Chapter 108: Soul Swap (3)

(1)

Yu Lingxi still hadn’t fully grasped the current situation.

Ning Yin was Ning Yin—just as she, after being reborn, was still Yu Lingxi. It was impossible for a soul to split into two and exist in the same timeline.

“So, you plan to stay awake forever?”

Yu Lingxi was quite worried about his self-torturing stubbornness. “A person can only go without sleep for at most ten days before their mind collapses and they die. If you torment yourself to death, won’t you end up with nothing?”

Ning Yin had stayed awake for a full day and night. His complexion was indeed not great, but his pitch-black eyes were bright and clear.

“If the Ning Yin of this world returns, then he will inevitably fight me for control over this body.”

He seemed to be looking forward to it, his face calm and full of determination. “Lingxi, why don’t you guess—do you think he and I might meet within this shared consciousness?”

Yu Lingxi tried to imagine it. If Ning Yins from different timelines encountered each other… No, she didn’t dare think further.

It was far too unimaginable!

Ning Yin reached out and plucked a twig of orange osmanthus from a porcelain vase, casually stroking the forked branches. “According to my deductions from last night, fate was altered early on because of your rebirth—just like a branch that, at a certain point, split in two opposite directions.”

He pinched one of the forks and, with a snap, broke it off. Leisurely, he said, “My branch is damaged. So why not seize the other and make it mine?”

The orange-red osmanthus was crushed between his fingers and scattered like dust. Yu Lingxi remained silent for a long time.

She carefully pieced together the sequence of events, then said thoughtfully, “So, before going back, you plan to kill the other you to fight for the right to stay in this body?”

“Exactly.”

“If you stay here, then what will happen to the world from your previous life?”

“…” A long silence.

In that moment, Yu Lingxi saw on his perfectly cold and angular face an expression that resembled sorrow.

“In that world, there is no more Lingxi.”

Ning Yin placed the bare, broken osmanthus twig back into the porcelain vase, leaned back against the couch, and said, “I cannot lose you twice, Lingxi.”

He half-closed his eyes and curled his lips into a smile, but his voice sounded like a dry wind from a deep well—hoarse, unwilling, an obsession turned demonic.

If he could, he was willing to become his substitute, Lingxi’s shadow.

“You’re fighting yourself in your mind without sleep or rest. What am I supposed to do? What if you never wake up? What then?”

Yu Lingxi’s eyes grew misty as she spoke softly, “I don’t want to lose you again either, Ning Yin.”

Ning Yin looked at her, his black eyes dark and unreadable, like a hidden abyss.

All of his selfishness and cruelty were no match for the softly spoken, tear-choked words: “What am I supposed to do?”

Suddenly, Yu Lingxi understood the origin of his obsession.

“Open your sachet and take a look. Inside is what I’ve always wanted to say to you.”

She took a deep breath and made the suggestion.

After a moment, Ning Yin lowered his gaze to his waist, untied the scented sachet, and opened it.

Inside were two red beans and a folded note.

[“Twice blessed with life, and not once did I regret meeting you.”]

Ning Yin fell silent, staring at the words “twin lives” for a long time before asking, “Why no regrets? You should hate me.”

Because he had tasted the pain of loss, because he knew the torment of irreversible regret, he now wanted, at all costs, to remain here.

“In both this life and the last, I have never hated you. And I never regretted meeting you.”

Yu Lingxi set aside the unfinished leather boot in her hands and spoke with quiet certainty.

In her heart, Ning Yin was simply Ning Yin—the same person in both lifetimes.

Ning Yin’s eyes flickered slightly.

Yu Lingxi continued, “So there’s no need for regret. And stop tormenting yourself. From birth to death, and rebirth from death; in dreams or reality, in cycles of cause and effect—it has always been you.”

In both past and present lives, they were never truly diverging branches—only a destined reunion after circling paths.

(2)

The rain had stopped, and the sky was beginning to lighten.

Ning Yin pressed a mechanism on his cane—click—a thin blade sprang out and touched lightly against the floor tiles.

“Before falling asleep and leaving, I could destroy this body. Then the Ning Yin of this world would never return.”

He tapped the jade handle with his finger, laying out his plan in full. “I’ve already arranged everything. After this body dies, all the wealth and power of the prince’s manor will go to Sui Sui. That way, she’ll live a life of peace and prosperity. Isn’t that better than depending on others?”

