Please Stop Talking - Chapter 485

Bags of salt, spices and sugar stacked from inside the shop all the way out into the streets. Merchants loaded with goods going flooded the streets with their carriages.

Every myth and legend is a path to Godhood!

A broken prince, a shadowy scheme, all that amidst a bloody fight for a throne wrongly succeeded. Join a group of youngsters as they take their first steps into the martial world, towards the grandest adventure of their lives. It all begins in a certain inn, set against verdant mountains and facing a scenic lake.

“Bring us your finest wine and best meat!” Yelled a hulking man who seemed to be the leader of the dozen strong group.

“How much?” The waiter anxiously nodded his head.

“As much as you have!” The hulking man yelled back.

“That’s…”

“HUH?” The hulking man shot the waiter a furious glare.

“Dear guests, our inn operates on the principle of ‘pay first, dishes later’. As such, it will be better if you tell us exactly how much meat and wine you need.” Xiao Se returned their furious stares with a thin smile.

“Who are you supposed to be?” The hulking man eyed him with bulging eyes.

“This humble one is known as Xiao Se, the owner of this inn, the Fallen Snow Villa.” Xiao Se replied with the same smile and with a level of courtesy worth a solid 12/10.

“Well, we have no money.” The hulking man stabbed his blade into one of the nearby tables.

“Oh?”

“But I’m sure you have some!” The man pointed his finger at Xiao Se.

At that, Xiao Se furiously shook his head. “I’m sorry to break it to you but our little inn hasn’t made a single sale in almost a month. I’m about to owe them salaries myself…”

“Like hell if I care!” The hulking man smashed his palm down on the table. “Even if you have no money, that fur coat of yours should at least be worth a hundred odd silvers.”

“NONSENSE!” Yelled Xiao Se, eyes wide open and gaze as sharp as daggers.

The hulking man was stunned, his body even shivering involuntarily for that split second.

“I, Xiao Se, ride only the finest horse and wear only the richest threads! This fur coat of mine was specially sewn by some of the finest seamstresses in the imperial capital in the August Threads. Just sewing it took three whole months, shipping it, another one. Hmph, a hundred silvers? That’s not even enough to buy the sleeves of my coat!”

Three rejections. Three shattered dreams. That was Layla’s reality, all because she was different—a half-shifter in a world obsessed with purity. Ostracized, shunned, and finally sold off like a pawn to the most feared ruler alive—the Lycan King. He was ruthless, a king with a graveyard of brides, each one a ghostly reminder of a fate worse than death.Layla loathed him. Hated the way his gaze cold and fathomless, held no warmth for her. Hated how his touch, both thrilling and terrifying, sent an uninvited chill down her spine.---“I hate you!” I screamed, hands clenched so tight my knuckles ached.He sighed, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips, his tone mocking as he closed his book with a deliberate snap. “Stressed, are we?” he asked, strolling toward me, each step reminding me exactly who held the power here.“Lucky for you,” he drawled, rolling up his sleeves as he stopped just inches away, “I know exactly 70 ways to ease those nerves.” His fingers brushed my cheek, a touch that seemed to burn into my skin. “The first… a hug.” His voice dropped to a rough whisper as he leaned in, breath hot against my ear. “And the rest... well, that's 69? what do you say about that?”I swallowed hard, my heart thudding wildly as he tilted his head, waiting for me to react, that insufferable smirk still in place.“What’s the matter, darling?” he murmured, a taunt lingering in his gaze.---A Dangerous ObsessionCan she resist the pull, or will she dance into the flames of her own destruction?A dark dive into obsession, raw need, and the razor’s edge between desire and devastation.---LYCAN KING CASSIANI will tear her apart piece by piece, feeding the wildfire that grips her with each shuddered breath. Like air to flame, I’ll claim every inch, drawing heat from her skin until it sinks into her bones.Her pulse will race under my hands, her breaths shallow, pleading. Her eyes may scream, but her lips will still murmur my name. That first taste of fear will only feed something deeper—a need that burns through her veins, molten and fierce.And just when she’s too far gone to turn back, I’ll twist the knife, giving her the pain she’s learned to crave.She’ll be the moth to my flame, helpless against the very thing that will consume her.