"Got you."
His voiceless words struck like thunder.
Nan Banruo felt her blood freeze in her veins.
How? How was this possible?
The air around her solidified, suffocating her.
Trembling, she stared at his face, mustering every ounce of strength to force out the words: "Where are my parents and brother?"
He chuckled. "Guess."
Her vision darkened.
The world blurred—only his fathomless black eyes remained sharp and clear.
Seventh Fairy gasped. "Y-you—who are you?! Where did you come from?! How can you walk without a sound, like a ghost?!"
Taiwei frowned. "Step away from the lady at once!"
Suddenly, both of them sucked in a sharp breath.
The young man’s striking looks and aura had made them overlook his attire. Only now did they realize—he was dressed as a groom.
A groom?
Lin Qingyang! He was Lin Qingyang!
Their faces paled as they raised their weapons with a metallic clang.
Lin Qingyang smiled, but his eyes gleamed with icy killing intent.
"Step back." Nan Banruo exhaled sharply, her voice cracking like a whip. "Don’t move. Step back!"
Seventh Fairy and Taiwei were skilled, but against Lin Qingyang himself, they wouldn’t last a single exchange. Charging forward would be suicide.
Only her father could withstand Lin Qingyang.
Father…
What had happened to him? Why was Lin Qingyang here instead?
Nan Banruo trembled, a bone-deep chill seeping through her.
She didn’t dare think about it.
Lin Qingyang adjusted her cloak, his long fingers picking up the two slender silk ribbons at her collar. Slowly, methodically, he began tying them.
His head was slightly bowed, his demeanor tender, as if this were an act of devotion.
The rough calluses on his fingers and the cold silk occasionally brushed her skin, sending shivers down her spine.
His hands were large—his fingers could easily encircle her slender neck. He could cross those ribbons and strangle her slowly in front of her guards.
Nan Banruo’s chest heaved, her lips parting as she gasped for air.
The suffocating pressure dredged up a terrible memory.
Back when Lin Qingyang had married Xuan Heng, before Xuan He abdicated the throne, there had been a time when he’d wanted her dead.
Her existence had seemed an inconvenience to him.
More than once, his grip on her waist had slid up to her throat, tightening as he took her with a frenzy, as though it were the last time—as though he meant to devour her whole.
Each time she lost consciousness, she wasn’t sure she’d wake again.
She used every ounce of willpower not to resist, instead gazing at him with dazed longing, her body arching into his, betting that he wouldn’t have the heart to kill her.
She had "won" every time.
One loss would mean death.
A soft snap of silk brought her back to the present.
Lin Qingyang had finished tying the ribbons.
"My lady!" "My lady!"
With Nan Banruo’s life hanging by a thread, Seventh Fairy and Taiwei dared not act, though their voices were tight with panic.
"I’m fine." Nan Banruo forced a smile. "Step back."
She followed Lin Qingyang’s hand, meeting his eyes.
His face was devoid of emotion, as if he wore a mask—the cheerful, triumphant groom, his every feature radiating tenderness.
She asked, "What do you want?"
Lin Qingyang laughed. "To fetch my bride, of course. What else?"
A gust of wind tangled the hems of their crimson wedding robes.
He stood tall and poised before her home, smiling as though he truly meant to bind himself to her for eternity.
Then he scooped her into his arms.
Seventh Fairy and Taiwei lunged forward, but a single icy glance from him sent them staggering back, blood trickling from their lips.
He strode away, his steps ghostly, covering dozens of feet in an instant before vanishing from sight.
"The lady’s been taken! What do we do, Taiwei? What do we do?!"
"We must find the master. Only he can save her."
"But…"
They turned despairing eyes toward the forbidden zone ahead.
The barrier remained sealed. No one knew what had happened inside.
What had become of the master and the others?
Why had Lin Qingyang emerged instead?
Lin Qingyang moved so fast that the buildings on either side blurred into streaks of light.
His body was unyielding as iron, his arms like shackles she couldn’t break.
Nan Banruo’s heart sank into frozen depths.
She wasn’t afraid to die—but something far worse gnawed at her: What had happened to her family?
Lin Qingyang knew this well. A cold-blooded hunter, he wouldn’t give her answers. He relished her torment.
"Whoosh—"
His sleeves settled as he came to a stop before a courtyard.
This wasn’t his estate in the capital, but the small two-courtyard house where he’d kept her in their past life.
He stepped over the threshold.
The gates swung open, then shut heavily behind him.
The courtyard was draped in red—lanterns hung from every eave, "double happiness" characters pasted on every window, scarlet silk draped across every beam. Tables laden with food and wine stood in the outer yard, but not a soul was in sight.
He carried her through the cold, festive display.
In the main hall, he set her down.
She instinctively tried to retreat, but his grip on her arm tightened, forcing her forward.
A few steps later, they halted before the bridal chamber.
He feigned a troubled expression, sighing. "What a shame. The wedding matron is dead."
Leaning in, he asked, "How shall we perform the ceremony?"
Nan Banruo pressed her lips together.
