Aside from the fixed three days of rest each month, they were required to stay at the academy from the hour of Chen until the hour of Shen every day. Jiang Nong suspected that the ancestors who established this rule had two purposes: first, to ensure these royal and noble offspring actually had some learning in their heads, and second, to keep them from causing trouble and throwing their weight around outside.
After all, by the time she stumbled out of the academy with her head emptied and her steps unsteady, Jiang Nong was so hungry she’d forgotten her past life entirely—all that remained was the single thought of getting back to her palace for a meal.
Before parting, Jiang Yuan mentioned with studied casualness that her mother had just sent her a new batch of shadow puppets—absolutely exquisite—and who knew who’d be lucky enough to see them tonight? She cast several glances at Jiang Nong as she spoke.
Jiang Nong naturally accepted the invitation, then suggested asking Jiang Su and Jiang Miao to join as well. Jiang Yuan pouted reluctantly, twisting her handkerchief: “Well, you ask then. I’m certainly not going to. It’d be best if they don’t come.”
Jiang Su, being cold-faced herself, would never willingly offer herself up for a snub. She said she needed to review her lessons tonight and had no time for the invitation. Jiang Miao’s eyes darted away as she too shook her head.
“Fine, don’t come then—saves me from having your poverty-stricken air stinking up my palace,” Jiang Yuan muttered, biting her lips and huffing.
Jiang Nong really couldn’t blame herself for getting angry every time Jiang Yuan opened her mouth in her past life—the girl truly had a way with words that grated on the nerves.
If she hadn’t lived through it all once before and known that Jiang Yuan was just a pitiful fool with a sharp tongue, she’d have rolled up her sleeves and told her that nothing good ever came out of a dog’s mouth.
“If you keep talking like that, I won’t come either.”
Hearing that, Jiang Yuan tossed her head, stamped her foot in frustration, and ran off: “Then don’t come!”
Jiang Nong was only teasing her.
In truth, looking back from the future, she could see that she and her sisters had only ever fought for their father’s favor, guarding against each other for those meager scraps of opportunity that might change their fates. But none of them had ever truly harmed one another—none were wicked. And in the end, every one of them had met a miserable fate. Clearly, a father’s favor was fickle and cold to the extreme—so why continue to struggle so bitterly against each other?
The Xi royal palace had been built on the foundations of a former vassal prince’s residence, expanded and remodeled according to the layout of the Great Qi imperial palace.
The old quarters were cramped and dilapidated, converted into the side courts where servants lived and worked. Deposed consorts were also confined here to perform menial labor. Adjacent to it was Yong Lane, where harem criminals were imprisoned—dank, dark, and soaked in the blood of countless dead. From time to time, the mournful, plaintive songs of eunuchs and maids drifted out; at night, it was especially eerie, and few nobles ever set foot there.
The downside of Ruiyi Palace’s location was that walking back from the academy via the Flower Garden took nearly half an hour longer than cutting through Yong Lane. So Jiang Nong had been forced to take this path every day since she first began her studies.
And Yu Lingxin—that ill-omened, disastrous hostage—had conveniently been housed right at the junction between Yong Lane and the side courts. Jiang Nong ran into him several times a day.
Today, after classes ended, Yu Lingxin again lagged behind, deliberately keeping a distance as he followed her.
Jiang Nong was aware of it but pretended not to notice. Even Rong Mian found it strange how cold she was being today.
Jiang Yuan had agreed to meet at the hour of You, so Jiang Nong set out half an hour early, bringing along a picture book as a return gift.
Naturally, the quickest route to Jiang Yuan’s palace was also through Yong Lane.
Jiang Nong had always felt that for a hostage prince to become a tyrant, the conditions had to be exceptionally demanding—at the very least, he’d need a sharp mind. And Yu Lingxin happened to meet that condition as well.
Today, the seasonal exam results had been posted. He had taken first place among over twenty princes and noble scions, leaving the princes absolutely livid, as expected.
Envy at its core was the belief that someone else didn’t deserve an achievement one coveted for oneself. A calamity—cast aside like refuse, trampled underfoot, a plaything to be tormented at will—dared to climb above them and seize a victory that should have been theirs? It was an utter humiliation! No less than a dog lording it over its master.
