Chapter 106: Soul Swap (1)

Ning Yin opened his eyes, the delicate morning light filtering through the window, casting a soft glow on the folding screen, slightly stinging his eyes.

He hadn’t expected to ever wake again.

The last memory he held was of setting fire to the Regent’s Mansion with his own hands, then taking a lethal dose of Hundred Flowers Kill before entering the secret chamber, cradling Yu Lingxi’s lifeless body as he slipped into eternal slumber…

If this were the eighteenth layer of hell, it shouldn’t hold such serene, radiant morning light.

Reincarnated?

No. He raised his distinctly jointed hand, examining it against the light, quickly dismissing the thought.

This was an adult’s hand, no different from the body he had before death. The furnishings of this bedroom, though slightly altered, were nearly identical in layout to the Regent’s Mansion.

A faint rustling from the outer room interrupted Ning Yin’s thoughts. His dark eyes sharpened, instinctively reaching for the cane by the bed, only to find it missing.

“Shh, keep it down.”

Through the hazy gauze curtain, a deliberately softened female voice came, “He’s finally sleeping in; don’t wake him.”

At the sound of that long-lost, familiar voice, the menace in Ning Yin’s eyes vanished instantly.

He threw off the covers and stepped barefoot onto the tiled floor. Accustomed to the slight limp of his afflicted left leg, he landed unevenly, nearly stumbling.

Something was off—his legs were whole, undamaged.

It had been so long since he’d walked with healthy legs that his first step was cautious, hesitant.

Then, a glint of intrigue flickered in his eyes. His steps grew steadier, like a weary soul chasing the light.

Dressed in loose undergarments, he rounded the folding screen and parted the hanging gauze. At the dressing table by the open window, he saw a figure that had haunted his memories countless times.

She had dismissed the maids and was gently combing her long, waist-length hair, her head slightly tilted. The pale golden morning light spilled through the window, cloaking her in a dreamy, warm glow, so beautiful she seemed like a fragile illusion.

The bronze mirror reflected his face—still the familiar one, with dark eyes and thin lips, strikingly handsome, but lacking the ghostly pallor and menace of before.

Yu Lingxi caught sight of Ning Yin standing darkly behind her in the mirror and flinched, turning to exhale, “When did you wake up? You startled me.”

Her eyes were clear and bright, her soft voice less a complaint and more a playful pout.

Ning Yin had never seen her so unguarded, so delicate and lively.

He was not a timid man by nature. Even if Lingxi hated or resented him, even if this was a dream destined to shatter, he would seize her without hesitation, keeping her by his side until his soul turned to dust.

“How wonderful.”

His voice low, Ning Yin reached out to touch her brow.

Warm.

His fingers paused, trailing down her cheek to her neck, lingering there.

Beneath his touch, her pulse beat clearly, warm—not the cold, pale figure on the icy bed.

The sensation couldn’t be faked. Everything felt so real.

As if realizing something, Ning Yin let out a manic laugh, guessing he must have been reborn, returned to a time when Lingxi was still alive.

“This prince has found you.”

He embraced her from behind, his arms tightening with a sickly satisfaction.

…This king?

Yu Lingxi frowned. Ning Yin usually referred to himself as “I” in her presence, and besides, he was no longer a prince.

A tingling pain at her neck snapped her back to her thoughts. A buried memory flashed through her mind, too fleeting to grasp.

She finally noticed something off about the man behind her.

Last night was their “first meeting anniversary.” That man, Ning Yin, had spilled wine on her, from her collarbone to her waist, savoring her all night.

Could he still be drunk from overindulging?

Enduring the tight grip around her waist, she reached back to touch his cool cheek, concerned. “What’s wrong, Ning Yin?”

Hearing her call his name so directly, Ning Yin froze imperceptibly, slowly opening his dark eyes.

The Lingxi in his memory had always cautiously called him “Your Highness.”

…

It was vaguely recognizable as the bedroom of the former Prince Jing’s Mansion, but someone had presumptuously redecorated it, lavish yet tasteless.

Ning Yin found this person’s taste utterly deplorable.

He sensed something amiss immediately, his gaze falling back to the beauty kneeling beside him.

On the low table sat freshly brewed tea. Yu Lingxi sat primly, her skirt neatly tucked, her hair pinned up to reveal a slender, elegant neck. Her head nodded slightly, clearly exhausted.

Ning Yin recalled carrying her from Xiuyun Pavilion to the bathing pool last night. She’d been fragrant with wine, her cheeks flushed like rouge, too tired to move. How could she have the energy to rise early and brew tea?

