Chapter 105: Past Life (End)

The night was as still as water, the bedchamber aglow with its usual blaze of lights.

“My lord, I was wrong.”

Under the warm, amber light, Yu Lingxi’s exquisitely adorned face shone like a divine beauty, her autumn-water eyes tinged with faint unease.

Ning Yin leisurely wiped his knuckles, looking down at her. “Tell me, where did you err?”

If she would just say a few sweet words as she always had, promising to stay obediently by his side, Ning Yin would overlook her secret meeting with that Xue fellow today.

He always used threats to keep her close.

Back then, Ning Yin hadn’t realized that his fear of losing her had begun so early.

As always, he remained cold and formidable, loftily awaiting her soft, placating words.

Yet Yu Lingxi, after a long moment of bowing, only murmured, “My mistake was going out to meet my sworn brother without your permission.”

She deliberately emphasized “sworn brother,” as if to conceal something.

Very well. Even in such a precarious situation, she was still pleading for Xue Cen.

Ning Yin’s smile deepened, but his eyes were a sea of coldness, surging with a bleak, ruthless darkness.

Though clearly frightened, Yu Lingxi persisted, her trembling fingertips fumbling awkwardly at his waistband, her long lashes fluttering like a butterfly quivering in the wind.

Ning Yin watched her efforts with detached amusement.

He didn’t know who he should mock. With feigned nonchalance, he masked the roiling darkness in his heart.

So, Yu Lingxi would go this far for Xue Cen.

He had thought she was different, that with nowhere else to go, she would always remain by his side.

But like that madwoman before her, Yu Lingxi spoke of eternal devotion while ready to abandon him at any moment.

Even now, as she knelt before him, radiant and dazzling, he felt he had never truly possessed her.

The old wound in his chest throbbed faintly. Ning Yin tasted betrayal again, sharper than the blade that had pierced him in that ruined temple long ago.

The hotter his blood boiled, the colder his gaze grew. It had been a long time since he’d lost control like this, not since returning to the palace as a prince.

The closer he came to losing control, the more he craved to prove he could master everything.

“Smile.”

In the dim, veiled bedchamber, Ning Yin pinched her lips, forcing a grotesque, unnatural smile.

She could only smile at him, even if it was coerced.

He smeared the blood seeping from her lips, using the vilest words to lazily remind her of her current predicament.

He’d said worse things before. When he went too far, Yu Lingxi would whimper and press close, silencing his reckless words…

He was a villain, after all. Villains were born to torment others.

Besides, he loved how Yu Lingxi looked with reddened eyes, helpless yet breathtakingly beautiful.

But this time, she pushed him away.

Her foot struck the old wound on his left leg—not hard, but enough to ignite his fury.

Lingxi hadn’t been like this before. She’d always yielded to him, gentle and considerate. But ever since meeting that Xue fellow, she wouldn’t even bother with superficial compliance.

Ning Yin didn’t know if his rage stemmed from the humiliation of his old injury or her defiance.

“Only now do you begin to loathe me? Isn’t it a bit late?”

His face was a storm of gloom.

So consumed by anger, he seized her ankle in a threat, failing to notice that beneath her faded lip color, her lips had turned a sickly pale.

By the time he realized something was wrong, it was too late.

Hot, metallic blood sprayed onto Ning Yin’s chest, cutting short his icy threats and mockery.

The candlelight flickered, the bedcurtains swayed. He reached out in a daze, touching the corner of her lips.

Yu Lingxi’s eyes were tightly shut, blood gushing from her mouth, even trickling from her nose in a shocking streak of dark red.

Ning Yin frantically pressed her acupoints to stop the bleeding, but it wouldn’t stop… So much blood soaked his robes and sleeves in an eerie crimson-black, impossible to wipe clean.

In an instant, her body stilled, her fingertips slipping weakly from his arm.

Ning Yin’s lashes trembled. Instinctively, he grabbed her hand, gripping it tightly.