The princes, mindful of their status, naturally wouldn’t openly do something so undignified. That was where lackeys like Wen Zuhuan came in—the perfect enforcers.
Everything in the room that could be smashed was hurled out. Porcelain shattered across the floor. Yu Lingxin’s forehead was split open again—blood traced a winding path down his brow, splattering into his eyes and staining the whites red. His lips were purplish, whether from cold or fever, no one could tell. Passing servants were long since inured to such scenes and went about their business without a second glance.
Three days—this was the second time Jiang Nong had seen Yu Lingxin being bullied.
And that was only what she witnessed. Who knew how many times she hadn’t seen?
Wen Zuhuan locked eyes with her, expecting her to meddle again. After a moment’s hesitation, he lowered the weapon in his hand. Jiang Nong, not wanting to see any more, turned and walked away.
She’d only taken a few steps when she heard frantic cries from behind: “Your Highness! Your Highness! It doesn’t matter if they beat me—please, Your Highness!”
Jiang Nong couldn’t help but look back. Yu Lingxin had thrown himself over his young eunuch, shielding him with his own body, taking several heavy blows in silence.
The young eunuch wept bitterly, begging Wen Zuhuan and his men to spare Yu Lingxin.
Jiang Nong took two deep breaths. She couldn’t hold back. She turned and went back.
“Haven’t you had enough of copying scriptures? Stirring up trouble again and again—careful, or I’ll report this to Her Majesty the Empress!”
Wen Zuhuan curled his lip and tossed aside his club. “I thought you’d turned over a new leaf and weren’t going to interfere anymore. I’m telling you, you shouldn’t even go near this lowborn filth—see, he’s already brought you bad luck, made you sick for days. Why pity him? If he dies, no one would care. A worthless life—a thing with a father but no mother.”
Jiang Nong immediately kicked him square in the stomach, sending him sprawling. She grabbed him by the hair and gave him a beating: “That’s for running your filthy mouth!”
Wen Zuhuan clutched his face, his jaw dropped in shock: “You hit me? You hit me—for him? We’ve known each other since we were kids! My mother is your uncle’s cousin!”
Jiang Nong got up and, still not satisfied, gave him another kick: “Get lost! If I hear you running your mouth again, I’ll hit you again!”
Just because she hated Yu Lingxin didn’t mean she liked Wen Zuhuan. She wished Yu Lingxin dead because she knew of his future atrocities—her hatred had solid grounds. Wen Zuhuan, on the other hand, bullied Yu Lingxin simply out of might-makes-right. Jiang Nong and Wen Zuhuan were not the same kind of people.
If Wen Zuhuan could actually beat the man to death or bash his brains in, that would save her the trouble—a good deed for the common people, a merit in itself. The problem was, he couldn’t kill him, couldn’t cripple him—only half-torture him, while dragging innocent people into it. Since Jiang Nong could step in, she had to.
Wen Zuhuan didn’t dare actually raise a hand against Jiang Nong. Having already worked out his anger on Yu Lingxin, he touched the slap marks on his face, called his men off, and threw a parting threat at Jiang Nong: “When you fall into my hands, we’ll see how you cry.”
Jiang Nong brushed the dust off her clothes, walked over, and kicked the curled-up Yu Lingxin lightly, telling him to get up: “Aren’t you usually clever—always knowing how to hide your talents?”
At every examination, Yu Lingxin deliberately kept himself in the middle ranks to avoid drawing attention. This time, he’d broken his pattern and surpassed everyone. Jiang Nong couldn’t recall if he’d ever taken first place in any year or month—perhaps too much time had passed, her memory blurred, many details lost.
The young eunuch that Yu Lingxin had shielded crawled out from under him, kowtowing tearfully to Jiang Nong, thanking her for saving their master and servant once again.
Yu Lingxin seemed to have lost too much blood, half-conscious. After a long moment, he slowly opened his eyes and gazed at Jiang Nong. For a brief instant, tears seemed to glisten in his gaze. He struggled to support himself, half-turning to lie prostrate at the hem of her skirt, lowering his head slowly. His long black hair hid his blood-streaked face, and his voice was so soft that Jiang Nong almost thought it was an illusion carried from afar.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore, Your Highness.”
