Chapter One: Prologue

Within the vast expanse of the Carefree Manor, people came and went in endless streams. Yet Linglong felt nothing but loneliness—a solitude that grew from the depths of her heart, rendering her hands and feet icy cold, then her whole body. The ache that wound itself around her lower abdomen was a pain she would never forget for as long as she lived.

That day, Linglong, along with the concubine Tan Xiyin and Tan Xiyin’s family, had all been poisoned with the deadly Twin-Life Paste. On their way to seek a physician, an accident occurred; only one doctor arrived. Amid the relentless wind and rain, as pain like ten thousand ants gnawed at her heart, Linglong could still clearly hear his words: “Save Xiyin first!”

He was Linglong’s husband—the man she had trusted her life to.

He was also the source of her lifelong agony.

Perhaps fate deemed that Linglong’s time had not yet come. After the doctor saved Tan Xiyin and turned to Linglong, she had not yet died. But she would have preferred to die as well. Yet stubbornly, she survived; only the child in her womb, who never even knew of his own existence, had quietly passed away.

When the news reached Qin Daofei, he hurried to her side, striding through the blazing afternoon sunlight. The sun fractured into shards of light beneath his hurried steps, much as it had when she first met him, gallant and proud upon his horse.

He was that kind of man—decisive, with a face as handsome as jade, always bearing an air of noble severity, except when he stood before Tan Xiyin, when his demeanor softened like flowing water.

Perhaps the sunlight was too harsh, for Linglong felt as if her eyes were being burned. A single hot tear swiftly traced her cheek, yet by the time it reached her ear, it was already cold.

She could not quite make out what he discussed with the doctor; she simply watched him silently through the gauzy curtains.

Moments later, Tan Xiyin’s maid arrived to report, “Master, the Second Lady has coughed blood!”

And just as swiftly as he had come, he turned and left.

He did not spare Linglong so much as a glance.

The next time she saw him was deep into the night. The dim candlelight flickered; moths threw themselves at the flame, their fragile wings beating against the fire. Out of the gloom, he stepped in beneath the moonlight.

“So, Tan Xiyin still hasn’t died?” Linglong asked in a muted voice.

Qin Daofei cast a cold, mocking look at her, his lips curving in derision. “You’re still alive. With my careful care, how could she possibly die?”

How cruel.

Linglong managed a faint smile, deliberately ignoring the searing pain in her heart. She looked down at her bloodless hands and spoke in a voice so calm it startled even herself, “Qin Daofei, will you divorce me?”

Linglong did not see the flicker in his eyes as she spoke—those deep, ancient eyes darkening with something unfathomable.

“In the beginning, you pestered me into marriage, making Xiyin the laughingstock of all. Now that my mother is gone from the manor, are you afraid no one will support you? Or are you afraid I’ll discover your involvement in the poisoning?” Every word from Qin Daofei was meant to wound, but Linglong felt herself sinking into that unbearable past.

She no longer cared to unravel the meaning behind his words. Perhaps this was what people meant when they said there is no greater sorrow than a heart that has died.

“I was young and foolish then. I thought if I tried hard enough to be good to you, you might one day look my way. Now I see it clearly; you stand high above the clouds, the sort of nobleman I could never hope to reach. I’ve received my retribution. If you are satisfied, Master Qin, then let me go.”

Linglong pleaded with him, her tone nearly begging. She spoke of letting go, but it was only self-deception. If she had truly let go, would she be so humble, so grief-stricken?

“I will not be satisfied until you are dead,” Qin Daofei replied, his voice cold as winter, though his expression remained serene. Linglong gazed into his eyes, then suddenly smiled and drew out a golden hairpin.

Seeing this, he lunged forward, seizing her wrist and pinning her down, his eyes blazing. “Did I give you permission to die?”

“Master Qin, you misunderstand. This hairpin is simply uncomfortable. If you think I’d try to kill myself, you underestimate me.”

At her words, Qin Daofei’s body trembled—Linglong noticed, but she had no time to ponder his meaning. Her lower abdomen throbbed in agony; she could feel a warm flow between her legs, but what did it matter?

She had long since lost the will to live.

Qin Daofei rose, regarding Linglong with icy detachment. Suddenly, he gave a cruel smile. “Linglong, I find myself almost grateful. If that child had survived, to have you as a mother would have been a tragedy.”

“Get out!” Linglong’s hoarse cry was weak as she clung to the edge of the bed, all her despair breaking into hopeless sobs.

Every child is a wound on its mother’s heart, yet he pierced her so mercilessly.

Seeming to relish his victory, Qin Daofei calmly straightened his sleeves, turned, and walked toward the door.

Watching his retreating figure, Linglong said softly, “If there is another life, when you see me again, just walk away, will you?”

Qin Daofei paused for a moment but did not look back.

“My lady is hemorrhaging! Someone, hurry!” the maid’s shrill cry shattered the silence, but Linglong only smiled gently and whispered, “Hush, don’t make a fuss.”

When she awoke again, Linglong found herself in a prison cell.

Weary, she sat up and dragged herself to the door, asking, “Where am I? Why am I here?”

“Why so noisy? You weren’t so scared when you killed them, were you?” A guard kicked Linglong hard, knocking her to the ground.

Linglong understood then—all of Tan Xiyin’s family had perished in that poisoning; only she and Tan Xiyin survived.

And so Qin Daofei had sent her to prison, securing her guilt for murder, all to give Tan Xiyin an explanation.

That night, a great fire swept through the prison of the Capital Prefecture, reducing it to ashes—no one survived.