Yi walks, drenched in sweat, still burning with rage. His steps echo heavily across the courtyard, his breath rough. Then he stops abruptly.
Under the full moon stands a white silhouette: his wife. She walks alone, serene, almost ghostly. Her hair drifts in the night breeze, her hands folded before her.
A violent jolt runs through him. His jaw tightens, his blood hammers harder. He snaps at her, harsh and instinctive:
— "What are you doing outside at this hour?!"
She startles, then turns toward him, the moon lighting her gentle face. A faint smile touches her lips.
— "I couldn't sleep… The moon was calling me."
Her simple words, her fragile smile— they break what little restraint he had left.
The fire poisoning him for countless nights twists suddenly into an overwhelming need.
He strides toward her, fast, almost brutal. She steps back on instinct, but he is already there. His powerful hands seize her shoulders, his burning breath brushing her face. His voice is low, hoarse, ragged:
— "You're playing with your life…"
She opens her mouth to answer, but her voice collapses when he pulls her against him, crushing her with the force he has held back too long.
His lips crash onto hers, not tender, not controlled: pure rage, raw desire. His hands slide along her waist, her neck, as if anchoring her to him, refusing to ever let her slip away again.
She lets out a soft gasp, startled, but she does not resist. The moon shines on their embrace like a silent witness.
The world disappears. There is nothing left but him— his sweat, his strength, his rough breath— and her, fragile and burning in his arms.