Yu Lingxi simply shook her head. “If the prince were truly a bad person, then why would I have saved him after being reborn? There must be some misunderstanding I haven’t figured out yet.”

Ning Yin was briefly stunned. That was a detail he hadn’t considered.

Sui Sui was a person who drew clear lines between kindness and resentment. If Ning Yin had truly treated her terribly in her previous life, there’d be no reason for her to fall in love with him again after rebirth.

“That’s why I want to figure everything out. I want to see what thoughts lie beneath the prince’s cold and spiny shell.”

Yu Lingxi gave a small smile. “Strangely, after meeting you, I’m not afraid of the prince at all anymore.”

Ning Yin focused on her. “No regrets?”

“No regrets.”

There was a soft yet resolute strength in Yu Lingxi’s gaze as she affirmed, “Thank you for telling me all this—for letting me know the future can be so beautiful. No matter what happens in this life, I won’t regret it.”

Because after darkness, comes boundless light.

Morning light rose from beyond the window, brightening her eyes.

Ning Yin tapped his cane and retracted the blade.

“You’ve stayed up a whole day and night—go ahead and sleep, my lord,” Yu Lingxi said gently.

Ning Yin didn’t close his eyes. He wanted to say something more, to do something more.

“Don’t worry about me.”

Yu Lingxi reached out to cover his eyes and coaxed gently, “Sleep.”

A gentle darkness fell before his eyes. Ning Yin kept them open for a long while—then finally let his lashes fall closed.

(3)

Dusk lingered, and the autumn wind swept red leaves across the courtyard.

Beside the lattice windows of the sleeping hall, Ning Yin poured himself a cup of wine and casually picked up some spicy preserved plums, dropping two into the cup in succession.

Yu Lingxi thought the wine was meant for her, but to her surprise, Ning Yin lifted the cup with one hand and brought it to his own lips.

“You’re not afraid of spicy things?”

Yu Lingxi asked curiously.

If he truly was the Ning Yin from the previous life, he shouldn’t be able to handle spice at all.

Expressionless, Ning Yin downed the drink in one gulp and set the empty cup down. “I’ve long gotten used to it.”

In the eight months after she left, the slight burn of spice was the only thing that reminded him of the warmth of her living presence, the only thing that kept his eyes open through each long night until dawn.

He rubbed the rim of the cup, staring unblinkingly at Yu Lingxi as she threaded a needle, resting his bent fingers lightly against his temple as he asked, “Did he treat you well?”

Yu Lingxi knew exactly who the “he” in Ning Yin’s mouth referred to, and replied, “You treated me very well.”

Ning Yin raised an eyebrow but didn’t correct her.

“How well?”

“Though your mind is full of devious schemes, you always showed up at the critical moments. When you were happy, you looked as if you wanted to carve out your flesh and bones to give to me—as if, in your world, there was only one bright color left: ‘Yu Lingxi.’”

Yu Lingxi recounted many past memories, a gentle smile never leaving her lips as she spoke.

Remembering something, she put down her sewing and laughed, “It was the same in our past life too, wasn’t it? Without you, I probably would’ve died several times over.”

“But Lingxi still…”

He pressed his lips tightly together, unwilling to speak that word aloud.

Yu Lingxi didn’t pursue the heavy topic further. She simply finished stitching the upper and sole of the shoe, snipped the thread, set the boot on the wooden rack to smooth it out, then flipped it over and said, “Done.”

A pair of cloud-patterned leather boots—identical to the ones from their past life.

The very boots he had dirtied, but never got the chance to ask for again.

“Would you like me to serve the prince by helping him put them on?” Yu Lingxi blinked playfully, deliberately changing how she addressed him.

Ning Yin let out a soft chuckle, took the boots from her, gently stroked them, then put them on himself.

He paced around the hall, tirelessly walking back and forth, as if trying out the boots, or perhaps simply savoring the feeling of healthy legs again.

After a long while, he returned to sit beside Yu Lingxi.

He simply sat there quietly, watching the last rays of the setting sun slowly slip past the roof ridge—as if trying to absorb everything from both lifetimes in a single glance.

Gradually, his body leaned down until his head rested on Yu Lingxi’s lap.

