“Pretend not to know?” Jiang Nong repeated in disbelief, unable to fathom how he could say something so shameless.
Yu Lingxin’s fingers were still twined in her hair. He lowered his gaze, his eyes curving into a smiling arc, and used that sticky, coaxing tone he normally reserved for her—as if nothing had happened between them: “That’s right.”
Jiang Nong’s fury boiled over. She raised her hand and slapped him across the face.
Caught off guard, his head snapped to the side. He paused for an instant, then smiled as he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth: “Isn’t it that stupid, useless version of me you like? I put on an act for you—what more could you want?”
He met her eyes, still smiling: “Kindness, innocence, weakness, dependence—did I not act every part well? Didn’t you fall for me? If you’d just pretend not to know, maybe I could have played along for a lifetime. Wouldn’t it be good to spend your whole life with someone you love? Why did you have to expose it?”
Jiang Nong was so stunned by his twisted logic that she couldn’t speak.
Then Yu Lingxin clapped his hands as if suddenly remembering: “Though I suppose I never actually planned to play lovey-dovey with you for a lifetime. I was going to slowly become the version of me you hated most in your past life. I really want to know—will you turn love into hate, or will you be heartbroken watching your beloved become someone unrecognizable?”
He added, with a touch of regret, “Such a shame I won’t get to see your face when that happens.”
It took Jiang Nong a long moment to find her voice, each word squeezed through gritted teeth: “Yu Lingxin, you’re vile. You disgust me. When did you come back? Was it the injury at the autumn hunt?”
At that, his smile deepened—his chest trembling with barely suppressed laughter. Jiang Nong thought he was about to lose it, but he finally revealed: “Not quite. It was when you pushed me into the water. Jiang Nong, the old Yu Lingxin was killed by your own hand. You’re the one who brought me here. How does that feel?
Tsk. He really was pitiful, wasn’t he? Killed by the person he loved most. When you held his head under the water, did you not feel how he struggled? Because even at death, he believed you had your reasons.”
He caught her tears, rubbing them between his fingertips with a contemplative air—hot, salty. Who were they for? Regret for killing that Yu Lingxin? Or regret that she’d been too soft to finish him off later?
“Jiang Nong, isn’t this karma? Cause and effect?” His fingertip slid down to her chest, feeling the lively pulse of her heart. “I always said indecisiveness would be your undoing. Either come save me, or kill me outright. Don’t do both.”
“You’re insane. You’d even throw away your own life just to fool me—what’s the point?” She pushed his hand away from her chest, retreating involuntarily—whether from anger or fear, she couldn’t tell.
He really had been at death’s door then—she was certain of it. His pulse had nearly stopped.
“You’re still trying to reason with me?” He laughed. “You said it yourself—I’m insane. Insane people don’t reason. How dare you ask me what the point is? I’ll tell you: there is no point. It’s precisely because living is meaningless that I came to fool you!
If I’d died, you’d have been lucky—no ghost haunting you. But you were unlucky—I’m too worthless to die! Oh, and there was one thing I didn’t anticipate: Chao Ning actually agreed with you. I thought the two of you would fight over whether to keep coming after me.”
“You’re crazy! Completely mad!”
Jiang Nong couldn’t bear to think how many of her actions since rebirth had been orchestrated by him. A madman who would use even his own life for amusement—more unhinged than before. All she could say was “you’re crazy.”
“Right now you’re probably wondering how much of what you’ve done was steered by me. I’ll be generous and tell you. The bullying I endured, the drugged medicine I drank, the lanterns you saw me release, the wounds on my hands, the autumn hunt, the dancer at the New Year’s banquet, Jiang Biao and Wen Zuhuan, even you marrying into Tan—everything you saw, everything you felt from me—all of it went according to plan.
I made you see that no one in this world truly cares about you. Your parents, your brother, your sisters—they only think of themselves. Only Yu Lingxin is loyal to you. So of course you’d grow attached to him.
I also knew that none of that mattered to you—as long as someone cries or makes a scene, you’d soften and try to save them. So even though I never explicitly asked for you by name, you were the one who ended up here anyway.”
Yu Lingxin had bet on the fragility and baseness of human nature—bet on Jiang Nong having a moment of selfishness. But unluckily for him, she was still the same Jiang Nong, stumbling into every trap he set. The only miscalculation was Chao Ning—another softhearted coward, just like her.
He’d expected Jiang Nong and Chao Ning to have a huge fight and drift apart. Instead, the two of them were like-minded, both planning to “reform him with love.” Truly touching.