“Lingxi.”

He called to her, but only endless silence answered.

With a bang, the bedchamber door was kicked open from within.

The guards in the courtyard drew their blades, only to freeze in horror at the sight of the regent prince, drenched in dark blood.

“To the Imperial Hospital.”

Ning Yin, cradling Yu Lingxi wrapped in a cloak, his face terrifyingly cold, ordered, “Summon the physicians.”

But the regent was a cripple! Without his cane, how could his leg bear the weight of carrying someone at such a pace?

After a brief silence, someone cautiously ventured, “My lord, the chief physician left the capital two years ago to wander…”

Before he could finish, the guard was sent flying, crashing into a pillar and collapsing in a heap.

Ning Yin’s face, splattered with dark blood, was like a demon emerging from the night.

The others scrambled to make arrangements, none daring to utter another word.

Cold sweat beaded on Ning Yin’s pale face. His old leg injury couldn’t support their combined weight, screaming with piercing pain.

He stumbled but quickly steadied himself, carrying Yu Lingxi to the carriage.

He placed her gently beside him, wanting to brush aside the blood-matted hair at her lips, but stopped short at the sight of his own bloodstained hands, unable to act.

“Don’t be afraid.”

He gazed at her closed eyes, his usual composure strained. “It’ll be fine.”

The Imperial Hospital’s finest physicians were summoned, kneeling trembling before Ning Yin, at a loss.

It wasn’t their lack of skill—even Hua Tuo reborn couldn’t save a dead person!

“From the lady’s symptoms, it appears to be poison. Yet the silver needle shows no anomaly. It could be a sudden affliction…”

Some word enraged Ning Yin. The blade hidden in his cane flashed, and the physician collapsed, eyes wide, a pool of red spreading beneath him.

“Incompetent.” Ning Yin calmly retracted the blade.

“Spare us, my lord! Mercy!”

The hospital echoed with wails.

…

Before dawn, Ning Yin brought Yu Lingxi back to the prince’s mansion.

Her body had grown so cold, colder even than his own when his old ailment flared.

He carried her to the bath chamber’s hot spring. Lingxi loved cleanliness; she couldn’t remain covered in blood.

Steam rose, the cold light of dawn and night mingling through the high windows, casting silver ripples on the water’s surface.

He shed his robes and carried Yu Lingxi slowly into the pool, the milky mist gently parting and enveloping them.

Ning Yin took a soaked cloth, meticulously wiping the blood from her body. Yet no matter how long she soaked or how thoroughly he washed, her form remained unnaturally pale, never again to flush with the rosy warmth of before.

“Dawn is near.”

He settled her on the jade steps of the pool, brushing her closed eyelids with his finger, his voice low and hoarse. “If you don’t wake, this king will slaughter every acquaintance you ever had.”

“Did you hear me?”

He pinched her icy chin, threatening her with practiced ease.

Yu Lingxi leaned against the wet poolside, her body slipping toward the water without support.

Ning Yin’s expression shifted. He swiftly pulled her up, holding her close and steadying her.

“So easily frightened.”

He scoffed, his dark eyes fixed on her motionless form.

After a long pause, he softened, his voice hoarse: “Wake up, and I won’t scare you anymore.”

Yu Lingxi, of course, could not respond.

He recalled how fragile she was, how she’d grow dizzy and breathless after just a quarter-hour in the pool, unable to stand.

Fearing she’d suffocate, he’d lift her out every quarter-hour.

But after a brief moment outside, her body would grow cold again. So Ning Yin tirelessly returned her to the pool, hoping to restore the warmth that once captivated him.

As the first ray of dawn filtered through the window, he knew it was time for her morning routine.

Each day at this hour, she’d dress elegantly, greet him softly, and brew him a cup of tea.

He carried her back to the bedchamber, opened the vanity’s cosmetic box, and began applying rouge and powder to her face.

Vivid lip color masked her pallor, illuminating her delicate beauty. Her dark hair spilled like satin, serene as if she were merely asleep.

