In her past life, on that fateful night, Nan Banruo ultimately failed to escape Shangjing City.
Not long after her elder brother died in battle, the sky barge was struck down.
A massive iron-tipped bolt, chained and roaring through the air, pierced through the left guard plate of the sky barge. The deafening explosion left Nan Banruo’s ears ringing and her chest aching.
The chain tightened in the winch, and the sky barge instantly lost balance, swaying unsteadily.
It spiraled downward, crashing into a towering pavilion.
The howling wind, muffled roars, piercing screams, the sound of shattering—the world turned upside down in chaos.
With an earth-shaking boom, Nan Banruo was flung from the sky barge, landing in a cloud of dust and debris.
She barely tried to rise when a heavy foot stomped her back down. Dust filled her nostrils, choking her breath.
“I’ve caught Nan Jihe’s daughter—I’ve got her!” someone rasped excitedly.
She was yanked up roughly, her arms twisted behind her back and bound with coarse hemp rope.
Her leg broken, she was half-dragged by the burly soldier through several streets before being thrown into a cold, damp dungeon.
She thought she would die there.
It was Lin Qingyang who came to her aid—though at the time, she had no idea he was the mastermind behind it all.
The young man was handsome, his demeanor gentle, and with just a few words, he easily earned her trust.
He took her out of the dungeon, tended to her wounds, bathed her, and arranged for her to stay in a warm, clean courtyard. He promised her that he would uncover the truth—that if her family was truly innocent, he would clear their name.
Back then, she was naive and unworldly.
She foolishly believed him. Desperate for his help, she even unconsciously grew closer to him.
Naturally, he wouldn’t let such prey walk willingly into his trap.
Eager for news of her parents, when he deceitfully told her that Nan Jihe and his wife were still alive and could be saved, she let herself be lured into his bed.
The memories crashed over her like a tidal wave.
Nan Banruo trembled, her heart clenched as if by an invisible fist, squeezing relentlessly.
“Cough—cough!”
Nan Nianyi’s hoarse coughing snapped her back to reality.
“Choking—you’re choking me.”
Nan Banruo quickly loosened her grip, guiltily burying her face against his back.
After a long pause, she murmured, “Brother… if things go badly, if the worst happens… you must leave me behind. Return to Yanzhou. Start anew.”
Nan Nianyi’s eyes and nose stung.
“Don’t talk nonsense. I will protect you.”
“Don’t protect me!”
He could tell her emotions were in turmoil. Not wanting to upset her further, yet unwilling to lie, he gave a vague hum.
Spotting something ahead, he swiftly changed the subject.
“Look—there’s a massive drum up ahead!” he said. “Before we leave the capital, I’ll take you up there. We’ll smash that drum to pieces, leave it in ruins. How about that?”
Nan Banruo let out a hoarse laugh.
Her brother had always been steady and composed. To cheer her up, he was spouting such reckless nonsense.
She followed his gaze toward the tower—and froze.
It was an ancient, imposing bell-and-drum tower, crouching like a stone beast in the heart of Shangjing.
On the second floor stood a massive drum adorned with colorful phoenix patterns.
This was the most prominent landmark in Shangjing—the Fengtian Drum Tower.
After Lin Qingyang seized power, he had it torn down almost immediately.
Because…
Reborn into this life, Nan Banruo couldn’t bear to revisit those memories.
She tried to look away, but the neatly arranged blue-gray bricks held her gaze like a terrifying whirlpool, dragging her under.
In truth, she owed the revelation of the truth to Xuan Heng.
“Brother,” Nan Banruo whispered, “after eliminating us, Lin Qingyang will marry Xuan Heng, the sister of Emperor Tianyou. Then, Emperor Xuan He can smoothly abdicate in his favor.”
Nan Nianyi’s eyes sharpened. “I see.”
The Xuan clan had gone three generations without producing an heir blessed with the Imperial Flame. This generation was especially sparse, leaving only Xuan He and Xuan Heng.