Even though she’d suspected as much, hearing him lay it all out still made her sick. She grabbed whatever she could and hurled it at him: “Yu Lingxin! I owe you nothing! What right do you have to do this to me? You despicable bastard! Madman! Do you even have a heart?”
He grabbed her wrists and pinned her back to the bed, sneering: “I don’t have a heart? You’re the one who started something and left, you’re the one who changed your mind, you’re the one who went hot and cold. Who’s really heartless here? You’re right—you do have a heart, just not for me. You’re only cruel to me. Winner takes all—you should be grateful you’re even alive.”
Pinned, unable to move, Jiang Nong had never hated her own indecisiveness more. She’d done everything she could for Yu Lingxin—why was she being bitten back? Just because she hadn’t chosen him in her past life? How could he be so vindictive, holding onto such a small grudge across two lifetimes?
She lunged at him and bit his neck—hard, as if she wanted to tear out his throat, rip a chunk of flesh from him. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth; crimson trickled from her lips.
Yu Lingxin didn’t even grunt—as if all sensation had left him.
Half-prone on top of him, her nails digging deep into his flesh, the warmth of skin against skin—she’d bitten deep enough to kill, hatred burning in her.
He didn’t move. His hand slid up to cup her head; the cool silk of her hair pressed against his palm. He pulled her closer, letting her teeth sink deeper, then turned his head and pressed a cold kiss to her cheek, murmuring against her ear like a lover’s whisper: “I hate you.”
“Jiang Nong, I truly hate you. Since you hate me too, let’s see who dies first in this life. But if you bite me to death right now, you’ll be buried with me.”
Jiang Nong calmed down considerably and slowly released her bite, closing her eyes. Only her nails remained dug into Yu Lingxin’s flesh, trembling.
He lifted her chin, wiped the blood—his blood—from her face, and studied her expression of utter desolation. Then he smiled.
Blood still seeped from the wound on his neck, trickling down to his chest where it began to clot. The wound was deep—it would surely scar.
Having apparently achieved his goal of crushing her, he was in a good mood, wrapping his arms around her and carefully dressing her piece by piece, as if she were a soft cotton doll. Finally, he tucked her under the covers, cradled her face, and studied her for a moment. Before his kiss could land, Jiang Nong raised her hand and slapped him again.
Same spot, harder than before—teeth cutting against his cheek, drawing blood. Instead of anger, Yu Lingxin laughed. He gripped her jaw and pushed the blood from his tongue onto hers, making her gag, then released her and said: “Next time, aim for the other cheek.”
Jiang Nong closed her eyes and ignored him.
After a rustle of fabric, the bedchamber fell silent. Yu Lingxin had lost a fair amount of blood today—he’d probably gone to tend to his wound.
Her mind churned.
She tried to find a way to escape him—but she’d tried every possibility in her past life. None had worked. Could she slip out of the palace under heavy guard? And if she fled, what would happen to the attendants she’d brought with her?
With Yu Lingxin’s temperament, he’d hunt her to the ends of the earth—alive or dead. She’d been uncertain before; now she was sure. The only way out: either she died, or he died.
Between the two, her death seemed easier. What poison would he give her this time?
She covered her face, head throbbing. If this was a nightmare, couldn’t heaven let her wake up sooner?
She’d also wanted to ask about the child, but she knew it would only bring more pain. He hated her, and by extension he would hate the child too—he would never care for her properly.
Everything had circled back to the beginning. She was trapped again, destined to torment each other until they were both spent.
She’d also considered—if she softened, if she pretended, if she cried and confessed how much she’d loved him, how desperate she’d been to abandon him, maybe her life would be easier. He had once loved her and lost her. She might have gone from prisoner to favored consort, living out her days in wealth and luxury.
But even thinking about it made her teeth grind—not just at him, but at the life she’d have to live, bending her will for comfort and security. She would rather die cleanly than betray herself for a gilded cage.
Fear, disgust, anger, sorrow wove together all night. It was past the hour of Chou before she finally curled up and slipped into a restless sleep.
In her haze, she felt herself drawn into an embrace. A warm hand stroked her hair—like the rare, fleeting comfort of her mother soothing her to sleep. She clung to it, letting the world fade.
When she woke, it was already the hour of Chen—she’d never slept so late. Her whole body ached; she felt heavy and feverish.
Yu Lingxin wasn’t there. His scent and the lingering trace of medicine clung to the pillows and bedding.
