How could Nan Banruo ever trust him again?
The same mistake, made once, had already carved a lesson into her bones and soul.
All her youthful admiration and affection had turned into heart-piercing thorns the moment the truth came to light. Covered in barbs, her flesh torn and bleeding, the pain was unbearable—so much so that she couldn’t even cry out.
The blood-red agony in Nan Banruo’s eyes was vividly reflected in Lin Qingyang’s gaze.
Suddenly, he raised his hand and covered her eyes.
Darkness engulfed her vision. Startled, Nan Banruo instinctively tried to push his hand away.
But she couldn’t.
His palm was large, his fingers long, covering most of her face like an iron shackle. There was no breaking free.
Her soft fingertips brushed against his unyielding knuckles—useless, and worse, it seemed to amuse him.
So she stopped struggling.
A silence stretched between them, long enough to span a lifetime, before he finally let out a low, insincere chuckle, his tone placating. "There, there. That was all in a past life."
Nan Banruo responded with a cold, wordless sneer.
"Even if we go back a thousand steps," Lin Qingyang continued, feigning innocence, "Banruo, have you forgotten who struck first? It’s unfair to expect me not to retaliate when someone tries to kill me."
She couldn’t break free from his grip.
Blindfolded by his hand, she could only listen as he spoke leisurely by her ear.
"In our past life, it was Lord Yanzhou and Commander Wu who set a trap for me in the palace."
"In this life, I came in good faith to propose marriage, only to be ambushed at your family’s doorstep."
"Banruo, have a little pity for me."
His shameless twisting of the truth made her laugh in fury.
Rage trembled on her lips as she spat, "You’re a monster who deserves death!"
With his hand still covering her eyes, her anger came out sounding pitiful instead of fierce.
A dark gaze settled on her lips. Though she couldn’t see it, she sensed it—instinctively pressing her mouth shut.
After a pause, he murmured, voice unreadable, "You’ve already killed me once. Isn’t that enough vengeance?"
Blind and disoriented, she couldn’t decipher his true emotions, and that unsettled her.
Clenching her teeth, she refused to back down. "You murdered my parents and brother. Killing you ten thousand times wouldn’t be enough!"
He went silent for a moment before laughing softly.
His voice was icy, seeping through gritted teeth. "Nan Banruo, you slaughtered my family too. Aren’t we even?"
His audacity left her speechless.
She knew his history well enough.
His father, Old Lord Dong, had died early, forcing Lin Qingyang to shoulder the weight of ruling four provinces before he even reached adulthood.
After he became emperor, his widowed mother was honored as empress dowager—but she passed away soon after, grieving for her late husband. By then, Lin Qingyang hadn’t yet brought Nan Banruo into the palace, so her death couldn’t be pinned on her.
"I never harmed your family," Nan Banruo said.
"Never?" The hand gripping her face tightened abruptly.
"Of course not."
"Never?" He leaned in dangerously close, his voice a low, deliberate whisper. "Then who killed my wife and child?"
Nan Banruo’s heart stopped.
Though she couldn’t see, she felt the chilling menace radiating from him.
His fingers trembled slightly against her skin.
She knew Lin Qingyang’s murderous intent was at its peak.
Steeling herself, she provoked him further. "You mean Xuan Heng and the Little Crown Prince?"
She knew full well those weren’t the "wife and child" he meant. The Little Crown Prince had been poisoned, and Lin Qingyang hadn’t even glanced at his body. As for Xuan Heng—he had executed her himself, slicing her to pieces.
Lin Qingyang’s presence seemed to vanish for a moment.
She didn’t know how he suppressed the killing urge raging inside him.
Finally, his fingers loosened, and light flooded back into her vision.
Blinking against the sudden brightness, she looked up to see his eyes bloodshot, his lips curved in a smile.
With deliberate tenderness, he reached out to smooth the sweat-dampened hair at her temples.
"After all these years, you’re still jealous?" His calloused thumb grazed her cheek as he whispered terrifyingly sweet words. "You’ve always been my wife. In every lifetime. Only you."
Her breath hitched, her heart cold. Steadying herself, she lowered her gaze. "I’m tired. I want to sleep."
Without waiting for a response, she turned away, feigning sleep with her back to him.
But Lin Qingyang wasn’t done.
Soon, a large hand slid over her, gripping the back of her slender neck.
"You can’t sleep like this, Banruo," he murmured. "It won’t do."
Her pulse stuttered.
His fingers began to tighten.
She held her breath, bracing for suffocation—but the pain that came wasn’t what she expected.
He wasn’t choking her.
Instead, his thumb pressed into the stiff knots along her neck, kneading with deliberate pressure.
"Your meridians are so blocked, you’ll be in agony tomorrow," he said. "Let me loosen them first."
Nan Banruo exhaled slowly.
Once again, he had reined in his murderous impulses.
Since she couldn’t resist anyway, she let him work. At least this was better than being strangled.
When Lin Qingyang put his mind to it, he could be unnervingly skilled. His fingers moved with precision, each press melting tension she hadn’t even realized she carried.
After a while, he added his other hand, smoothing down her shoulders, working the stiffness from her spine.
The initial ache gave way to a deep, spreading relief.
