Nan Banruo felt dizzy and disoriented.
The morning sun had just risen, casting a pale golden glow over the courtyard. The air was filled with the crisp fragrance of bamboo mist, warm and brimming with the vitality of spring.
Yet she found herself trapped in a grotesque nightmare.
Lin Qingyang stood behind her, his arms encircling her, his hands gripping hers as they clenched the dagger together. Step by step, he forced her toward the beautiful middle-aged woman bound to a black sandalwood chair.
Nan Banruo struggled but couldn’t break free, stumbling forward against her will.
The cold gleam of the blade reflected on the woman’s face.
Though past her prime, the woman was still strikingly beautiful, her features delicate and well-maintained—evidently accustomed to a life of luxury. Yet the faint traces of sorrow at the corners of her eyes betrayed her suffering.
Handsome men often take after their mothers, and Lin Qingyang was no exception.
As Nan Banruo got a closer look at the woman’s face, her pupils trembled—the resemblance was uncanny. Their features were carved from the same mold, their expressions eerily similar.
There was no mistaking it—this was his mother.
The woman writhed in her bonds, her eyes wide with terror and fury. A cloth gag muffled her screams, leaving only desperate, wordless noises.
Nan Banruo’s legs weakened, her body resisting, but Lin Qingyang’s grip was unyielding. Forced to hold the dagger with both hands, she watched helplessly as the tip pressed against the woman’s chest.
She tried to speak, but no sound escaped her lips.
The pressure from his hands remained steady.
Lin Qingyang wasn’t bluffing. Even as she strained backward with all her might, the blade inched forward relentlessly.
The fine silver-embroidered silk of the woman’s spring robe dimpled under the dagger’s point before yielding with a soft shick.
Nan Banruo’s breath hitched.
She watched in horror as a crimson stain bloomed across the fabric.
The woman gasped in pain, ceasing her struggles. Her wide eyes, dark with hatred, locked onto Lin Qingyang.
Caught between them, Nan Banruo’s scalp prickled, her body turning to ice. Her heartbeat stuttered.
Her hands had gone numb, yet she could still feel the blade sinking deeper, grating against bone, sending shivers of revulsion up her spine.
The bloodstain spread steadily—death was moments away.
"Lin Qingyang," Nan Banruo forced out, her voice trembling with suppressed fury, "You can’t just grab someone and claim she’s your mother."
As she spoke, she tilted her head back to study his face.
He towered over her, his shadow swallowing her whole as he leaned down.
His long eyes narrowed, a chilling smirk playing on his lips.
He paused, then shifted his weight forward.
Nan Banruo staggered as half his body pressed down on her—unyielding, heavy as forged iron.
With one arm still wrapped around her, he reached out with his free hand.
Two fingers hooked into the gag and yanked it free.
The woman—Xie Yao—immediately erupted into curses: "Lin Qingyang! You heartless, ungrateful monster! A beast who deserves a thousand deaths!"
Lin Qingyang arched a brow, glancing at Nan Banruo with deliberate amusement.
See? his expression said. Only a mother could curse me like this.
"You murdered your own father—disloyal, unfilial, devoid of conscience! Heaven will strike you down! The Xie family of Hexi will never let you go! Do you really think your uncles will stand by you? Dream on!"
Lin Qingyang didn’t even blink.
Nan Banruo’s mind reeled.
The world knew only that Lin Qingyang’s father had died young, forcing him to shoulder the burdens of governing a vast territory alone.
But no one had guessed—he was the killer?
She vaguely recalled that his father had married into the Xie family of Hexi.
Lin Qingyang flicked the gag aside, then plucked a jade pendant from Xie Yao’s waist—the Hexi Xie family’s emblem, engraved with the character Yao.
Proof of her identity.
He tossed it away carelessly.
"So," he mused, voice flat, "You’ve been holding a grudge over the old man’s death."
Xie Yao’s pupils contracted violently. "You finally admit it! I should have known… should have known from the start! You vile, cold-blooded devil!"
Lin Qingyang chuckled. "Yes, you should have. But…" He paused, drawing out the moment. "Weren’t you thrilled when I killed our aunt and cousin? Why is Father different? He was the one who hurt you, yet you only hate me—are you blind, or just stupid?"
Xie Yao froze, then began to tremble uncontrollably.
"…Madman! Kill me, then! If you could murder your own father, why stop at me? I’ve never wronged you—go on, do it!"
Lin Qingyang’s gaze dropped to the dagger embedded in her chest.
His expression darkened.
While he’d been distracted, Nan Banruo had managed to pull the blade back slightly.
He shot her a displeased look. "I gave you a chance for revenge, and this is how you waste it?"
Nan Banruo pressed her lips together, subtly trying to withdraw her hands. "She’s done nothing to me."
"How noble," he mocked. "Nan Banruo, too pure to harm the innocent?"
She inhaled sharply. "Yes. What of it?"
"Then," he leaned closer, eyes boring into hers, "how did my virtuous Banruo find the heart to kill that child?"
Her gaze hardened.