Moreover, her attire and demeanor were subtly different from usual.

Ning Yin narrowed his eyes, feeling an inexplicable eeriness since waking.

He stood, grabbing the robe by the bed to drape over Yu Lingxi’s thin shoulders.

But as he touched her, she startled awake, instinctively shrinking away.

Ning Yin’s hand froze midair, his eyes lifting to meet hers.

Yu Lingxi quickly realized her mistake, relaxing and leaning her cheek into his fingers, like a cat eager to please its master.

“The tea is ready, Your Highness. Would you like to partake?”

Her charming eyes lifted, still kneeling, her voice gentle but lacking its usual lighthearted smile.

Ning Yin studied her lowered lashes, his brow quirking.

What game was this?

Her cautious, submissive demeanor was indeed captivating, irresistible to any man, but…

Ages should be the most dazzling. How could she demean herself like this?

“Fancy a master-servant roleplay? I’ll indulge as Wei Qi now and then.”

Grinning, Ning Yin stepped off the bed to help her up. “Get up.”

As his left foot touched the ground, a piercing pain shot through his bones. Unsteady, he braced himself against the bed.

Yu Lingxi moved to support him but was pulled down by his weight, tumbling toward a low cabinet.

Ning Yin’s eyes sharpened. Swiftly, he caught her waist, but his movement knocked items off the bed’s edge, rolling across the floor.

He glanced down, spotting a gold-inlaid jade-handled cane.

His smile faded, his brows knitting.

That familiar sensation again.

Yu Lingxi, trembling, had made too many mistakes this morning. Hastily, she retrieved the cane, offering it with both hands as if atoning.

Ning Yin took the cane, leaning on it for support.

He bent to lift his left pant leg, his gaze falling on the gruesome scars. Fragmented memories flashed like lightning.

He remembered.

Had Yu Lingxi not appeared in the Immortal Capital, his leg would have ended up like this.

Ning Yin was sharp. With a moment’s thought, he pieced it together.

He glanced at the bronze mirror, seeing his familiar yet menacing reflection, the familiar yet altered mansion, and the familiar yet strange Yu Lingxi… Everything screamed that he’d arrived in a world where fate hadn’t been rewritten.

“Qiqi, come here.”

Ning Yin sat back on the bed, tapping the cane’s jade handle, his voice low. “Tell me about my life these past years.”

Yu Lingxi froze, stunned.

“Qiqi” was her childhood nickname, unused since her family’s fall and the Yu clan’s destruction. No one had known it for years.

How did the Regent know it, and why did he say it so… intimately?

…

Ning Yin was a guarded man, never easily revealing his vulnerabilities.

After half an hour of observation, from Yu Lingxi’s fragmented conversations with the maids, he’d pieced together the truth: time had shifted at some point, creating a different life.

In this world, his legs were healthy, his vengeance fulfilled, and he’d ascended the throne as emperor.

More importantly, this world’s Ning Yin had Lingxi in his arms, had seen her in fiery wedding robes, shared a bridal chamber, and possessed her wholehearted love and trust.

The rabbit-shaped sachet hanging at his waist, with its neat stitches and exquisite embroidery, constantly reminded Ning Yin of what he’d lost.

Ning Yin was jealous—insanely so.

This world’s Ning Yin had everything he’d once been unable to attain.

But what did it matter? Now, it was all his.

Even if he had to steal or seize it, he’d never let go.

The autumn sun filtered through the leaves, scattering dappled light on the ground.

Ning Yin pulled a chair over, watching Yu Lingxi dress with fascination, as if admiring a reclaimed treasure.

Her movements as she tied her robe were mesmerizing, graceful as a painting. Mischief sparked in Ning Yin. With a flick of his paper-cutting knife, the tie snapped, and her freshly donned outer robe slipped down her arm, pooling like mist.

The maids blushed, unsure whether to continue dressing the empress or retreat.

Yu Lingxi slapped his hand away, her beautiful eyes glaring. “That’s dangerous! Put the knife away!”

The slap was soft, painless, yet Ning Yin felt as if a rabbit had nipped him—vivid and amusing.

“You’ve grown bolder.”

He smiled elegantly, his dark eyes reluctant to leave her.

The more enthralled he became, the more he despised this world’s “Ning Yin” for stealing his fortune.

If he could, Ning Yin would strangle “him” without hesitation.

