Chapter 104: Past Life (3)

Ning Yin sat by the bedside, watching with rapt fascination as Yu Lingxi wept for a full half-hour.  

She was clever—when any “last words” would only invite trouble, tears were always the safest choice.  

The overwhelming relief of surviving, the lingering grievances, and the suppressed loneliness and fear all surged up at once, swirling in her damp, crimson-tinged eyes like pear blossoms glistening with rain.  

She didn’t cry loudly, just clenched her delicate jaw and let the tears spill silently, soaking into her hairline.  

Ning Yin had witnessed many deathbed wails, but none as aesthetically pleasing as hers.  

Suddenly, he discovered something more interesting than killing.  

This was the third time he had spared Yu Lingxi.  

She assumed her survival was due to the “poison” failing its purpose. Only the prince’s personal guards guessed the truth—the regent needed a woman as a façade.  

As long as the prince’s bed remained empty, people would keep sending all sorts of women his way. Killing them grew tedious after a while.  

And Yu Lingxi was, undoubtedly, the perfect candidate.  

Ning Yin was a meticulous schemer. Once, he deliberately summoned her to serve tea during an important discussion.  

Yet the woman merely played the role of a docile backdrop, her gaze drifting repeatedly to the window, more engrossed in watching two sparrows bickering on a branch than in anything he said…  

That air of dutiful attendance masking utter disinterest—it couldn’t possibly be feigned.  

She seemed to treat being a caged songbird as a job, showing up when needed and discreetly vanishing when not, never overstepping.  

In terms of beauty and tact, she was flawless. Ning Yin was, for the most part, satisfied.  

Yet her very obedience bored him. He couldn’t resist pushing until her eyes reddened—only then did he feel truly entertained.  

Ning Yin’s legs ached in the cold, yet his body remained perpetually chilled, so he often soaked in hot springs to ward off the damp.  

After an attendant once tried to assassinate him under the guise of delivering towels—leaving a corpse to foul the waters—he no longer allowed servants near during his baths.  

Tonight, however, he specifically ordered Yu Lingxi to attend him.  

If she were a spy sent by some faction, she wouldn’t pass up this golden opportunity—in which case, he’d have to snap her neck himself.  

If she wasn’t…  

Ning Yin opened his eyes, rising from the pool with water cascading down his body as he strode toward Yu Lingxi.  

Yet she kept her head bowed, holding out the towel without daring to glance up, as if his bare form was something unspeakably indecent.  

Such timidity hardly matched an assassin’s profile.  

Dripping wet, Ning Yin lounged in a rattan chair to air-dry his hair, observing her fluttering lashes before suddenly commanding, “Get in.”  

Yu Lingxi startled, peeking at the steaming pool. “I’ve already bathed…”  

“I said,” he emphasized mildly, “get in.”  

The girl trembled, then hesitantly raised delicate fingers to untie her sash and fastenings.  

Layers of fine silk pooled at her ankles like blooming petals, the sheer undergarments clinging to her exquisite curves—a flower unfurling at its most alluring. Heat crept from her toes testing the water all the way to her cheeks, staining them scarlet.  

Her face was made for blushing.  

Whether from tear-reddened eyes or this current flush of shame, it was infinitely more captivating than her usual listless indifference.  

Ning Yin sipped wine, his damp hair clinging to his shoulders, leisurely admiring the sight of the dazed beauty now submerged to her collarbones.  

Only when her skin turned translucent from the heat and she slid bonelessly down the steps—bubbles rising where she sank—did he finally set down his cup and fish her out before she drowned.  

……  

A month of peaceful coexistence later, the Zhao family began stirring.  

Zhao Hui sent lavish gifts, adopting a paternal tone: *”With my niece having won His Highness’ favor, securing prosperity for life, this uncle’s worries may finally rest. In the afterlife, I’ll face your parents and siblings with pride. As family, do send letters to Zhao Manor—I’ll burn them to reassure your departed kin… And Hutao! That girl misses you dearly!”*  

Zhao Hui’s voice choked with staged tears, but Yu Lingxi felt only scorn.  

Her uncle didn’t care for correspondence—he wanted her to spy on the regent, feeding him information to curry favor…  

She couldn’t refuse. Not with Hutao still in Zhao’s clutches.  

That maid had loyally stayed by Yu Lingxi’s side through her darkest days—her last remaining warmth.  

But the naive girl once easily bullied was long gone.  

Yu Lingxi promptly reported Zhao Hui’s words to Ning Yin, using them as leverage to request Hutao’s transfer.  

This way, the Zhao Hui would lose their hold over her.  

