Chapter 102: Past Life (1)

Ning Yin had just disposed of the old emperor and ascended to the position of Regent when Zhao Hui presented him with a woman.  

The nation was in mourning, and musical festivities were forbidden—but that didn’t stop sycophants from scrambling for favor. At a “treasure appraisal banquet,” every family brought out their most prized possessions, vying to please the young and sinister Regent.  

The hall glittered with exotic displays. Ning Yin sat with his temple propped on one hand, his pale, slender fingers casually picking up an exquisitely carved jade cabbage.  

Under the hopeful gaze of its donor, he opened his fingers.  

The jade shattered with a heart-stopping *crack*.  

Next came the gem-studded golden tiger cup, then the red coral ornament…  

Destruction was a pleasure. The scattered fragments of jade and gemstones were only good for giving the Regent a momentary thrill.  

“Just dead objects. Vulgar trinkets.”  

Ning Yin lifted his eyelids, his dark eyes glacial. “You dare offer me this garbage?”  

The smug faces around him twisted first into dismay, then despair. Only one man remained unfazed.  

Zhao Hui, his bloated frame wobbling, knelt forward with unctuous flattery. “This humble official, Zhao Hui of the Ministry of War, possesses a rare treasure—one unmatched in this world. I would not dare keep it for myself and wish to present it for Your Highness’s enjoyment.”  

That very night, an unassuming red-curtained sedan chair from the Zhao residence delivered a young woman in crimson robes.  

*”This is my niece, the youngest daughter of the late General’s household—noble in birth. After her parents’ demise, I took pity on her plight and raised her as my own. She has been kept secluded, educated with the utmost propriety, nothing like those vulgar women…*  

*If Your Highness would grace her with even a fraction of affection, allowing her to remain by your side as a humble servant, it would be the greatest honor of her three lifetimes.”*  

Zhao Hui’s fawning words still echoed in the air. But at least he hadn’t lied.  

She was, indeed, breathtakingly beautiful—her fiery red dress nearly blinding in its brilliance.  

When Ning Yin entered the chamber in his thin inner robe, she was kneeling on the floor, her silken black hair parted behind delicate ears, cascading down to frame a slender, vulnerable neck that disappeared into her collar.  

Further down, her shoulders were delicate, her waist cinched into a tempting curve—fragile enough to snap with one hand, yet lush where it mattered. Even through fabric, one could glimpse the peerless allure beneath.  

The rainy night was damp, aggravating the old ache in his left leg.  

Ning Yin tapped the armrest slowly with one finger, studying the figure at his feet. “Your name?”  

His voice was light, almost amused—and utterly devoid of warmth.  

The girl heard it too. Her breath hitched before she answered, “Yu…”  

Her throat was tight. She swallowed hard before whispering, “Yu Lingxi. *Lingxi* as in ‘hearts linked as one.’”  

Ah, the *Yu* family. No wonder.  

Ning Yin narrowed his eyes and pressed the tip of his cane beneath her chin. “Look up.”  

The metal was icy against her skin. Yu Lingxi trembled visibly, her fingers clenching as she slowly raised her head.  

She’d been crying. The rims of her almond-shaped eyes were red.  

Outside, the autumn rain pattered mournfully, yet she seemed bathed in a soft glow—fragile and dazzling.  

*Good. Stormy nights are best for killing.*  

For every person who sought to curry favor with him, there were ten who wanted him dead. Women sent his way were either honey traps or poisoned blades. None would live to see the next dawn.  

Whatever mission Yu Lingxi carried would be no exception.  

His thumb pressed the hidden mechanism. The blade at the cane’s tip shot out without warning.  

Candle flames guttered violently. Rain lashed the windows, casting frenzied shadows across the floor.  

The razor-edged cold steel rested against her neck.  

Yu Lingxi’s damp, reddened eyes remained eerily calm.  

There was no scream for mercy—only a fragile beauty as she asked softly, “If I die, will my uncle’s family be implicated?”  

Her reaction was disappointingly dull. Ning Yin’s displeasure sharpened his tone to an icy edge. “If this doesn’t amuse me, I’ll slaughter them all.”  

He watched her eyes, anticipating fear.  

But it never came. Instead, she seemed almost satisfied with his answer. Then—  

—her hand closed around the blade beneath his cane.  

