The elixir of immortality in Nan Banruo’s body was taking effect.
Her vision blurred, as if she were looking through a veil—one that grew thicker by the moment.
Lin Qingyang’s voice drifted to her from afar, fragmented and distant.
He spoke of his betrayed sincerity.
Nan Banruo knew that if she obediently returned to him, he would feed her the antidote. She might never even realize she had been poisoned—he had meticulously crafted a tale of "starting anew." All she had to do was close her eyes and believe him, and everything would be resolved happily.
But if she insisted on tearing apart the illusion of tenderness, this calamity awaited her.
Sincerity? What a joke!
A man like him had no right to speak of sincerity.
As if sharing her thoughts, Nan Jihe immediately lashed out, "Lin Qingyang! After all you’ve done, how dare you speak of sincerity?!"
Lin Qingyang remained unperturbed. "Father-in-law, consider this—if I lacked such methods, I would have long since been reborn elsewhere, rather than standing here today, bargaining with you as an equal."
"Hah!" Nan Jihe’s breathing grew ragged, his knuckles whitening around the hilt of his blade.
"If my sincerity means nothing," Lin Qingyang continued leisurely, "then perhaps now… I should paint this place red, turning it into a living hell?"
His damp sleeves stirred without wind, and the air hummed with the tremors of unseen blades.
No sword was visible, yet the threat of steel seemed to lurk everywhere.
He carried no blade on him!
Nan Jihe’s expression darkened. "You’ve forged your lifebound sword?"
The gathered crowd tensed as if facing a dire enemy.
A lifebound sword marked a transcendent realm—its wielder could command it at will, appearing and vanishing like a phantom, multiplying its forms, a single man and blade rivaling an army.
In an instant, the air seemed strung with countless invisible threads, each poised to claim a life at the slightest touch.
Nan Banruo shuddered, her heart quaking with dread.
How had Lin Qingyang, reborn, grown so terrifyingly strong?
His voice slithered closer, a noose of ice tightening around her: "Should I make Banruo watch as you all fall one by one? Let her remember this lesson, then trap her in an undying shell—forever imprisoned, never free?"
He tilted his head slightly, as if savoring the image, and let out a low, mirthless chuckle.
The sound sent chills down every spine.
At his full strength, against the exhausted remnants of the Nan household, he could easily make it reality.
None here feared death, yet an unshakable dread gripped them.
"Lin Qingyang… Lin Qingyang…"
A fragile voice called out from the distance. Nan Banruo stumbled forward, desperation lacing her cry. "Lin Qingyang!"
He turned his gaze to her.
His eyes were cold, his lips curled in a cruel, empty smile.
Their eyes met.
The despair and fear in hers delighted him.
Her petal-soft lips trembled as she pleaded, "Lin Qingyang, don’t… please don’t."
She looked ready to shatter.
"Afraid?" he teased.
She nodded with all her strength, long lashes fluttering, tears like dewdrops spilling from her glistening eyes.
A delicate flower, begging to be crushed.
"Will you lie to me again?" he pressed.
She instinctively nodded, then caught herself and shook her head, her slender neck as fragile as tender lotus root.
Lin Qingyang’s pupils flickered, a sick thrill coursing through him.
Beneath his damp sleeves, his fingers twitched uncontrollably.
He tore his gaze away, feigning indifference.
"We were once husband and wife. Must things end so bitterly?" Lin Qingyang addressed Nan Jihe. "Perhaps, Father-in-law, you might reconsider my original proposal?"
Nan Jihe tightened his grip on his blade, barely restraining his fury as he glared.
Lin Qingyang smiled, raising a finger to gently nudge the blade aside. "I could slaughter you all, yet here I stand, letting you point a sword at me while I speak civilly. This is my final act of goodwill."
Silence stretched, hearts pounding like war drums.
At last, Nan Jihe gritted out, "Speak. What do you want?"
Lin Qingyang sighed. "If I said I wanted Banruo’s heart, no one would believe me."
Before anyone could scoff, he continued, "So let’s simplify things. When I move against Xuan He, you will stand aside. Agreed?"
Nan Jihe scoffed. "Is that all? Then spare your demands—even if the Emperor begged me to save him, how could I trust it wasn’t another trap set by you two?"
Lin Qingyang feigned outrage. "Truly, the world has never seen a scoundrel like Xuan He."
The onlookers nearly choked.
Who could rival your shamelessness?
"Then it’s settled." Nan Jihe sheathed his blade and extended a hand. "The antidote. Now."
Lin Qingyang laughed. "I didn’t bring it. What kind of son-in-law visits his in-laws bearing poison instead of gifts?"
Nan Jihe frowned. "You mean to take Banruo with you?"
Lin Qingyang lowered his eyes, smiling. "I’ve prepared a feast for her. She’s eager to return."
His tone was light, but the threat beneath was unmistakable.
Once the elixir fully took hold, Nan Banruo would become a senseless puppet—just like that corpse. Beyond saving.
"I’ll go with him."
Nan Jihe turned to see Nan Banruo staggering closer.
"Father," she forced a smile, "yesterday, I told you… he treats me well. He’s never harmed me. Let’s leave the Xuan family’s mess behind us."
Lin Qingyang arched a brow.
Nan Jihe searched his daughter’s eyes. He knew her—soft yet unyielding, never one to surrender.