While dressing her, Ning Yin’s gaze fell on her shoulder. On her flawless skin, small purple spots had appeared.

He pressed them lightly, his leisurely demeanor turning grave.

He rose and ordered a bed crafted from cold jade and ice, delivered to a secret chamber.

Adorned and composed, Yu Lingxi lay upon it, her form shrouded in pale blue mist, beautiful like a celestial maiden born of snow.

Ning Yin was satisfied, his dark eyes reflecting the icy blue frost, his tone deceptively gentle: “I’ll visit you tonight.”

Even now, he felt little pain.

Whoever poisoned Yu Lingxi, he would kill them. Simple.

Within two days, his subordinates discovered an issue with the teacup she’d used at the Zhao residence.

Though the Zhao family had destroyed the evidence, the regent’s network uncovered traces.

On the third day, Ning Yin visited the Zhao residence.

The Zhao household was annihilated by his hand, reduced to a living hell.

He spared Zhao Yuming, for the most despised deserved slow, torturous punishment.

On the fifth day, Ning Yin leisurely visited the Court of Judicial Review and broke two of Xue Cen’s fingers.

He had warned her: if Lingxi refused to wake, he’d kill all her old friends.

On the sixth day, she still hadn’t stirred.

The sky was overcast, his old injury aching, but no one was there to soothe his pain with gentle care.

He soaked in the pool for half an hour and drained a jug of wine.

Odd—he wasn’t one to indulge, never a drinker, yet today he poured glass after glass with peculiar relish, as if only liquor could fill some bottomless void.

Fueled by wine, suppressed thoughts surfaced, flooding his mind.

When he came to, he was in the secret chamber, standing before Yu Lingxi’s ice bed.

Her makeup had begun to flake from lying so long.

She loved beauty. Even when she drank the Nine Nether Fragrance, believing death was near, she’d dragged her heavy body to apply makeup, dressing exquisitely before facing her end.

With this in mind, he took the unused cosmetic box and slowly began reapplying her makeup.

His hand trembled, smudging the lip color beyond her lip line. Patiently, he wiped away the excess.

He studied her a moment, then pushed up the corners of her mouth with his fingers, drawling, “Smile.”

Her lips were rigid, colder than his fingers, no longer capable of opening to reveal those tear-reddened eyes, gazing at him with helpless, pitiable warmth.

Lingxi would never smile at him again.

She wasn’t sulking or sleeping longer than usual. She was dead.

The word “dead” pricked his heart, a faint sting.

He refused to acknowledge the panic of that moment.

“Dead is fine.”

His thin lips parted, his face cloaked in icy frost.

He laughed again. Dead was fine.

Like that hunting dog, preserved after death, no different from when it lived.

Yes, there’d be no difference. He reassured himself.

On the seventh day, he locked all of Yu Lingxi’s belongings in the secret chamber.

Those were her daily items; they belonged by her side.

Hutao wept for seven days, kneeling in the courtyard burning paper money, her eyes swollen as she kowtowed to Ning Yin, her forehead bruised and bleeding.

She pleaded, “Please, my lord, show mercy. Let me prepare Miss for burial. She can’t become a nameless ghost without a tombstone!”

Ning Yin nearly strangled the maid.

Burying Lingxi in the dark earth, letting her rot and decay, was an unforgivable desecration.

Lingxi should remain in the mansion forever, by his side.

From then on, he forbade anyone from speaking Yu Lingxi’s name. Violators would die.

These lowly fools didn’t deserve to utter her name. But more than that, he couldn’t face the stifling pain that gripped his chest.

He thought this sudden ache stemmed from the “Hundred Flowers Poison” in her body.

Though his constitution was unique, he wasn’t invincible. He didn’t know how long he’d live.

But before he died, he’d kill everyone.

The poison in the tea cup at the Zhao residence came from Xue Song.