*”Quite the opportunist.”*  

Ning Yin eyed her kneeling form over the teacup she offered, as if dissecting her motives. *”Having clung to this cripple’s leg, you’re eager to kick the Zhao’s aside?”*  

Surprise flickered across her face before she steadied herself. *”Your Highness spared my life. I only wish to avoid being controlled—it’d be ungrateful to repay kindness with betrayal.”*  

Her voice was light and clear, devoid of syrupy flattery. Pleasant to the ear.  

Ning Yin approved of her pragmatism. When not in a murderous mood, he could be surprisingly accommodating.  

So the next day, Hutao was hauled into the prince’s residence by two hulking guards, arms pinned like a criminal.  

…  

During that day’s hunt, someone with ulterior motives had released wild wolves into the grounds. Ning Yin’s prized hound, raised for two years, fought the pack and sustained mortal wounds.  

He stroked the dog’s eyelids shut—then snapped its neck right before Yu Lingxi’s eyes.  

The hound was taxidermied and displayed in his bedchamber. This way, even in death, it would remain by his side, no different from when alive.  

That night, rain pattered against the windows. Ning Yin’s old injury flared; his face turned corpse-pale.  

Years ago at the Immortal Capital of Desire, betrayed and captured by Ning Changrui, he’d endured relentless torture—poisons, exhaustion tactics, until that swine finally ordered his left leg shattered with a spiked hammer. The barbs tore marrow and flesh, leaving damage no physician could fully mend.  

Rainy days always stirred his murderous impulses. Bloodshed was the only balm for such pain.  

When Yu Lingxi’s maid entered with tea, the taxidermied hound’s glowing eyes startled her into dropping Ning Yin’s favorite cup.  

The shatter was deafening.  

His fingers, drumming the table, stilled. Eyes slid open, darkening with intent.  

Sensing the danger, Yu Lingxi swiftly stepped between the trembling Hutao and his gaze. “Clean this up. Now.”  

Ning Yin’s lips curled faintly, pallid as a corpse’s—the precursor to violence.  

She knew he needed to kill. With only Hutao and herself present, neither would leave unscathed.  

So she pressed close, softening her voice, clumsily diverting his focus.  

A stormy night with his old agony raging—she shouldn’t have tried soothing a madman on the brink.  

His hand locked around her throat.  

She froze, pulse fluttering wildly beneath his icy grip, warm as jade against his skin.  

He added his other hand.  

The cold made her shiver, but she didn’t resist. Sensing his bone-deep chill, she tentatively clasped his wrist, then leaned closer—step by step, invading his space.  

Outside, rain whispered. Curtains billowed like specters.  

Dawn arrived, thin and rain-washed.  

Waking, Ning Yin briefly considered murder.  

The woman in his arms had hair like spilled ink, lashes still damp—fragile yet bewitching.  

He never shared his bed. Since childhood, overhearing that woman’s screams, he’d loathed such intimacy.  

Logic dictated killing her. Anything that could sway him deserved eradication.  

His fingers tightened around her throat. She slept on, oblivious.  

After a long, venomous stare, he released her—only to pinch her nose shut.  

She awoke gasping, confusion swimming in sleep-soft eyes.  

Lips red, eyes red, utterly disarming.  

“Let’s break Lingxi’s leg. Or perhaps an arm.”  

He abandoned murder with a tender smile. “Then you’ll match me properly.”  

She knew he meant it.  

This deranged man genuinely planned to remake her as his “kindred,” trapping her forever.  

“A broken leg cannot dance for Your Highness.”  

Her voice rasped. “A broken arm cannot brew tea or massage your pains.”  

“Then I’ll poison your tongue.”  

His thumb crushed her lips pale. “Spare me your silver-tongued excuses.”  

She nearly fainted from terror.  

Yet he relented—after all, last night, certain sounds she’d made were… pleasing. Soft enough to make him want to ruin her completely.  

Afterward, something between them shifted. Or perhaps it hadn’t.  

The change showed in Yu Lingxi’s duties, extending from daylight hours to occasional stormy nights. The constant remained: the regent was still cruel, only valuing her when pain demanded an outlet.  

Apart from these… inconveniences, her living standards soared, rivaling imperial concubines’.  

Once, in rare good humor, Ning Yin asked what she desired.  

Wary from the “poison” incident—knowing hope invited his destructive whims—she hesitated before murmuring:  

“I’d like to see the lantern festival.”  

Yu Lingxi still seemed to fear the earlier talk of “poison,” afraid that the greater her hopes, the more he would delight in crushing them. After holding back for a long time, she finally squeezed out a single sentence:

“I want to see the lanterns during the Lantern Festival.”