"...Very well."
Lin Qingyang stood waiting, one hand outstretched as Nan Banruo approached.
She gently pushed away her mother’s supporting hand and limped toward him alone.
The weight of her family’s worried stares pressed on her back.
"I’m fine. I’m fine."
Gritting her teeth, she willed her numb legs to move, step by unsteady step.
She fought to stay upright—if she fell, Lin Qingyang wouldn’t catch her. He’d only revel in her family’s anguish.
She couldn’t fall.
Finally, she reached him, her trembling hand slipping into his palm.
He didn’t clasp it at once. Instead, he watched as her fingers weakly curled around his, clinging like vines desperate for salvation.
At last, he chuckled and pulled her into his arms.
The icy weight of his soaked robes swallowed her, stealing her breath.
"Farewell."
Lin Qingyang swept backward, vanishing into the rain, leaving only a stark puddle behind.
"Boom!"
"Crash—"
Nan Banruo never felt a drop.
Stepping into the curtain of rain, Lin Qingyang flicked open an umbrella with one hand.
He strolled through the downpour, each flash of lightning illuminating the streets as his figure vanished dozens of yards away.
The storm was kept at bay by the umbrella, yet all the dampness and chill Nan Banruo felt came from Lin Qingyang himself.
Her cheek was pressed against his rain-soaked robes, the suffocating humidity making it hard to breathe. She nuzzled slightly, loosening the overlapping collar of his garment.
Suddenly, her gaze froze, her heartbeat stuttering.
Beneath his drenched clothes, she saw it—the legendary protective artifact, the Donghuang Divine Robe.
He…
He had appeared like a ghost, drenched and dripping, the scene eerie enough to make one assume he was defenseless.
Yet he had been wearing the Donghuang Divine Robe all along.
Truth and deception intertwined, shrouded in mystery.
Nan Banruo’s pulse quickened.
Perhaps he wasn’t as invincible as he pretended to be. First, he had used puppets to weaken the Nan household’s forces, then played his tricks, achieving his goal without shedding a drop of blood.
He was ruthless and cunning—if he could eliminate his enemies effortlessly, why would he show mercy?
He was cautious to a fault, valuing his life above all.
If it truly came to a fight to the death tonight, even he would pay a heavy price.
The thought sent her heart racing.
She steadied her breathing, careful not to betray her unease.
Her body softened further, melting into his cold, unyielding embrace like a drowning woman clinging to her last lifeline.
“When will you give me the antidote?”
Her whisper was nearly drowned out by the rain hammering against the umbrella.
Lin Qingyang paused, glancing down at her.
“Since when was Banruo so timid?” His lips curled in a faint, mocking smile.
He knew her well.
She wasn’t afraid of death—her only weakness was her family.
Nan Banruo forced herself to meet his gaze. “If I become a puppet, wouldn’t I make a perfect match for the likes of you in this lifetime?”
Lin Qingyang let out a low chuckle.
His arm tightened around her, sliding up to grip her chin, tilting her face up.
Calloused fingers pressed against her soft lower lip, then pushed past her teeth without resistance, brushing against the sensitive ridge of her palate, sending icy shivers down her spine.
He found her stiffened tongue with ease.
Teasing. Toying. Relentless.
Nan Banruo nearly collapsed, but his grip on her jaw kept her upright, forcing her to tilt her head back helplessly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
Finally, he leaned down.
Turning his face slightly, he captured her lips.
Cold. Wet. His thin lips felt as if they too were soaked in rain—stifling, damp. She couldn’t feel his breath, couldn’t catch his scent. It was like being kissed by a corpse.
Lin Qingyang was skilled at this.
But tonight, he clearly had no interest in finesse.
His tongue tapped lazily against hers, urging her to swallow.
Was this the antidote?
Her senses were too numb to tell if there was even a pill in her mouth. She had no choice but to obey, forcing herself to gulp it down.
With his mouth sealing hers, the act was agonizingly slow.
After what felt like an eternity, he pulled back with a low, amused hum.
“Why swallow me? I’m not your cure.”
Nan Banruo was taken to the Dongjun Manor.
The estate had been recently renovated—the fresh lacquer scent lingered faintly in the air.
The halls were deathly silent.
Passing through layers of ornate corridors, Lin Qingyang carried her into a warmly lit chamber.
At its center stood an octagonal mahogany table, laden with dishes.
An extravagant spread—all made of lotus root.
He pressed her into a seat, his hands resting on her shoulders as he loomed behind her.
His damp form merged with his shadow.
“You promised,” he murmured, voice light. “If there was lotus root, you’d come back.”
“Look how much I made for you.”
“Eat.”
“Why aren’t you moving?”
“Do you need me to feed you?”
True to his word, he rolled up his sleeves, picked up chopsticks, and began feeding her.
Nan Banruo’s lips and tongue were still numb. The food might as well have been wax for all she could taste.
He tilted his head, watching her.
When she didn’t chew, he pinched her jaw, forcing her mouth to move.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The warm candlelight cast their entwined silhouettes onto the paper windows.
From outside, it looked like a doting groom tenderly feeding his bride, bite by bite.
A scene so intimate it could make onlookers blush.
Once the meal ended, he helped her up, his voice dripping with false warmth.
“Time for bed.”