He told Zhao Yuming: only if Yu Lingxi disappeared would Xue Cen give up. And only when Xue Cen gave up would Zhao Yuming have a chance to take his place.

So she colluded with Xue Song, using the excuse of saving someone to deceive Xue Cen together.

Pitiful fool that he was, Xue Cen never realized until the end that he had become an accomplice in Yu Lingxi’s death. He didn’t even know that his “second younger sister” was already gone from this world.

Ning Yin spent two full days uprooting the entire Xue family and their network of advisors and allies—completely annihilated, leaving no trace behind.

Bodies fell one after another before him, blood splattering in all directions, yet he felt not the slightest sense of satisfaction.

He went to the prison to torment Xue Cen—because he was jealous.

Xue Cen thought Yu Lingxi was still suffering in the Regent’s manor and hurled curses at Ning Yin.

Once he had exhausted his rage, he began to recount how he and Yu Lingxi had grown up together as childhood sweethearts, how they once drifted on a lake in a small boat, how they recited poetry beneath blooming flowers…

Xue Cen and Yu Lingxi had so many beautiful memories together, while between Ning Yin and Yu Lingxi, there had only ever been threats and fear.

But Ning Yin would not kill Xue Cen.

At the very least, the Yu Lingxi in Xue Cen’s words felt vivid and alive—so real, it was as if she were still here. Sometimes, just listening to her stories was enough.

When he left the prison, a cold wind brushed across his cheek—it felt like someone had rushed past him in anger.

He reached out, closing his fingers together, but caught nothing but empty air.

Back in his chambers, Ning Yin set his cane down beside the couch and called out instinctively, “Lingxi…”

A sudden pause. A long silence.

Lingxi’s presence lingered in every corner of the air—yet she was nowhere to be found.

The second month without Lingxi.

Another rainy night. No amount of alcohol could warm the cold that seeped into his bones.

Slightly drunk, Ning Yin returned to his chambers and opened the drawer of a low cabinet. His gaze fell on a poorly stitched scented sachet.

He picked it up, held it to the light and stared at it for a long time, clicking his tongue with a laugh. “Still so ugly.”

After a moment, the depth in his pitch-black eyes darkened, and the curve at the corner of his lips slowly faded.

He leaned back against the bedpost, closed his eyes, teeth chattering, and then—bit by bit—curled into himself.

“Lingxi… I’m cold…”

Then he suddenly jolted awake and stared at the empty space beside his pillow, eyes wide open until dawn.

The third month without Lingxi.

Ning Yin’s tastes began to change. He started eating the spicy pepper tea soup she used to love. Mimicking her, he added spoonful after spoonful of ground pepper, until his eyes reddened and his stomach burned with pain.

But the more it hurt, the more wildly and recklessly he laughed.

The fifth month without Lingxi.

Ning Yin kicked the young emperor off the dragon throne and plunged the imperial court into utter chaos.

He stood atop a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, calmly accepting the fear and curses of the masses, looking down on all beings with disdain.

It was late autumn now. He remembered—it was also a desolate autumn night when Lingxi was first sent to the prince’s manor.

At the start of the year, Yu Lingxi had begged him to let her go out into the streets for some fresh air. At the time, he had been too preoccupied with dealing with the scheming Third Prince and didn’t agree.

Remembering that unfulfilled wish, Ning Yin, in a rare moment of leisure, decided to take a stroll through the streets.

At the sight of his luxurious deep-purple robe, people trembled with fear and quickly made way. Some peddlers even abandoned their stalls, dragging playing children into the alleys to hide.

Ning Yin paid no attention to them. He walked leisurely with his cane, circling the market, and then picked up a well-crafted white jade hairpin in a jade shop. Without thinking, he turned and said, “Lingxi, this jade…”

But beside him, there was only emptiness—no trace of that graceful and gentle figure.

A guard saw the sudden dimness in his eyes and dutifully asked, “Your Highness, do you have any orders?”

Ning Yin said nothing, tossed the hairpin back into its brocade box, and turned to leave.

