SWHCBB 1
Chapter 1 – On the First Day of Rebirth, I Broke My Husband
Hot! So hot! Stiflingly hot! Scorchingly hot!
It was like an indescribable impulse surging wildly through his body, leaving him unable to restrain himself.
Jiang Chuang vaguely sensed someone beneath him. Their skin was pressed together, and that person’s body was cool to the touch—comfortingly so—and carried a familiar, well-loved scent.
Jiang Chuang’s thoughts were a complete mess; he couldn’t think clearly. He could only follow his instincts and give in to his heart, pulling the person into his arms, into his bones and blood, ascending to heaven together with him.
…
Two hours later, after having vented his desire, Jiang Chuang’s reason finally returned.
He sat up and saw clearly the person he had ravaged into unconsciousness. Pale skin was mottled with bruises in shades of red and blue—frightening to behold.
Dark hair spilled across the pillow, eyes shut, brows furrowed, breath faint.
That face, delicate as carved jade—even with eyes closed, it was breathtakingly beautiful, as if Nuwa1Nüwa (女娲) is a goddess in ancient Chinese mythology, often credited with creating humanity and repairing the sky. herself had painstakingly sculpted it to perfection.
Even just lying there quietly with eyes closed, he was impossible to look away from.
There had once been those who claimed that if the Fifth Prince’s black eyes could ever return to normal, just a single glance would be enough to captivate all who beheld him.
But, alas…
The Fifth Prince?!
The person lying before him now was his husband—the same Fifth Prince who had been cast aside after going blind.
The same Wen Jue, Wen Zhiyu, who had died in his arms.
Jiang Chuang froze for a long moment. He reached out and touched his cheek—it was still cold.
Panic gripped him, and he quickly checked for breath—he was still breathing!
Was this a dream or reality?!
If this was a dream, it was far too real!
Jiang Chuang trembled as he cupped his face and called softly, “Zhiyu…”
No response…
Panic rising, his voice trembled more. “Zhiyu!”
Wen Jue’s lashes quivered slightly, but he didn’t wake.
Only then did Jiang Chuang breathe a sigh of relief. The sensation, the breath—too real to be a dream!
He began to look around, and suddenly was struck speechless. This setting, this layout—how could it be so familiar?
Wasn’t this exactly the scene of their wedding night five years ago?
Yes, the jeweled sword hanging at the head of the bed was the very one gifted by Princess Chenyu, who had insisted it be hung there, claiming it would ward off evil and bring peace.
But Jiang Chuang knew exactly what she meant—she was afraid he would mistreat Wen Jue. He hadn’t paid it much mind at the time and let Wen Jue hang it if he wanted to.
Back then, Wen Jue’s sightless eyes had been full of joy as he said “okay,” but because he couldn’t see, he’d asked his husband for help hanging it.
So that sword had been hung by Jiang Chuang himself. Long-buried memories surged back all at once, making him momentarily dazed.
But there was no time to think about that now. If this really was their wedding night, it meant he had drunk the drugged wedding wine—and spent the entire night tormenting Wen Jue.
Wen Jue was unconscious for a whole day and night, missing the proper time to return to the palace and express his gratitude. As a result, his reputation suffered, and when he finally returned, he was met with layers of sneers and veiled mockery.
The Emperor already disdained Wen Jue, and with the Empress whispering in his ear, all the rewards Wen Jue should have received were cut in half.
Who knew how many biting remarks and cold shoulders Wen Jue endured behind closed doors?
Jiang Chuang carefully wrapped Wen Jue in a quilt and shouted loudly, “Someone! Call the manor physician! Bring in hot water!”
Several young servants came in at his call, heads lowered as they carried in the hot water, not daring to look up or speak.
They’d all heard the heated chaos from the first half of the night. They knew what had happened. But to the point of needing the physician—how serious must it have been?
Damn it! So it really was their wedding night!?
After leaping off the cliff with Wen Jue, had he somehow returned to five years ago?
But the timing—could it be any worse!? Why couldn’t he have come back just a little earlier?
If he’d returned before drinking the wedding wine, how could Wen Jue have ended up like this?
Jiang Chuang calmed down—he accepted this bizarre situation surprisingly quickly.
Maybe that strange phenomenon had dragged back his resentful soul, one unwilling to reincarnate, giving him a chance to make up for all the regrets of his past life!
After sending everyone out, Jiang Chuang personally used hot water to gently clean Wen Jue’s sticky, disheveled body. His mind, however, held not a single impure thought.
Only guilt and deep pity.
Wen Jue had been poisoned in his youth, leaving him blind. On top of being unloved and unwanted, he was trampled on by all.
His health was wrecked from years of suffering, plagued with illness—how could a frail body like his withstand Jiang Chuang’s brute force?
The more Jiang Chuang thought about it, the angrier he grew. Whoever had drugged them deserved death. This wasn’t just about preventing Wen Jue from attending the palace to give thanks—it was a deliberate attempt to kill him!
Using Jiang Chuang’s own hands to do it!
He had known even in his past life that he’d been drugged, but at the time he hadn’t thought much of it. He’d assumed the Emperor had resorted to such means to ensure they consummated their marriage despite any misgivings.
Only after seeing Wen Jue bedridden, and everything that followed, had Jiang Chuang realized it had all been a setup—but by then, it was too late.
On the bed, Wen Jue lay uneasy, eyes shut, coughing lightly. The sound startled Jiang Chuang, who leaned in anxiously to check on him. Only after confirming he was alright did he breathe again.
He gently applied the salve the physician had given him to Wen Jue’s bruised skin. Jiang Chuang was full of regret and fury. If he ever found out who had drugged them, he’d cut that person’s throat with his own sword!
Looking at Wen Jue like this always made Jiang Chuang’s heart seize. His mind flashed back to five years later—Wen Jue covered in blood, vomiting black gore, lying half-dead in his arms.
Even on the brink of death, he had pleaded, “Can you stop being mad at me? Husband.”
Back then, Jiang Chuang was panicked and flustered, wanting to reply—but the grief had already drowned out his voice.
He had watched helplessly as Wen Jue died in his arms, those dark eyes fading into lifeless stillness.
Thinking of that moment, Jiang Chuang’s eyes turned red. He lowered himself to press his forehead against Wen Jue’s.
He murmured, “Zhiyu, my Zhiyu…”
“I’ll never throw a tantrum at you again. As long as you’re safe and sound, whatever you say, I’ll do.”
He clasped Wen Jue’s hand tightly—unconsciously tightening his grip.
It woke Wen Jue.
Wen Jue slowly opened his eyes.
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