Rong Mian and her attendants filed in, beaming: “His Majesty has gone to court to meet with the ministers. He said you were tired, and to eat without waiting for him.” Everything was as usual—as if last night’s explosion had been a dream.
Jiang Nong’s expression was dark. Rong Mian’s mind wandered: Yu Lingxin seemed fine—could it be he wasn’t?
With both her own dowry attendants and palace servants present, Jiang Nong suppressed her anger. After washing, she dismissed them all, wanting to be alone.
No one dared press her, but Rong Mian stayed by her bedside, studying her face, holding her hand, whispering: “Your Highness, what’s wrong? Are you unwell? Should I call a physician?”
Jiang Nong shook her head. She wanted to tell Rong Mian everything, but in the end she only squeezed her hand and warned: “Never trust Yu Lingxin. He’s not the same person anymore.”
How could she explain past lives and rebirths? Drag Rong Mian into it too? Rong Mian had grown up with her—simple-hearted, unable to hide her feelings. In the past life, she’d already been married by the time Jiang Nong came to Tan, probably living out her days peacefully. In this life, she was Jiang Nong’s only tie here—she should be sent away soon.
Seeing her solemn expression, Rong Mian’s heart sank. She nodded heavily.
Years in the palace had taught Rong Mian that people change. Jiang Biao had once been Jiang Nong’s closest brother, always protecting her. But as he grew and entered the struggle for power, he became selfish and cold. Every time Lady Song demanded Jiang Nong help him, he took without a thought for her.
Even with this marriage alliance—the whispers in the palace said it was no good place to go—yet Lady Song and Jiang Biao celebrated as if struck by fortune.
If a blood brother could be like that, why expect more from a husband by marriage?
When Jiang Nong said Yu Lingxin had changed, Rong Mian naturally assumed he’d been swept into the vortex of power and turned cold and selfish, like Jiang Biao.
Jiang Nong stayed in bed most of the day, refusing food or drink. Yu Lingxin returned at noon and heard the news.
Rong Mian saw him and felt a shock—he seemed completely transformed. If not for that unmistakable eye, she’d have thought someone else had replaced him.
He used to wear white robes, swaying like a poplar in the wind—slender, lonely, always smiling gently. Even as emperor, she’d privately thought he looked like a puppet.
Now, in black gold-embroidered robes and a black fox-fur cloak, he stood tall and solemn, his sharp features accentuated by the dark color, becoming stern and imposing. Clothes make the man, they say—but Rong Mian felt it wasn’t just that. Those exquisite, deep-set features were cold today, his eyes carrying a faint, mocking smile that swept over her like a biting north wind.
Rong Mian had never feared him before, but today her hands went weak at the sight. Her gaze swept over the wound on his neck, and she quickly lowered her head, unable to meet his eyes.
She believed Jiang Nong’s words now—Yu Lingxin was not the same. But how could a person change so completely overnight?
Yu Lingxin unfastened his cloak himself and tossed it to Xunliang, striding into the hall.
Jiang Nong was still lying in bed, half-dead. His cool palm touched the hollow of her neck, and the cold made her jolt. But Yu Lingxin only laughed: “Who are you putting on this act for? Is there anyone here who cares about you?” A pause. “Oh, I forgot—no one in Xi cared either.”
He knew she couldn’t escape—couldn’t even move out of Xuan Shi Hall. So she resisted in the only way she could: by doing nothing.
Jiang Nong didn’t want to waste her breath. With Yu Lingxin’s shamelessness, anything she said would be met with a thousand twisted arguments. But saying nothing only made her simmer with rage. She closed her eyes, mentally flaying him a thousand times over.
His hands warmed up a bit; when he touched Jiang Nong again, he sensed something off. He frowned slightly: “You gave yourself a fever from anger?” He praised her with apparent sincerity: “Jiang Nong, I sometimes find you quite clever. If you burn your brain out, you won’t know anything—and if you don’t know anything, you won’t get angry—and if you don’t get angry, you won’t get sick. So burning yourself silly means you’ll never get sick again.”
Jiang Nong’s heart nearly spewed blood. Her head pounded harder. She slapped his hand away.
Yu Lingxin had a thick enough face—after two slaps last night, only a small cut on his lip remained.
He propped his head up, lying beside her, hooking her chin, ignoring her disgust, smiling: “Actually, it’s better that you found out. I’ve been pretending for so long—it was really sickening. Sometimes I couldn’t even keep it up. I don’t know why you’d like someone so disgusting. See? Now we’re so natural together—I want to torment you, you want to kill me. An equal, healthy relationship.”