“I don’t want to go back,” he murmured.

His eyes were bloodshot, and in a childlike, stubborn whisper, he said, “That world is too cold. I don’t want to return.”

If he could, he still wanted to kill the other “Ning Yin.”

But what if he couldn’t stay? If Yu Lingxi had to go on living alone—just as he had in his past life?

How could he bear that?

“Lingxi…”

Ning Yin reached out as if trying to grasp a sliver of light, his hoarse voice tinged with a faint smile. “I really want to hold on to you.”

Yu Lingxi didn’t say anything. She only lowered her gaze and gently brushed her fingers through his scattered ink-black hair.

Red leaves fell in the courtyard. He gazed deeply at Yu Lingxi, and in the dimming twilight, slowly closed his eyes.

Ning Yin could have forced himself to stay awake longer.

But he chose to close his eyes.

To “die” in Lingxi’s arms—was the greatest honor of his life.

(4)

Ning Yin stood in endless darkness—and saw another version of himself.

The two faced each other like mirror reflections, equally handsome and chilling.

Ning Yin knew he wanted to kill him, just as he himself wanted to kill that one.

Ning Yin lifted a foot, and the other stepped forward at the exact same time. They drew closer and closer, space and time twisting and warping around them.

“Your Highness?”

He heard Lingxi’s voice.

“Ning Yin?”

He also heard Sui Sui’s voice.

The two brushed past each other—like walking through a mirror—each rushing back toward their own world.

A familiar dull ache climbed up Ning Yin’s left leg, but he had no time to care. He dashed toward the direction of the voice—

Then suddenly, he fell.

…

When he opened his eyes, dim light filtered in past a folding screen, mingling with the soft, familiar scent of tea in the air.

Behind the desk, Yu Lingxi knelt gracefully with her skirts drawn in, her cloud-like hair pinned up to reveal a slender, lovely neck. Yet her head nodded slightly, clearly drowsy.

Her appearance and bearing were exactly as he remembered.

Ning Yin silently gazed at her, his dark eyes as bottomless as a deep pool—like a fog that stretched across two lifetimes.

He picked up the cane by the couch, rose, and walked to her side. He reached out and touched her warm cheek.

Yu Lingxi startled awake, blinking rapidly in confusion. “Your Highness?”

Ah… even her voice was exactly as it used to be.

This wasn’t the secret chamber. Nor was she lying on a cold ice bed.

He had returned—to the time when Lingxi was still alive.

(5)

A sharp pain pierced his mind.

“Ning Yin… Ning Yin?”

Yu Lingxi’s voice grew clearer, drawing closer from a distant blur.

Ning Yin suddenly opened his eyes. The familiar setting of the prince’s residence unfolded before him. Turning his head, he saw Sui Sui’s sleepy face beside him.

He was back.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

Yu Lingxi leaned closer, gently brushing the furrow between his brows with worry.

Ning Yin gazed at her for a long while—then suddenly pulled her tightly into his arms.

“I had a nightmare,” he said hoarsely. “I dreamed I treated Sui Sui very badly in the past.”

Before falling into the void, it was as if Ning Yin had passed through a long river of memories.

He saw the red-clad beauty being carried into the residence in a soft palanquin on the eighth day of the eighth lunar month… He saw her enduring silently day after day, her cautious kindness, the spray of black blood—and…

And the icy bed where death lay silent.

The scenes were so vivid, so real, that merely recalling them made his heart ache as if it were tearing apart.

Speaking of dreams, Yu Lingxi had one too last night.

She dreamed that not long after her death in the previous life, Ning Yin set fire to the Prince Regent’s mansion and took poison to lie beside her on the ice bed.

She dreamed that he came to this world, telling her: he wanted to stay. He didn’t want to return to a world without Lingxi.

Even knowing it was a dream, her eyes still stung. She kissed Ning Yin’s tightly pressed lips.

The two of them clung to each other, cheek to cheek, as if only this closeness could prove they truly existed.

“We’ll be together forever, Ning Yin.”

Yu Lingxi’s eyes were bright but her breath was shaky as she spoke.

Ning Yin gave a deep hum in reply and returned her words with an even fiercer kiss.

Outside the hall, red leaves drifted down.

Morning light bathed the world in warmth, and time continued to flow forward.

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