Before, she could play along because he’d believed her conquered. She had bided her time, waiting for a chance to strike.
But after her failed attempt to kill him, her true intentions were laid bare. Pretending submission now was pointless.
When she stayed silent, Lin Qingyang sighed again. "I suppose I’ll have to do it myself."
He turned her to face north.
"Bow to heaven and earth!" he announced.
Nan Banruo stared at him in disbelief.
Lin Qingyang was devastatingly handsome, his bone structure flawless, his features striking. The red robes only heightened his allure.
After his declaration, he smiled and bowed.
Then he paused mid-motion, slanting a glance at her.
A chill raced down her spine.
A large hand clamped over the back of her head and neck, forcing her down in a bow alongside him.
Her feeble resistance was nothing against his strength.
They bowed deeply.
Once done, he yanked her upright and spun her around.
Nan Banruo’s frail constitution had already left her exhausted after guarding outside the forbidden domain for most of the day, and after enduring this abduction, her strength was nearly spent. The sudden rise and fall made her vision darken, the world spinning around her.
He kindly allowed her a moment to recover.
As the dizziness slowly subsided, Nan Banruo was forced to lift her gaze toward the hall, guided by his unyielding control.
A grim scene abruptly crashed into her sight.
In an instant, her breath vanished, her blood running cold.
Between the eerie glow of crimson candles sat two figures of "honored elders."
Clad in dark red floor-length robes, they resembled both the auspicious attire worn by elders at weddings and—funerary garments.
The candlelight failed to illuminate the depths of the hall, leaving the faces of the two figures seated in crane chairs shrouded in shadow, their faint smiles barely discernible.
Silent. Motionless.
Not the appearance of living beings.
Yet their familiar silhouettes were unmistakable—her parents.
Nan Banruo’s pupils trembled, her face draining of color.
‘Father… Mother… No—!’
She lunged forward in desperation, only for Lin Qingyang’s large hand to seize the back of her head, forcing her into a deep bow toward the hall.
"Second bow to the elders!" His voice rang clear as jade, brimming with delight.
Nan Banruo’s body shook uncontrollably.
"Lin Qingyang… Lin Qingyang!"
Unable to break free from his grip, she was compelled to follow his lead, bending forward in a perfectly measured bow.
When she straightened, her vision had already blurred.
Gasping for air, she struggled violently, but he effortlessly restrained her with one hand.
He gazed down at her with amusement.
"Bow to each other as husband and wife."
A metallic tang rose in Nan Banruo’s throat. If looks could kill, the man before her would have been torn apart a thousand times over.
His hand remained firm on the back of her head.
The ceremonial bow was awkward, but it posed no challenge for Lin Qingyang.
Tall and long-limbed, he twisted his wrist, spinning her halfway around to face him.
She barely reached his chest, easily forced into a deep bow with him, her head pressed down by his unrelenting grip.
"The rites are complete."
His tone was airy, already tinged with disinterest.
The pressure holding Nan Banruo vanished abruptly—he didn’t even bother to pull her upright.
Panting heavily, she staggered back two steps before barely catching her balance.
With no time to wipe away her terrified tears, she whirled around and flung herself toward the hall.
Behind her, Lin Qingyang erupted into soft, muffled laughter—light, low, and utterly chilling.
As Nan Banruo crossed the threshold, her knee caught, nearly sending her crashing to the ground.
She stumbled into the hall.
The crimson candles flickered ominously, casting sharp, cross-shaped beams of light that fractured the scene into jagged fragments.
She couldn’t tell if her heart was still beating.
Her ears rang, her steps unsteady as if treading on cotton.
Half-falling, half-crawling, she collapsed at the foot of the crane chairs.
Beneath the funerary robes, two pairs of feet clad in burial boots stood neatly arranged.
Nan Banruo’s mouth fell open in a silent scream. Trembling, she raised a hand, clutching the hem of the robe draped over the knees, and strained to look up.
Her fingers met something cold and rough.
"Crrk."
The fabric made an odd sound.
She had no time to dwell on it—her quivering gaze fixed on the two faces shrouded in candlelit shadows.
The "elders" had deathly pale faces, as if coated in thick white lime. Their cheeks were dotted with rouge, their mouths stretched wide to their ears.
Nan Banruo’s pupils constricted violently.
Not living.
Not dead.
But two… paper effigies.
For a moment, she simply stared. Then, clutching her chest, she burst into a fit of coughing so violent it tore at her lungs.
Clearly, killing her outright was no longer enough for Lin Qingyang.
He wanted to toy with her, torment her, to vent the hatred festering in his heart.
Footsteps approached from behind.
His shadow, like a lightless abyss, crept forward, swallowing her whole.
She looked up. Backlit, his expression was unreadable—only the cold glint of his pitch-black eyes was visible, flickering like ghostly emerald flames.
He stopped before her, his lips curling slowly into a grin.
In the interplay of light and shadow, he seemed less human than the paper effigies.
The demonic man leaned down, his voice a whisper as he declared:
"The auspicious hour has arrived. To the bridal chamber."
