absolute panic, hauling their soaked, sputtering young master out of the mud while the crowd whispered and pointed in stunned, uproarious amusement.

The only thing Mo Changliu absolutely could not stand in this world was someone trying to outmatched his shamelessness and arrogance.

Without breaking a sweat, Changliu casually popped a candied plum into his mouth, smoothed down the front of his pristine white robes, and seamlessly slid his arm around your waist, pulling you tightly against his side as if nothing had happened. He flashed you a blinding, completely unrepentant smile, his dark eyes sparkling with malicious victory.

"Right, then," Changliu hummed smoothly, completely ignoring the sputtering wreckage behind him as he guided you forward across the bridge. "Now that the trash has been swept off the path, shall we get some roasted duck, sweetheart? My jaw hurts from descending to that peasant's level of conversation."

Determined to prove that he could be a "frugal and responsible provider" for once, Mo Changliu had insisted on picking the inn for the night. He led you past all the comfortable, well-kept establishments in town and proudly stopped in front of a questionable, dimly lit tavern that looked like it was held together by termite prayers and sheer spite.

"Trust me, sweetheart," Changliu had declared with a suave flourish of his sleeve, casually leaning his elbow on your shoulder. "The high-end places just rip you off for fancy wooden paneling. A true master knows the best food and quietest nights are found in the hidden gems."

The "hidden gem" turned out to be a chaotic disaster.

Not only was the roof leaking, but the innkeeper, a notoriously stingy, crotchety old man refused to give you the room key unless you paid double the standard rate for "late-night service."

Now, any reasonable person would either pay or walk out. But Mo Changliu’s petty, competitive soul refused to let a mortal innkeeper out-scheme him.

"Double?" Changliu whispered to you, his dark eyes sparkling with instant, dangerous mischief. "Oh, absolutely not. Nobody cheats my family out of copper coins. Watch and learn."

Instead of arguing, Changliu put on a performance of tragic, heartbreak-level proportions. He let out a loud, shuddering sob, staggering backward into the crowded dining hall and clutching his chest as if mortified.

"Look at this, everyone!" Changliu wailed, his voice carrying across the entire tavern with dramatic, heartbreaking volume. "We walked three hundred miles through the frozen mud! My poor, frail spouse hasn't eaten in three days, and this ruthless innkeeper wants to turn us back out into the cold night to freeze!"

The entire tavern, filled with local travelers, hunters, and mercenary groups went dead silent. Dozens of eyes turned to glare at the sweating innkeeper.

"Have you no heart, old man?!" a burly mercenary roared, slamming his fist onto a table. "Charging double to a starving couple?!"

"I—I didn't—!" the innkeeper sputtered, his face turning pale as the angry crowd began to murmur aggressively.

Before the innkeeper could defend himself, Changliu played his winning card. He casually slunk behind the front counter, picked up a heavy, wooden tray loaded with four steaming plates of roasted braised pork belly meant for another table, and marched right over to your corner booth.

He slid into the seat beside you, dramatically wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you tight against his side. With a completely solemn, pitiful expression on his face, he picked up a piece of tender pork with his chopsticks and blew on it gently before pressing it to your lips.

"Eat, my sweet angel," Changliu sniffled loudly, loud enough for the sympathetic crowd to hear, while using his body to completely block the innkeeper from reaching the table. "Eat before the mean man takes it away."

The crowd cheered in support, several mercenaries actively standing up to physically block the furious innkeeper from approaching your table.

Safe in the corner booth, Changliu’s tragic, crying face instantly vanished.

A triumphant, incredibly smug grin stretched across his handsome features. He popped a piece of braised pork into his own mouth, leaning his head close to yours as his hands settled possessively over your waist, his shoulders shaking with a silent, delighted chuckle.

"Free dinner and the best room in the house," Changliu whispered into your ear, his voice smooth, satisfied, and dripping with shameless victory. He pressed a greasy, affectionate kiss to your cheek, winking at you. "See? Who needs spiritual stones when your husband has charm? Now hurry up and finish that pork, sweetheart, before the old man realizes I also stole his key ring from behind the desk."

For the first time since you had started traveling together, Mo Changliu genuinely tried to behave.

To celebrate surviving a month of bounty hunters and cheap roadside tents, you had booked a suite at The Jade Cloud Pavilion, the absolute most luxurious, prestigious, and obscenely expensive high-end inn in the entire province. It was a sanctuary of polished white jade, imported silk tapestries, rare orchid incense, and absolute, hushed refinement where high-ranking sect elders and imperial nobles quietly sipped spiritual tea.

Knowing the stakes, Changliu had actually let you dress him up. He wore immaculate, flowing silver-and-white robes, his hair was neatly secured by a jade crown, and he walked with a slow, measured, and effortlessly majestic stride.

As you checked in, he stood beside you with his hands neatly folded behind his back. He offered the head innkeeper a polite, warm, and utterly breathtaking smile, speaking in a smooth, deeply cultured tone that made several wealthy female cultivators nearby swoon and whisper in open admiration.

"A pleasure, honored host. We require your finest suite and absolute quiet for the evening," Changliu murmured, looking every bit like an ancient, well-bred immortal prince.

The innkeeper and the surrounding customers were thoroughly charmed. Whispers rippled through the lobby praising what an extraordinary, refined, and distinguished gentleman he was. “Such elegance,” a senior merchant sighed enviously. “A true exemplar of the righteous path.”

The good impression lasted precisely six minutes and forty-two seconds.

The moment you stepped into the inn’s grand, crystal-chandeliered dining hall for dinner, Changliu’s fragile veneer of civilization instantly combusted.