She knew he meant the young crown prince—a kind, thoughtful boy. Xuan Heng hadn’t raised him poorly.
He’d been a good child.
Nan Banruo met his stare unflinchingly.
"You think I lied? That I never killed him, never meant to rid myself of your child—that I only said those things to hurt you?"
He arched a brow, waiting.
Her lips curled. "You’re wrong."
Her defiant glare told him everything: her dying words had been true. To destroy what he’d forced on her, she would stain her hands—she loathed him.
Their locked gazes turned glacial.
Lin Qingyang’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
"Fine."
He released her.
The sudden lack of resistance sent the dagger clattering to the ground.
"Don’t regret it," he said, stepping back with a venomous grin. "Have you considered your parents might already be dead? This was your only chance for vengeance. Banruo… remember—the ghosts above are watching."
With that, he turned and strode out of the courtyard without a backward glance.
Nan Banruo stared blankly at his retreating figure.
After a long while, Xie Yao’s shrill curses snapped her back to reality.
Nan Banruo turned a complicated gaze toward her so-called "mother-in-law."
Seeing her timid and docile demeanor, Xie Yao couldn’t resist venting the resentment she had bottled up for so long: "You wretch! Hurry up and untie me! Do you really think my son would dare harm me?"
Nan Banruo pressed her lips together and remained silent.
Xie Yao spat venomously: "Who do you think you are? Shameless harlot, daring to poison my son’s mind… Mmmph!"
Nan Banruo stuffed the cloth gag back into Xie Yao’s mouth, silencing her.
She then slowly bent forward, offering a respectful bow befitting a junior, and said in a soft, measured tone, "The one who wants you dead is Lin Qingyang. I helped you, yet you curse me—are you stupid or blind?"
Unintentionally, she found herself sharing Lin Qingyang’s sentiments.
Xie Yao: "Mmmph! Mmmph!"
Nan Banruo picked up the knife from the ground.
Xie Yao’s pupils constricted in fear, her breath hitching.
After a brief hesitation, Nan Banruo walked to the kitchen, stopped by the well, and flung the blade into its depths.
Plop.
Xie Yao finally exhaled in relief.
Nan Banruo didn’t spare Xie Yao another glance. She returned to the bedroom and sat quietly by the window seat.
She could sense that Lin Qingyang had been… upset earlier.
The way he spoke had inadvertently revealed a sliver of sincerity, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that her parents and brother might truly be unharmed.
But she didn’t dare dwell on it.
Things that seemed too good to be true were often fragile—the more one longed for them, the easier they shattered.
Lost in thought, she barely noticed the passage of time until the aroma of food wafted in at noon.
Leaving the bedroom, she passed through the courtyard and realized Xie Yao was no longer there.
Walking down the front corridor, she spotted smoke rising from the kitchen.
She leaned against the doorframe and peered inside.
Two stir-fried dishes were already plated, meat and winter melon simmered in a pot, the steam from the bamboo rice perfumed the air, and a small stove kept a medicinal decoction warm.
Nan Banruo mused to herself: Even after all this, he still has the heart to cook—he must truly enjoy it.
Lin Qingyang knew she had arrived but didn’t turn around.
Soon, the meal was ready. He arranged everything on a wooden tray and strode out without a word.
He passed by her as if she were invisible.
Nan Banruo followed silently.
He went straight to the bamboo dining pavilion, expressionlessly setting the table.
Two pairs of chopsticks.
During the meal, he neither looked at her nor acknowledged her.
Only when she reached for the spicy peppers a few times did he coldly tap her chopsticks with his own.
Nan Banruo: "…"
She asked, "In your past life, did you kill your mother?"
Lin Qingyang lifted his eyelids indifferently, his face clearly saying, "None of your business."
She pressed further, "Did she do something to betray you?"
Lin Qingyang picked up a piece of winter melon.
Chewed it slowly.
After a long pause, he glanced at her dismissively. "I sent her back to Hexi. Don’t regret it later."
After the meal, Lin Qingyang brought over a bowl of dark, bitter medicinal soup.
The familiar scent made Nan Banruo freeze momentarily.
Memories tied to smell were stubborn—she had encountered this once before, yet even after a lifetime, it remained vivid.
Before the bowl even neared her, a dull ache pulsed in her abdomen.
Safflower.
Lin Qingyang’s face was impassive as he idly spun the bowl with his slender fingers.
"You think getting rid of it solves everything?" he said. "If you don’t want to conceive, drink it."
Nan Banruo reached for it without hesitation.
He pressed his hand over hers, his gaze icy. "Think carefully."
She met his eyes. "Why the sudden change of heart?"
Two nights had already passed—why prepare contraceptive medicine now?
Lin Qingyang lowered his lashes, the corner of his mouth quirking. "Bringing someone like me into the world is worse than not having children at all. Don’t you agree?"
Nan Banruo: "…"
She could sense his… melancholy?
If she sweet-talked him now, if she refused the drink—
It might have lifted his spirits.
Nan Banruo held his gaze steadily.
Then raised the bowl and drained it in one go.