“Hm?”
“Sister—please don’t hate me… this time, I got top marks in all six arts…”
He raised his hand, trying to grasp the edge of her skirt, but when he saw the dirt and grime on his palm, he silently withdrew it—just as cautiously as when he hid his unusual violet eye and his battered face from her.
Jiang Nong’s heart stopped for a beat, then lurched violently—a landslide and tsunami crashing through her chest.
Across ten years, the impression of the young Yu Lingxin in her heart had long faded and fragmented. She only remembered that he was always bullied in his youth, and she would help him out whenever she saw it—and so, bit by bit, they became acquainted.
She had forgotten that in her previous life, when she was practicing dance and often fasting, growing and hungry, she would hide in the music pavilion crying from hunger—and sometimes, when her mother was dissatisfied with her studies, she would be denied her evening meal too.
She had forgotten that Yu Lingxin would, on bitterly cold winter days, keep hot food warm against his chest and sneak it past the servants to give her.
She had forgotten that when she practiced dance late at night in the music pavilion, he would sit outside and read by the moonlight, then trail behind her from a distance, seeing her safely back to her palace.
She had forgotten the timidity and kindness of the sixteen-year-old Yu Lingxin—his insecurity, his unease—how he would shield those weaker than himself, and hide his unusual eyes.
In that moment when Yu Lingxin said, “Please don’t hate me,” the figure before her, which had merged with his future self, seemed to split apart in Jiang Nong’s eyes—becoming two different people.
The sixteen-year-old Yu Lingxin, with no friends in the palace, had made her the most important person in his world. Even after she pushed him into the water and nearly drowned him, he concealed her wrongdoing—only grieving that she hated him, only wanting to win her back. All he could do was show her his perfect scores in the six arts, even though he knew full well it would invite more bullying.
He probably thought that if he did well enough, if he proved himself worthy, she would stop hating him for no reason.
Just as Jiang Nong had always believed that if she excelled in everything, her father and mother would love her.
She was far too good at reading others’ emotions. She could vaguely sense Yu Lingxin’s loneliness and pain—but she didn’t want to probe deeper. She turned and fled, almost in panic.
Jiang Nong warned herself clearly: It’s best not to think too much about who the current Yu Lingxin is. It’s best to keep seeing him as the future tyrant. Once your heart softens, you might repeat the same mistakes.
For the first time, she regretted meddling—and regretted taking this path. If she hadn’t come this way, she wouldn’t have seen Yu Lingxin bullied, wouldn’t have seen him shielding that young eunuch—and then she never would have impulsively stood up for him without thinking.
The moonlight shifted. This time, what she left him with was still that resolute, unlingering back.
Yu Lingxin’s eyes were deep as the sea, concealing turbulent, unreadable emotions. The dim flicker of palace lanterns cast light upon his bloodied, ghostly face as he stared unblinkingly at Jiang Nong until she vanished at the end of Yong Lane.
“Your Highness, the ground is cold—let me help you up,” Xunliang said, moving to support him while chattering softly. “The Ninth Princess is truly a good person. There aren’t many like her in the palace.”
Yu Lingxin gently waved away Xunliang’s helping hand, staggered to his feet on his own, smoothed the creases from his robes, brushed off the dust, and smiled—clear and gentle, his tone lingering and tender. He asked, as if speaking to Xunliang or questioning himself: “She’s so good—what kind of person do you think she would like?”
Xunliang thought for a moment, then said: “It would surely be a gentle, kind, and excellent young man. Not too strong-willed, but with a great heart and a broad mind—and above all, he must truly adore Her Highness, put her first in everything, and treasure her like a jewel. Hmm… Her Highness pities the poor and the weak. She seems decisive, but her heart is the softest—she might even take pity on a young man with a tragic background.”
He knew his master liked Jiang Nong. As he spoke, he unconsciously steered his description toward Yu Lingxin’s own qualities.
Yu Lingxin wiped away the blood. The wound split open anew with the movement, fresh blood seeping out in thin threads—but he didn’t seem to feel the pain. His eyes curved gently.
He knew. He knew exactly what kind of person Jiang Nong liked best.
I will become that person, Sister. Please don’t hate me…
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