He bought the malt sugar Lingxi used to love, popping one piece after another into his mouth, chewing and swallowing them with a crunch. Yet no matter how many he ate, he could no longer taste the sweetness once passed from her cherry lips.

A lone wild goose flew across the sky, its cry sorrowful and forlorn.

Ning Yin came to a stop.

There was no one left to feed him sweets. No one to sew him new leather boots.

It had taken him half a year of endlessly replaying memories—like being slowly sliced by a blunt knife—to finally understand that his Lingxi was truly gone.

The ache surged once more in his chest, swelling unbearably until it felt like his organs might rupture. Along with the undissolved candy in his mouth, Ning Yin coughed up a mouthful of bright red blood.

The blood sprayed onto the ground like a blossoming flower, startling the candy vendor and the guards nearby.

But before they could even approach, Ning Yin, face expressionless, vomited another mouthful of blood—this one even larger.

In that moment, as if a knife had been held to his throat, the candy seller collapsed to his knees in terror: “Heaven and Earth bear witness! The Regent’s bleeding has nothing to do with me—there’s no poison in my candy!”

Ning Yin lifted a finger indifferently and touched the blood at the corner of his lips.

That vivid red color was not the lingering poison of the “Hundred Flower Death,” but true blood from his heart and organs—six months too late.

Ning Yin began to laugh. His shoulders trembled with it, and the slow drizzle of blood soaked through his lips. Against the pallor and sharpness of his handsome face, he looked like a ghost—terrifying and grim.

He would never cry. But now, the blood from his mouth flowed in place of tears.

“Who shall I kill for fun today?”

Ning Yin took the handkerchief the trembling attendant offered, pressed it to his lips, and coughed with a smile.

Over the past six months, he had killed countless people—guilty or innocent, he could no longer tell the difference.

And in the end, he realized—

The one most deserving of death… was himself.

The year before last, after the Lantern Festival, he had already known he was surrounded by danger. Many people wanted him dead, and it was inevitable that Yu Lingxi would be dragged into it. Yet he arrogantly believed that the Prince’s Manor was as solid as an iron fortress and that nothing would go wrong.

That day, after returning from the Zhao residence, he had noticed the pallor on Yu Lingxi’s face. But blinded by jealousy, he ignored it and missed the best chance to save her…

Lingxi must have hated him.

It was good that she hated him. Ning Yin dreamed every night that she would come back to take revenge.

Hadn’t she said so before? That if she died, she would surely become a ghost and return to claim his life.

But why… hadn’t she appeared yet?

Ning Yin coughed up another mouthful of blood. Holding the now-soaked handkerchief, his cold, dark eyes were tinged with resentment and venom.

A bitterly cold winter night fell, and the first snow came unexpectedly.

In prison, Xue Cen stood disheveled and filthy, staring blankly at the snowy light filtering through the narrow window.

Even now, he still didn’t know that Yu Lingxi was dead. He clung to life, eating rough food and drinking cold water. He firmly believed that one day, he would take his second younger sister away from all this suffering—into a paradise far from the world…

That must be a beautiful scene. With a hopeful smile lingering at the corners of his lips, Xue Cen waited day after day.

Meanwhile, at the Regent’s Manor, a great fire lit up half the sky.

Ning Yin, covered in blood, staggered toward the secret passage he had not dared to approach for half a year.

The ice bed was still there. Her red dress, as vivid as flame.

“I’ve waited for you for eight months and nine days,” Ning Yin said.

He gently set the bloodstained cane aside and leaned down, his figure reflected in the icy glow of the bed, lazily murmuring,

“You broke your promise, Lingxi.”

“But it’s alright.”

His voice quickly softened, laced with madness and longing.

“This time, I’ll come find you.”

The door of the secret chamber slowly closed behind him, sealing with a final lock.

With a satisfied, peaceful smile, Ning Yin lay down beside Yu Lingxi and pulled her into his arms—

For eternity.

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