Yu Lingxi didn’t notice the darkness surging in his eyes. She handed the broken-tied robe to a maid and chose a vibrant apricot-red gown, draping it over herself.

The vivid dress glowed like sunset, bathed in autumn light, her hair shimmering.

Ning Yin was momentarily dazed, as if trying to grasp fleeting rays of light. He raised his hand, calling, “Lingxi, come here.”

Yu Lingxi paused, mid-motion, adjusting her sleeves.

She turned, studying Ning Yin quietly for a long moment before smiling. “Yesterday was August eighth. Even if it’s our first anniversary, you shouldn’t have drunk so much. Waking up all strange—still tipsy?”

August eighth?

Ning Yin remembered that date—the day Yu Lingxi was sent to the mansion by the Zhao family.

He hadn’t had time to verify details in this world, so he played along. “If this scene could last forever, what harm is there in staying drunk for a thousand years?”

His smile was refined, but his dark eyes were deep pools, hiding countless emotions.

Seeing he didn’t deny it, Yu Lingxi’s lips parted.

Hesitating, she sighed. “Let’s take a walk, Ning Yin.”

Ning Yin instinctively reached for his cane, then remembered this body was healthy, no longer needing such a crutch.

Satisfied, he rose, his steps light and steady, approaching Yu Lingxi.

His Lingxi.

…

The dull pain in his left leg persisted, like an unshakable curse.

From Yu Lingxi’s calm, detailed recounting, Ning Yin learned what had happened in this world.

As he’d suspected, in his youth, no angelic girl had appeared to drive off the assassins sent by Ning Changrui.

The Immortal Capital was destroyed, and no girl came in the snowy night to save him, half-dead in the snow, and care for him.

No days spent together in the General’s Mansion, no lantern-lit Qixi night in the attic, no one crossing thorns and hardships to pull him back from hell…

In this world, Ning Yin had lived like a mangy dog for eighteen years, then as a vile ghost for four more.

Ning Yin felt no pity for this version of himself. He was utterly deplorable, reaping what he sowed.

“Tell me about you.”

His eyes held undisguised contempt, softening only when he looked at Yu Lingxi. “How did this world’s me meet Qiqi?”

Hearing “Qiqi” again, Yu Lingxi grew more alarmed.

Given the Regent’s usual temperament, the calmer and gentler he seemed, the more likely a terrifying intent lurked beneath…

Yet it didn’t quite feel like murderous intent—more like he was searching for something.

Could last night’s assassination attempt have caused amnesia?

Suppressing her thoughts, Yu Lingxi said cautiously, “Last August eighth, my uncle sent me to the mansion. By Your Highness’s grace, I was allowed to stay and serve.”

August eighth…

“Today is the day we first met.”

“Correct, it’s today.”

Her soft, certain words from last night outside Prince Jing’s Mansion echoed, brushing away the dust of memory.

Ning Yin’s voice deepened. “The night Qiqi first saw me, were you wearing a crimson dress with peach blossom makeup?”

No amnesia?

Yu Lingxi nodded. “Yes.”

She paused. “Last night marked a year since I met Your Highness.”

A thought struck Ning Yin, his pupils narrowing.

A coincidence?

How did Qiqi know this world’s events, recalling the timing of their meeting?

Unless she’d lived through it.

The Qiqi who saved him in the Immortal Capital had been reborn from ashes; this cautious beauty before him was the Qiqi of old.

The old him was a crippled, despicable man.

“I treated you poorly?” Ning Yin asked.

Yu Lingxi’s hand paused mid-motion as she mixed fragrance, quickly averting her gaze with a practiced smile. “Your Highness provides for me, with the finest clothes and jewelry. You treat me well.”

“Liar.”

Seeing her visibly tense, Ning Yin realized, softly, “You’re afraid of me.”

Peeling back the layers, the ignored details made sense.

“I had a dream.”

It wasn’t a dream.

“I dreamt I died because of it, leaving you alone in this world.”

He hadn’t protected Qiqi.

Ning Yin understood why Qiqi looked at him with such fear in the Immortal Capital, why she was so distant when he wormed his way into the General’s Mansion…

She’d endured a lifetime of pain. She feared him.

Yet even so, when Qiqi first met the fallen him, she only wanted to keep her distance, never seeking to harm or retaliate…

He’d pushed Qiqi into hell, but she pulled him back to the mortal world.

What a fool.

Ning Yin raised his pale fingers, gently brushing her bewildered eyes, chuckling softly, “Such a fool.”

Foolish enough that he wanted to kill the wretched “him” with his own hands.

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