A beast-head ring engraved with a family crest glinted coldly on her slender finger.  

A gesture of defiance.  

Interest flickered in Ning Yin’s eyes. For a breath, he nearly drove the blade through her throat.  

*Drip.*  

A tear rolled down her chin, striking the steel with a clear, ringing sound.  

The bloodlust in his gaze receded like a tide.  

He understood her now.  

This woman’s feigned resistance was a plea for death—one meant to drag the Zhao family down with her.  

Of course. After being gifted to him like an object, she’d despise them.  

“Bold,” Ning Yin mused, his laugh venomous as he seized her wrist, crushing bone. “Using *me* to do your killing.”  

Pain forced her to release the blade. She collapsed, crimson blooming from her fingertips like winter plum blossoms.  

Ning Yin was furious.  

A creature of spite by nature, her eagerness to die only made him refuse her the mercy of a quick end.  

The Regent’s smile turned jagged. He changed his mind.  

—  

Dawn leaked through the shutters.  

Ning Yin rose, his pallor corpse-like.  

The girl—who’d pillowed her head on a stool to sleep—jolted awake. The Regent, unguarded in those first moments, glared with unrestrained malice.  

Then he remembered her.  

Yu Lingxi still sat on the icy tiles. Under his gaze, she trembled like prey beneath a wolf’s paw.  

“Will you kill me today?”  

Dark circles bruised her eyes. Faded rouge clung to her pallor, a decadent kind of ruin.  

Ning Yin flexed his hand. Veins surfaced beneath pale skin—power enough to snap spines.  

(Last night had taught her that well.)  

She hid her bruised wrist as his laugh slithered through the chamber: “I’ll kill you when I return.”  

Her lashes fluttered. *Good.*  

Watching hope rot was sweeter than any kill. The thought of her withering in dread curled through him like smoke.  

At last, something to savor.  

In the chamber, knowing her death was imminent, Yu Lingxi felt an odd sense of relief.  

The servants had no idea who this woman was—after all, no “gift” had ever survived a night by the Regent’s side. Bewildered and wary, they didn’t dare refuse when the ethereally beautiful girl politely requested food and water.  

By evening, when Ning Yin returned from executing a few disobedient court officials, he found the crimson-clad girl sitting primly in his bedchamber, her lips dusted with pastry crumbs.  

She was, unmistakably, eating.  

With remarkable appetite.  

Ning Yin lingered in the doorway, watching her with a gaze like frozen poison.  

Yu Lingxi looked up with an expression of resigned finality. Reluctantly, she set down the last half of her pastry, stacked the four empty plates neatly, wiped her mouth, smoothed her skirts, and finally knelt in a deep bow.  

“Thank you for your hospitality, Your Highness.”  

As if she’d finished her last meal and was ready for the executioner.  

Ning Yin’s face darkened. Step by step, he advanced, the rhythmic *tap-tap* of his cane like a death knell.  

Her fingers twisted together, lashes fluttering with each step—betraying the calm she fought to maintain.  

The cane lifted, its tip pressing against her slender throat.  

Yu Lingxi shut her eyes.  

The blade hovered a hair’s breadth from her skin. One flick, and scarlet would bloom across her flesh.  

But where was the fun in that?  

Killing someone who welcomed death offered no satisfaction. He loathed being manipulated.  

With a *click*, the blade retracted.  

Yu Lingxi kept her eyes sealed shut, bracing for the end.  

How dare something so fragile—so easily crushed in his grip—face death with such resolve?  

Ning Yin smirked. A darker idea took root.  

“You already look half-dead.” Leaning down, he gripped her chin, forcing her eyes open.  

He studied those shimmering irises, then whispered, “Corpses bore me. Leave.”  

Her pupils dilated, sparking to life.  

Her lips parted—  

“*Go*,” he repeated, sweetly venomous. “Must I say it again?”  

He was… truly letting her leave?  

The temptation was overwhelming. After a long pause, she rose unsteadily.  

Ning Yin rested both hands on his gold-inlaid cane, waiting with predatory patience for her to bolt—for that fleeting hope to ignite.  

(He always played this game with spies. Let them think they’d won his trust.  

Then shattered their dreams along with their windpipes.)  

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