Artis had returned to his room to cultivate after his session with Nadia, feeling like the world's most debauched energy sponge.

This time, the yin energy practically flowed into him without protest, as if it was a Netflix subscription and he was the mooching relative.

No excessive sweating, no groaning like he was auditioning for an infomercial about hard labor—just smooth absorption.

Unfortunately, for all his effort, he didn't break through to the next level like before.

But he could feel it brewing. His meridians were practically vibrating, brimming with enough qi to blast a fucking mountain into pebbles. The breakthrough was imminent, hanging over him like an unpaid tab.

The next day, however, Artis got a summons from young master Jin, which instantly ruined his plans to laze around and cultivate.

"What's the matter this time, brother-in-law?"

"How the fuck should I know what goes on in that lordling's head?"

Chen shot back, yanking at the undershirt of his guard uniform with all the grace of someone battling a straitjacket.

"Aren't you his personal guard? You're supposed to know this shit."

"Well, aren't you his sworn brother? Shouldn't you know better than me?"

"...Touché."

"...Thought so."

Artis was lounging in Chen's room, already dressed and looking like the picture of smug indifference. Meanwhile, Chen was in the middle of what could only be described as a battle to the death with his guard uniform.

His wife hadn't just banned him from their bedroom; she'd basically exiled him to second-class citizen status.

The poor bastard couldn't even use the attached bathroom anymore. He had to shuffle to the common one like a peasant, dodging suspicious puddles and questionable odors. But Chen wasn't about to lash out at his wife—oh no. He valued his life far too much for that.

Instead, he channeled his frustration into a relentless tirade at his unfortunate outfit.

"Fuck me sideways with a rusty spear! This goddamn thing doesn't fit anymore! Did they shrink the fabric, or did my shoulders suddenly got muscular?"

He ranted, yanking down the hem of the under shirt like it owed him money.

"I swear to the heavens, everything in my life is a fucking mess!"

Artis, leaning casually against the table, didn't bother to hide his amusement.

"Wow, brother-in-law, you're really bringing the enthusiasm this morning."

Chen had frozen mid-motion, undershirt stuck awkwardly halfway down his back, arms in the air like he was some kind of human scarecrow.

It was a look so hilariously pitiful that Artis burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, clutching his stomach as tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

"Holy fuck, Chen! You look like a turkey about to be basted! Where's the stuffing?!"

Chen yanked at the shirt with a growl, finally freeing his head, his hair sticking up like an unkempt mop. He fixed Artis with a death glare that could've curdled milk.

"Yeah, laugh it up, you bastard! I am overly enthusiastic today. Wanna know why? Because of your fucking sister!"

Artis's laughter stopped mid-snort, his eyebrow quirking in mild amusement.

"Oh, this should be good. Do tell."

Chen threw his arms up in sheer exasperation, pacing the room like a madman.

"I haven't had a proper night's sleep in days! DAYS, Artis! I wake up every morning groggy, cranky, and on the verge of homicidal. Why? Because your precious sister has exiled me to the couch! Do you know what it's like to sleep on a couch that's so small my feet dangle off the edge like some oversized toddler?!"

Artis opened his mouth to crack another joke, but something about Chen's crazed eyes and disheveled appearance made him stop. This wasn't just ranting—this was the unfiltered venting of a broken man.

Chen continued, his voice rising with every word.

"And does she tell me what I did wrong? Fuck no! She just glares at me like I ran over her cat and burned down her favorite tea house! I'm out here suffering like a damn monk, and for what?! For trying to be a good husband?! Where's the reward, huh?!"

Artis leaned back against the wall, his smirk softening into something that almost resembled guilt. Almost. After all, he knew damn well why Nadia was mad at Chen, and it was entirely his fault.

Artis clutched his chest, his face contorted in a fake sob as he sniffled dramatically.

"Brother-in-law, this humble little brother didn't know things between you and my sister was this bad..."

Chen rolled his eyes, waving him off.

"Oh, shut the fuck up. I'm not blaming you, Artis. I'm blaming your dumbass sister, who—"

SLIDE. CRASH.

The bathroom door slammed open and then shut with the kind of thunderous finality that screamed, "Shut your mouth or prepare to die."

Chen froze mid-sentence, his words choking in his throat as he felt it—the unmistakable aura of doom radiating from behind him.

Though he couldn't see her, every nerve in his body screamed that Nadia was standing there, dripping wet and ready to commit spousal homicide.

Artis, the bastard, didn't even try to hide his amusement, leaning back on the table with a smirk so wide it was practically obscene.

'Why the fuck am I scared of her?'

Chen thought as he swallowed hard.

'If anything, she should be afraid of me! I'm the man of the house!'

Despite this inner pep talk, Chen found himself inching backward toward the bed like a man retreating from a ticking time bomb. His ass hit the edge of the mattress, and he quickly sat down, fumbling with his clothes.

Get dressed. Get out. Deal with this shit later.

That was his new mantra.

Meanwhile, Nadia, wrapped in nothing but a towel and her own mortification, stood rooted to the spot. She'd been waiting for the two idiots to clear out so she could avoid the awkwardness of facing Artis after... well, last night.

She had been stewing in the bathroom like a kettle about to blow its lid. She had no plans of facing either Artis or her husband, not after the absolute shitstorm of shame that was last night.

But then, Chen's muffled voice broke through the door, and the words hit her like a slap across the face.