Breaking the Taboo (1v2, Blood Uncle and Nephew) - Chapter 19

Han Yezhen’s hand stilled beneath the hem of her bra, fingers just grazing the underside of soft swell. He turned his face slightly, exhaling—warm breath poured across her cheek, damp and heated.

Her eyes stayed shut tight. His grip on her chin distorted her face slightly, the pressure stiff, inescapable. Goosebumps rose along her arms like a wave.

He stared at her—hard. The sharp line of his jaw tensed. Then, after a long beat, he pulled back, released her chin, and slid wordlessly back into the driver’s seat.

He popped open the center console and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping it twice against the lid before drawing one out with his lips. As the flame licked the tip, the car window on his side buzzed down.

He gave her a sideways glance, eyes narrowed.

She looked wrecked.

That usually snow-pale face of hers had gone bloodless, drained of all color. A faint red gathered at the corners of her eyes. Long lashes trembled like insect wings, delicate and helpless. Her slight body shook faintly, pitiful in the most devastating way.

Like she was begging to be broken.

He felt it then—that savage, dangerous urge to ravage.

Where she couldn’t see, Han Yezhen slowly rolled his thumb over the tip of his index finger, still savoring the slick, silk-like memory of her skin brushing his own.

By the time Li Mohan had straightened her clothes and tried to compose herself, she took in a deep breath and forced the tremble out of her voice as she began talking—haltingly—about being beaten at school.

She cherry-picked details, carefully choosing to mention only the part where Zhao Fei hit her. Not a word about Han Ziying—the one who orchestrated it all.

Han Yezhen said nothing for a long time. The cigarette burned between his fingers, a lazy spiral of smoke veiling his expression. Finally, he opened his mouth, voice quiet but sharp: “So you just let them bully you? Can’t fight back, can’t even tell the Han family?”

The red in Li Mohan’s eyes deepened. Her shoulders trembled slightly.

He really thinks she didn’t fight back? That she never told anyone?

The first time she got jumped—in middle school—she fought like hell.

She slapped Zhao Fei across the face, so hard her head snapped. Climbed on top of her. Straddled her and slapped her again. Again. Over and over—until her hand throbbed and Zhao Fei’s face bloomed with swelling red welts.

Others joined in—kicks, punches, hands yanking at her hair, dragging at her limbs—but her eyes had already gone bloodshot. She locked her legs around Zhao Fei’s waist like a trap and started swinging fists, bone meeting flesh, punching with every bit of fury she had.

Then Han Ziying showed up.

One brutal punch slammed into Li Mohan’s temple. The world tilted. Her head spun, vision fragmented at the edges. Consciousness frayed.

But adrenaline hit her like a shot of fire.

Her eyes glazed red.

She didn’t hesitate.

She lunged forward, opened her mouth—and bit.

Right into Han Ziying’s arm.

She sank her teeth in hard—every ounce of strength she’d ever possessed, every scrap of rage, everything she’d held back—she used it. Bl00d filled her mouth, warm and metallic. Her teeth felt like they didn’t belong to a human anymore.

She didn’t let go.

Not when he screamed.

Not when the taste of bl00d soaked her tongue.

Not until someone tore her off.

She nearly tore off a chunk of him.

It caused a scandal. Both Zhao Fei and Han Ziying ended up in the hospital.

The school hushed it quickly, afraid of the damage to their reputation. But the moment she stepped back into the Han household, Master Han met her with a slap.

No questions. No pause. Just a brutal, open-palm strike that cracked across her face.

Her lip split.

Her ears rang like bells.

They didn’t even let her explain.

They dragged her straight to the Han family basement and locked her in.

No windows.

Just four walls. A door that clicked shut. Then—nothing.

Darkness.

The kind that felt thick, like it had weight. She couldn’t tell day from night. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t see. Her mind twisted with the silence, every creak and draft warping into monsters, hallucinations, horrors. Her skin crawled. Her breath turned shallow. Time stopped making sense.

She started losing it.

How old had she even been?

Eventually she gave in.

Sobbing. Screaming. Pounding on the door until her knuckles went numb. Throwing herself at the wood with her forehead, again and again, until her voice went hoarse and her thoughts unraveled.

She begged.

Apologized.

Promised she’d never do it again.

Said she understood now.

She wouldn’t fight. She’d behave.

She pressed her head to the floor and kept begging, kept apologizing until her forehead split open—bl00d running down to mix with the tears on her face, dripping onto the cold cement below, vanishing into the dust.