With Emperor Tianyou unable to produce an heir, unrest spread, and the throne grew precarious.
“Xuan Heng can bear children,” Nan Banruo said. “Her offspring would still carry Xuan blood—and possibly the Imperial Flame. That’s why Lin Qingyang’s usurpation faced no resistance.”
In fact, after his rise, all rebellious factions quieted, and the realm entered an era of peace and prosperity.
Nan Nianyi glanced at her.
He could feel the storm of emotions raging within her. Pressing his lips tight, he leaped across the rooftops, a golden blur streaking past the towering drum tower.
Nan Banruo instinctively looked down.
Today was the Peach Blossom Festival, and the Fengtian Drum Tower was draped with peach blossom lanterns, their soft glow swaying against the walls.
Her vision darkened as the past swallowed her whole.
Even a century later, she still remembered—it was a bright, sunny afternoon.
She had perched on a small stool in the courtyard, obediently waiting for Lin Qingyang to return with news.
He said her health was frail and she needed more sunlight.
She clung to him like her only lifeline, following his every word. If he told her to bask in the sun, she did. If he told her to call him “husband,” she obeyed.
Then the courtyard gate was kicked open.
Xuan Heng stormed in with her entourage.
“Well, well! So this is where he’s been hiding his little treasure!”
“No wonder he’s always missing—seduced by a fox spirit!”
“You wretch! Do you even know whose man you’ve stolen? How dare you!”
Nan Banruo understood nothing.
Her innocent confusion only fueled Xuan Heng’s fury.
Xuan Heng glared at her, venom dripping from her words: “With our wedding approaching, if he can’t bring himself to clean up his mess, I’ll do it for him!”
A eunuch beside her shrilled, “What kind of brothel trash dares climb into the master’s bed—”
Nan Banruo replied calmly, “I don’t know what you mean. I am Nan Banruo, daughter of the Lord of Yanzhou, Nan Jihe.”
A stunned silence followed.
Then Xuan Heng burst into wild, hysterical laughter, as if she’d heard the most absurd joke.
“What?! You’re the daughter of that traitor?!”
Nan Banruo didn’t understand the ridicule. She insisted, “My father is no traitor. My husband promised to clear our name.”
At this, Xuan Heng and her attendants exchanged strange looks.
“Mistress, should we…?” The eunuch made a sharp, slashing gesture.
But Xuan Heng only stared at Nan Banruo, her gaze a mix of hatred, scorn, and cruel amusement.
“No rush,” she purred, her voice sweet as poison. “Let’s reunite her with her family first. Then we’ll send them all to the afterlife together.”
With a wave, Nan Banruo was bound and dragged out of the courtyard.
The procession marched her through the streets to the foot of the Fengtian Drum Tower.
A crowd had gathered, pointing, murmuring, some even cheering.
"Nan Banruo, open your eyes wide and see for yourself!" Many years later, Nan Banruo could still vividly recall the breath Xuan Heng had exhaled against the back of her ear—sweet, slick, and damp with heat.
She followed Xuan Heng’s pointed finger and saw, beneath the massive phoenix-engraved drum and beyond the thick city bricks, a long row of severed heads hanging.
Her father, her mother, her elder brother, and many familiar uncles—all of them were strung up beneath the walls of the Fengtian Drum Tower.
Neatly arranged. Only their heads.
This was the liveliest place in all of Shangjing.
The common folk had come to watch the mighty fall.
"You call Lin Qingyang your husband? Don’t tell me you actually believed he wanted to marry you?" Xuan Heng’s voice trembled slightly, her hot breath brushing Nan Banruo’s ear again and again. "Stop dreaming. He was the one who led the charge in executing these rebels!"
Nan Banruo couldn’t believe it.
He had told her—sworn to her—that he believed the Nan family was innocent of treason. He had promised to help her uncover the truth. He had said he was working to save her parents.
She couldn’t fathom how someone could lie so effortlessly, without a flicker of guilt.