“Yu Lingxin, have some decency.” When she opened her mouth, her voice came out hoarse. She couldn’t help but think venomously: his blood was probably poisonous too. She’d been healthy, rarely falling ill, but drinking his filthy blood had made her sick.
She’d only had two years of peace before slipping back into this familiar state of helpless rage. So familiar—she knew that if she slapped him, he’d just smile and tell her to aim for the other cheek next time.
Could she just die?
Jiang Nong could reason with anyone—except Yu Lingxin. He knew exactly how to make her wish she were dead.
She thought dying of illness would be best—no one else would be dragged down.
“But I won’t let you get what you want.” Yu Lingxin patted her back and called out: “Xunliang, fetch the imperial physician.”
“Just let me die. Isn’t that what you wanted all along? You only find tormenting me amusing. Now I’m suffering in body and mind—aren’t you satisfied?”
Yu Lingxin nodded: “Yes, you’re right.”
Xunliang stood outside the bed curtain, bowing. Yu Lingxin tossed his token toward him: “Order the east and south gate guards to arrest all officials of the Court of the Imperial Treasury of the sixth rank and above—confiscate their property and execute them. And all the guards on duty at Xuan Shi Hall, for failing to protect the empress—throw them in prison too. From today, you will concurrently serve as Chief of the Imperial Treasury.”
Jiang Nong grabbed his arm and called Xunliang back: “Are you insane? There are fifteen officials of the sixth rank and above in the Treasury—are you going to kill them all without even a trial? Tyrant! Why hasn’t the Censorate impeached you for slaughtering innocents and good officials?”
Yu Lingxin smiled: “Then I’ll have the Censorate killed too.”
She gave in, nodding, letting go of his arm: “Fine, fine, fine. Have them call the physician. I’ll live—I’ll live, alright?”
Yu Lingxin brushed a strand of hair from her face: “Wouldn’t it have been simpler to call the physician yourself? I may not have many ways to deal with others, but I certainly have ways with you. Stay alive. I’d be so bored without you—if you died, who would I play with?”
He glanced at Xunliang, who seemed to want to speak: “Didn’t you hear the empress? Go fetch the physician. And keep the Treasury officials imprisoned for questioning—don’t execute them yet.”
Xunliang hurried off.
As a eunuch, he sometimes couldn’t make sense of all this love and hate.
Around last year, Yu Lingxin had changed—only keeping up the act in front of Jiang Nong. Xunliang thought it must be love. But now, with the venomous words and mutual hurting, he truly couldn’t tell if it was love or hate.
The imperial physician arrived in haste. He diagnosed it as an excess of internal heat from pent-up anger and prescribed a three-day course of medicine, twice daily.
After taking it, Jiang Nong felt slightly better. But when Yu Lingxin lingered around her, her fever and headache flared up again.
Yu Lingxin seemed to notice a pattern: every time her fever broke after the medicine, he’d appear, and her anger would reignite the heat. The cycle repeated three or four times until the physician was nearly in tears—and finally Jiang Nong’s temper cooled.
He’d clearly anticipated her plan to send Rong Mian away. He wouldn’t let her—besides, Rong Mian would never leave her.
In his view, the real problem was Jiang Nong. If she had even a fraction of the care for him that she had for these others, their past life wouldn’t have ended as it did. She had only herself to blame.
In just seven days, they’d gone from sweet newlyweds to icy antagonists. Everyone in Xuan Shi Hall could see the shift, and they all speculated that the empress would soon move out.
Habit was a terrifying thing. With the gentle Yu Lingxin, Jiang Nong had needed time to adjust, feeling shy and awkward. But with the current Yu Lingxin, aside from her daily cup of cooling tea, she felt no different.
Their dynamic was exactly as he’d said: natural, very natural. From the moment they opened their eyes, it was mutual insults—appearance, character, habits—nothing was off-limits.
She couldn’t run, couldn’t die, surrounded by his spies. Her homeland couldn’t help; Chao Ning in Dang was only a powerless prince. At least Tan’s current military strength couldn’t threaten anyone else. Jiang Nong clung to the principle that living badly was better than not living at all—she’d take it day by day, biding her time.
This incarnation of Yu Lingxin was different from the last—perhaps because in her past life she’d been too ill, too often half-conscious to notice him.
She discovered that his diligence and ambition were also a pretense. He was the one who couldn’t wake up, who wouldn’t get out of bed even when awake.
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