Her robes slipped loose, baring a shoulder like polished jade, flushed pink with warmth.
His touch grew hotter.
Occasionally, his breath brushed her skin—scalding, heavy.
Yet he didn’t cross the line. Every movement was clinical, purposeful, meant to heal rather than claim.
Nan Banruo had always wondered where Lin Qingyang learned such techniques.
Whenever she asked, he evaded the question. Eventually, she stopped caring.
His hands drifted lower.
She melted into the bed, her body softening under his touch.
Her white robe pooled at her waist as he peeled it away like the skin of a ripe peach.
A delicate flush spread down her spine, her breathing uneven, her skin radiating heat.
The fabric bunched at her hips like a cloud. She lay there, boneless and beautiful, drunk on the sensations.
Lin Qingyang gave the nape of her neck a gentle squeeze. "Wait for me," he said.
She ignored him.
He left—only to return moments later.
Still facing away, she felt his hands settle at the small of her back, working out the last stubborn knots.
Her robe clung precariously to her waist.
One tug, and she would be completely at his mercy.
Not that Nan Banruo had ever held any illusions about Lin Qingyang’s morals.
When he reached out and hooked an arm around her slender waist, pulling her soft body close, Nan Banruo lowered her gaze to the trembling jade-like radiance before her and thought to herself, "So this is how it is."
She had no intention of scolding him.
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A man like him—insults would only be a reward.
Her body was too enticing, and after his hard work, it was only natural he’d want to pluck the fruit.
Glancing down at herself, she saw skin so delicate it seemed to glow, white tinged with pink. Only then did she realize there were none of the usual bruises.
No fingerprints, no love marks, no bite marks—nothing.
Faintly, she recalled last night—the groom had done nothing more than clasp her fingers and press a small golden knife into her palm. Beyond that, he hadn’t laid a hand on her.
Now, remembering it, the scene felt like a ghostly encounter.
A blood-soaked demon, dragging himself forward inch by inch on the bed, his presence oppressive and inescapable.
Yesterday, her mind had been too hazy to feel fear.
Now, a chill of dread crept up her spine.
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As her body trembled slightly, his arm left her waist and settled on her shoulders.
Nan Banruo gritted her teeth, bracing for the storm.
But to her surprise, he simply steadied her, then withdrew his hand. Leaning over, he picked up a warm cloth draped over the chair by the bed and began gently wiping the sweat from her body.
Nan Banruo froze.
So that was why he’d left earlier—to fetch the cloth simmering on the stove. He must have let it cool just enough, now perfectly warm.
After one pass, he wrung it out, the cloth drying instantly.
Such enviable strength.
He wiped her down again with the dry cloth, leaving her skin faintly flushed.
Was he really not going to touch her?
Nan Banruo felt a flicker of confusion.
Once finished, he adjusted her robes and tilted his head. "You can lie down now."
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"...Oh."
Nan Banruo crawled onto the pillow and slipped under the covers, her entire body warm and relaxed.
Sleep claimed her almost instantly.
Lin Qingyang leaned down, pinching the nape of her neck as he spoke, but she only managed a vague, drowsy hum in response.
He chuckled in exasperation.
"Nan Banruo," Lin Qingyang sighed with amusement, "you’re nothing but a wild, untamed bird."
She couldn’t care less what nonsense spilled from his mouth.
He continued, "Only acknowledge me when you’re hungry, then run off once you’re fed. Heartless, stubborn, and ungrateful."
With great effort, she cracked her eyes open and gave him a look that said, "Whatever you say."
Annoyed, he gave her head a light shove.
Irritated, he repeated, "When you wake up tomorrow, I’ll give you an explanation."
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Nan Banruo’s consciousness was already slipping away.
Before she drifted off, one last hazy thought crossed her mind: What, is he going to hang himself at my bedside the moment I open my eyes?
---
When Nan Banruo awoke at dawn, there was no sign of the hanged ghost Lin Qingyang.
She sat up, pulling on her shoes and socks.
As she reached the bedroom door, she heard a strange commotion in the courtyard.
Following the sound, she saw Lin Qingyang standing in the center of the yard, his clothes dusted with a thin layer of frost.
Before him sat a large ebony chair, and bound to it was a woman gagged with a cloth, struggling and muffling cries.
Nan Banruo’s heart instinctively clenched.
Squinting, she realized she didn’t recognize the beautiful woman at all.
Lin Qingyang turned to her, smiling as he beckoned her over.
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Nan Banruo approached warily, watching as his slender fingers flicked a dagger with effortless grace, the blade glinting coldly in the morning light.
Seven inches of lethal steel.
He pressed the dagger into her palm and nodded toward the woman. "Go on. Kill her."
Nan Banruo’s brows furrowed in disbelief.
Was he really forcing her to murder a stranger?
"Ah," he murmured with a low laugh, "I forgot to introduce you. This one—she’s the mother who bore me. My father died too early, so she’s the only elder left in the family."
It took Nan Banruo a moment to process his words.
She took a step back, eyes wide with shock.
Lin Qingyang closed the distance, wrapping his arms around her from behind, his hands covering hers to steady the blade.
A cold command hissed in her ear—
"Don’t you want to kill my entire family? Go on—do it!"