Xuan Heng sneered. "He wanted Nan Jihe to writhe in agony even in the afterlife. He wanted that old bastard to watch, with his corpse barely cold, as his daughter spread her legs for the man who destroyed their family! Nan Banruo, your parents and kin are hanging from the city walls, all of them staring down at you—their little bitch!"
Nan Banruo couldn’t muster a rebuttal.
Xuan Heng yanked her hair, forcing her to look up at the heads on the wall.
That day, the sunlight was like red-hot needles, stabbing into her eyes, nearly blinding her. Nan Banruo didn’t know if what streamed down her face was blood or tears.
The air grew thin around her. Xuan Heng’s cruel voice and the murmurs of the crowd pressed down on her chest like boulders, suffocating her.
Traitors… rebels… plotting regicide… they deserved to die… they deserved to die!
Lin Qingyang’s influence was vast, so Xuan Heng didn’t linger long beneath the Fengtian Drum Tower.
Nan Banruo was dragged away in a daze.
She was thrown into a dark alley, two eunuchs gripping her arms as a guard unsheathed a long blade, its metallic ring piercing the air before it thrust toward her.
Nan Banruo didn’t struggle. She stared blankly at the cold glint of the sword.
The blade was enormous—wider than her abdomen.
Xuan Heng didn’t just want her dead. She wanted her gutted, left to writhe in the filth of the alley, to die in the ugliest, most agonizing way possible.
As the blade descended, Nan Banruo felt no fear.
For her, in that moment, death would have been mercy.
Then—a surge of sword energy split the air.
A deafening crack, and the blade shattered.
That swordstroke had saved her.
She recognized it instantly.
Just days ago, it had pierced through her brother’s golden defenses in a narrow alley.
And the man who strode forward now, his eyes sharp as frost, sword in hand—was Lin Qingyang, the same man who had tangled with her in bed, limbs entwined.
It was him.
Of course it was him.
Lin Qingyang showed not a shred of guilt at being caught in this "affair." His expression was calm, his demeanor cold, his words dismissive as he sent Xuan Heng away with a few curt phrases.
When he wasn’t present, Xuan Heng had been loud, screeching about "catching them in the act." But now that he stood before her, the princess became as docile as a kitten.
Soon, only Lin Qingyang and Nan Banruo remained in the alley.
She had turned into a wooden puppet, staring at him in numb shock.
As if nothing had happened, he bent down, scooped her into his arms, and carried her away.
"Fengtian Drum Tower… Fengtian Drum Tower… Fengtian Drum Tower…"
He tilted his head, listening to her faint murmurs.
"Ah," he paused, then chuckled. "I’ll have it torn down later."
Her soul was gone. She only nodded dumbly.
Nan Nianyi swept past the Fengtian Drum Tower on the golden wind.
Nan Banruo turned her head in a daze, watching the ancient, intricately carved tower shrink into the distance behind them.
The drum was still there. The tower was still there. Her parents and brother—they were still alive.
She had returned. None of the tragedies had happened yet. There was still time—there had to be!
Her fingers dug into her brother’s broad, lean shoulders, nails nearly piercing his bones. A thousand words surged from the bleeding wound in her heart, but when she opened her mouth, all she said was, "You promised me, A-Xiong. You’d take me to smash that drum to pieces. Don’t go back on your word."
Nan Nianyi’s nose stung. "Of course."
Nan Banruo: "And we’ll bring A-Fu and A-Mu to smash it with us."
Nan Nianyi: "..."
Now that was pushing it.
He didn’t want to upset her, but he couldn’t bring himself to promise something so impossible.
Just as Nan Nianyi was wrestling with his conscience, the distant clatter of hooves echoed from the palace road ahead.
Squinting through the misty glow that veiled Shangjing, he glimpsed a war chariot drawn by eight steeds racing toward the inner city.
Nan Nianyi exhaled in relief. "We’ve caught up—they’re right there!"