What kind of request was that? Ning Yin sneered in disdain.

Yet, during the palace banquet on the Lantern Festival, what awaited him was a banquet of death.

The hidden mechanism of a concealed weapon almost pierced Yu Lingxi’s heart.

Ning Yin killed many that night. Never before had he personally slaughtered so many. The palace was thrown into chaos—bodies littered the ground, blood ran in rivers, and the imperial steps before the great hall were dyed a nauseating crimson.

Yu Lingxi could have escaped in the chaos. But she didn’t.

“Why didn’t you run?”

Soaked in blood and looking like an Asura from hell, Ning Yin’s presence terrified her. Yet she forced herself to stay calm and answered:

“Your Highness wields power over the world. There is no mightier protector, no safer refuge than the Prince’s residence. I have no reason to betray you.”

Ning Yin burst into laughter. The blood-streaked smile made him look completely deranged.

Yu Lingxi’s eyes had clearly flickered with fear as she spoke.

But Ning Yin was very satisfied. Even if she was lying—it was the most pleasing lie he’d ever heard.

When they went to the summer palace to escape the heat, Ning Yin brought Yu Lingxi along.

But once he donned the royal robes and blood stained his hands, he reverted to the Regent Prince she dared not even look at directly.

Yu Lingxi, like a canary in someone else’s gilded cage, began learning to embroider and do needlework in hopes of pleasing him. After all, she had nothing—not even her own life. The only sincerity she could offer were these little tokens.

Ning Yin never wore them. He tossed them aside without a second thought. The idea of such clumsy things appearing on him was laughable.

But Yu Lingxi didn’t mind. She would always craft new ones, trying again and again to please him and fill the void.

However, when a servant cleared out a crookedly stitched sachet from beneath the couch, Ning Yin, for some reason, accepted it. He brushed off the dust, then—with an expression full of disdain—locked it away in the low cabinet beside the bed.

More than a year passed. The only things he kept were that forgotten sachet and a pair of cloud-patterned leather boots.

Ning Yin never thought Yu Lingxi was anything special.

She was like a well-behaved little cat or dog—coming when called, dismissed when not needed. He offered her care, but coldly demanded in return. His old leg injury prevented him from kneeling, and even those stormy nights spent sharing a bed were all due to Yu Lingxi taking the initiative to serve him closely.

He was born cold-blooded and indifferent. He didn’t understand what “affection” meant, nor did he allow himself any weakness.

He would never love any woman—not even Yu Lingxi.

Ning Yin cruelly enjoyed everything she gave, yet never worried she would leave.

Because she had no one, no place to go—aside from the golden cage he had crafted with his own hands.

Until that spring, when a secret letter from the Zhao family shattered the peace.

Wearing those same cloud-patterned boots, Ning Yin boarded a carriage to the Zhao estate, still able to maintain his usual gentle smile.

But the moment he saw Yu Lingxi standing under the crabapple blossoms, speaking with Xue Cen, that smile twisted into a wild, poisonous surge of murderous jealousy.

She called him “Brother Cen.” A beautiful woman and a noble gentleman—like a painting brought to life, they looked as though they belonged together.

Her brows were furrowed in concern, a look he had never seen on her face when she was with him.

In the Prince’s manor, every tear, every shy smile, every look of joy from her—had been forced by him.

With a dark expression, Ning Yin slowly opened his mouth, breaking the harmonious scene beneath the flowering tree.

Yu Lingxi paled and knelt before Xue Cen—just as, two autumns ago, Xue Cen had knelt in the rain all night for her.

Ning Yin watched the seamless understanding between the childhood sweethearts, watched Xue Cen instinctively move to shield her—and his eyes burned with barely restrained violence.

Xue Cen? What was he?

He was unworthy.

Ignoring Yu Lingxi’s pleading gaze, Ning Yin had Xue Cen taken to the Ministry of Justice’s prison and interrogated him personally.

What did Lingxi do wrong? He told himself. It was the one who seduced her that was at fault.

He tortured Xue Cen, using blood to quell his own rage.

Only much later did he realize—

That surging, uncontrollable darkness festering in his heart had a name: jealousy.

Exiting the prison, Ning Yin paused, leaning on his cane.

He lowered his gaze and looked down at the leather boots Yu Lingxi had stitched for him.

There was blood on the dark surface—Xue Cen’s blood. It had stained them.

Ning Yin frowned, annoyed.

But then a thought occurred to him:

He could have Yu Lingxi make another pair—openly and rightfully so.

That was something Xue Cen would never be able to obtain.

The thought comforted him, and Ning Yin returned to the manor with a satisfied smile on his face.

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