The second he caught the scent of the roasted meats, he completely discarded every rule of high-society etiquette. Without a word of warning, he abandoned his graceful walk, unceremoniously marched over to a premier table by the window, and aggressively kicked off his boots, pulling his long legs up onto the plush, velvet-covered dining chair so he could sit cross-legged like a peasant at a roadside noodle stall.

"Hey! Chopsticks! Bring me three plates of the spiced pork and a massive jar of your strongest peach wine!" Changliu hollered across the dead-silent, ultra-luxurious dining room, waving his hand dismissively at a frozen, trembling waiter.

The entire restaurant plunged into an uncomfortably heavy, stunned silence. High-ranking nobles holding delicate jade cups froze mid-air, their jaws dropping.

You let out a long, suffering sigh, sliding into the seat directly across from him and burying your face in your hands.

Changliu didn't notice or cared even less. The food arrived, and he treated the five-star establishment like his own messy kitchen floor. Instead of using his chopsticks properly, he casually picked up a massive, dripping piece of roasted rib with his bare fingers, tore into it with zero regard for table manners, and started chewing loudly with his mouth half-open.

A stray drop of spicy red sauce splattered onto the front of his pristine, multi-thousand-spirit-stone white silk robes. He didn't even blink; he just wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, leaving a bright red smudge right across the expensive fabric.

"Ah, the meat is a bit dry," Changliu loudly announced to the entire dining hall, craning his neck around to eye a plate of dumplings sitting at a nearby table belonging to a terrifying, senior sword elder from a rival sect. "Hey, old man! Are those crab dumplings any good, or are they stale?"

The senior elder turned around, his face turning a furious shade of purple, his hand trembling as he gripped his sword hilt.

Realizing the entire room was staring at him in sheer, unadulterated horror, Changliu finally paused. He swallowed his food, flashed a blinding, totally shameless grin at the glaring patrons, and casually leaned his elbow on the table, pointing a greasy finger right at you.

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart," Changliu chuckled unrepentantly, his dark eyes sparkling with wicked amusement as he reached across the table to steal a sweet bun off your plate with his dirty fingers. "A true immortal dragon eats wherever he wants, however he wants. Besides, look at how much money we saved by not ordering the fancy silverware set. Now open up, eat your vegetables, and stop looking like your husband just committed a war crime."

The peaceful afternoon in the tea house courtyard was shattered by an unexpected, deeply dramatic confrontation.

A well-meaning, exceptionally romantic young maiden from a local wealthy clan had tracked down Mo Changliu. Standing by the stone pavilion, her face flushed with pure, idealist emotion, she delivered a passionate, tearful confession of love.

"I know the rumors about you, Master Mo!" she declared dramatically, her hands clutched tightly over her heart. "I know the world calls you a penniless vagabond, a useless drunkard, and a shameless slacker! But I see through your rough exterior! I accept you for who you truly are, flaws and all! I don't care if you don't have money or status! I am willing to care for you and stand by your side forever!"

It was a confession straight out of a romantic ballad.

Mo Changliu, however, looked like he was suffering through an agonizing toothache.

Standing in his disheveled, fading robes, he leaned against a stone pillar with an expression of sheer, unadulterated annoyance. Instead of being touched, his eyes narrowed, his posture turning rigid as he deliberately put on his most unrefined, jerkish facade to crush her delusions into dust.

"Miss," Changliu drawled flatly, picking his ear with his pinky finger and blowing away the invisible dust with a loud, obnoxious huff. "I think you need your eyes checked by a doctor. I'm not some misunderstood hero in a book. I am actually, genuinely lazy. I haven't washed these robes in three days. I steal food from local stalls, I get drunk on cheap plum wine before noon, and my life's greatest ambition is doing absolutely nothing."

The maiden blinked, taken aback by his blunt, crude tone. "B-But... I can change you! I can help you become—"

"I don't want to be changed, and I don't want your help," Changliu interrupted coldly, giving her a sharp, condescending scoff as he crossed his arms. "I am a shameless jerk who treats people terribly. Go find some noble, high-principled young master to pine over and leave me alone. You're ruining my nap."

The maiden’s face flushed red with humiliation and heartbreak. Gathering her skirts, she let out a tearful gasp and ran out of the courtyard, leaving a heavy, awkward silence in her wake.

The exact second her footsteps faded past the archway, Changliu’s cold, arrogant posture completely dissolved.

Spotting you sitting quietly on the stone bench across the garden, his dark eyes instantly lit up. The cruel, blunt jerk vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a thoroughly needy, whining puppy.

Without a shred of his former dignity, Changliu trotted over to your side. He dropped right onto his knees in the dirt beside your stone bench, crouching down so his head was resting directly on your lap. He wrapped his long arms tightly around your waist, burying his face into your stomach like a pouting, exhausted stray dog seeking shelter.

"Sweetheart... my ears are bleeding," Changliu whined pathetic, his voice muffled against your robes as he gave your waist an needy, dramatic squeeze. "She was talking for so long about 'accepting my flaws'... it was terrifying. I almost died of second-hand embarrassment."

He tilted his face up to look at you, his dark eyes wide and pleading as he pouted his lips, completely unbothered by the dirt on his knees or how pathetic he looked crouching at your feet.

"You're the only one allowed to scold me for being a useless drunkard," Changliu grumbled, rubbing his cheek against your thigh with shameless affection, his hands tightening possessively around your waist. "Now rub my head. I used up all my social energy being a jerk to that girl, and my brain hurts. If you don't kiss me right now, I'm going to lie on this dirt floor and cry until evening."