Si Huahuan finally understood the source of that ominous premonition lingering in her heart. She was about to come face to face with the sworn enemy who had killed her in her previous life—Xie Yun.
On this very day in her past life, the entire process of selecting a husband had been ruined by Xie Yun.
She had lived for twenty years, yet died without ever managing to choose a consort, all thanks to him.
To ensure she never knew peace and to block every possible marriage alliance, Xie Yun had schemed tirelessly and stopped at nothing.
It wasn’t just this time; every candidate she or her father, the Emperor, set their eyes on, Xie Yun would be exposed as being unvirtuous or unworthy of marrying a princess.
He would claim one came from a family with corrupt morals, that another was a drunkard who frequented brothels. He even knew exactly how much silver a certain suitor had gambled away at the gaming houses.
And for the few men he could find no fault with? They were either hideously ugly or utterly mediocre—men she wouldn’t even glance at twice.
The Emperor doted on her deeply and would never force her to marry such people, so every selection ended in failure.
This dragged on for three whole years.
She simply couldn’t understand how far he would go just to make things difficult for her. If he didn’t want to get married himself, that was fine—but why did he have to drag her down with him?
Reflecting on this, Si Huahuan resolved firmly: in this life, she would never let Xie Yun manipulate her again.
Part of her wanted to just kill him and be done with it, removing the threat forever. But Xie Yun was no commoner; he was the descendant of loyal officials who had rendered great service to the Great Yue Dynasty. He wasn’t someone she could simply order executed on a whim.
Besides, she had never even stepped on an ant in her life. She could never be as ruthless as Xie Yun, who could coldly order the death of someone he had grown up with.
Fortunately, there were still three years left before Xie Yun staged his rebellion. As long as she could strip him of his official position and seize his military power before then, leaving him with no chance to build a private army, he would be powerless. Without strength, his ambitions would come to nothing.
There was no rush for that. She had been given a second chance at life, and this time, she intended to cherish every moment, stay far away from that wretched Xie Yun, and enjoy every bit of happiness she had missed out on before!
Her Second Sister had once told her that men were “great fun,” though she hadn’t understood it back then.
She had never quite grasped the meaning of those words, but now she had the chance. She would be just like her Second Sister: flitting through a garden of beautiful blossoms without letting a single leaf touch her. She would keep eight or ten handsome companions if she pleased!
Si Huahuan wiped her eyes, took a deep breath of the fresh, free air of her youth, and, feeling much better, called for her attendants to help her wash and dress.
Determined to avoid running into that jinx, Xie Yun, she lifted her skirts and hurried on foot, refusing the sedan chair, and took a shortcut toward the Zichen Hall.
But as she turned a corner, she crashed headlong into what felt like a solid wall.
“Have you lost your eyesight?!” she blurted out immediately.
A familiar scent of white orchid enveloped her. Her forehead was pressed against a hard chest, and her body shivered instinctively—as if she had been pierced by a sharp sword, just like the moment of her death in her past life.
She lifted her eyes, and there he was: twenty-year-old Xie Yun standing right in front of her.
His face was breathtakingly handsome, marked by a natural air of nobility and cool detachment. His irises were paler than most people’s, like amber under the sunlight. His nose was straight and prominent like a mountain peak, and his lips were thin and pale in color.
He had broad shoulders, a slender waist, and stood tall and straight—perfectly proportioned, neither overly muscular nor too thin. His presence was as refreshing as a breeze, yet he possessed the quiet strength of bamboo and pine trees: restrained, but with a sharp edge that could not be hidden.
Those amber eyes were clearer and brighter than she remembered. He hadn’t yet been tainted by the brutality of later years; his features were relaxed and full of the vigor of youth.
Dammit. How could she run into him even when taking a secret path? It truly was a case of “enemies are destined to meet.”
Xie Yun raised an eyebrow, looking down at her stunning face—bare-faced, without a trace of makeup. Her skin was pale and delicate, untouched by the sun.
She held her chin slightly high, her willow-leaf eyebrows furrowed, and her large, cat-like eyes glared up at him, with an impatient flicker at the corners. It was the look of arrogance born from being pampered and spoiled all her life.
He slowly brushed off his robes and curled his lips into a faint smirk. “Are you really in such a rush to choose a husband?”
That casual, unconcerned attitude of his was exactly what made people want to tear their hair out.
Si Huahuan quickly turned her gaze away, stepping back twice as if she were avoiding something filthy. She looked past him to the man standing beside him—a man whose features bore a slight resemblance to her own, gentle and refined as jade. “Brother! What are you doing here?”
Si Huarong smiled warmly and gently tapped the tip of her upturned nose. “Father is selecting a consort for you. As your elder brother, of course I must be here to vet the candidates. I wouldn’t want you to be fooled by a pretty face and end up with someone of bad character.”
Huahuan immediately grabbed her brother’s sleeve and pulled him forward, not sparing a single glance for Xie Yun. “Brother, let’s go.”
“Hey—!” Caught off guard, Si Huarong stumbled, turning back quickly to glance at the ignored Xie Yun.
He saw Xie Yun’s thin lips pressed into a straight line beneath his high nose bridge, and watched as Xie Yun followed them at a leisurely pace. Only then did Huarong turn back to his sister, asking in a tone of accustomed resignation, “Have you quarreled with Jingchu again?”
Quarreled?
She couldn’t exactly say: *The gentle, promising young man standing next to you is going to shoot me dead at the palace gates three years from now.*
After she died in her past life, he had probably been delighted, hadn’t he?
She quickened her pace toward the Zichen Hall.
The palace attendants opened the great doors, and Huahuan swept inside, holding her skirts high.
Sunlight streamed through the latticed windows, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow across the floor. The Emperor and Empress were standing before a display of portraits; hearing footsteps, they slowly turned around.
“Zhenzhen, you’ve arrived.”
The Empress turned first. Her features were dignified and soft, her skin well-preserved, glowing with health and luster. Beneath her willow-leaf eyebrows were a pair of gentle almond-shaped eyes, clear and calm. Her lips naturally curved into a faint smile, and her deep purple robes accentuated her regal elegance.
Standing beside her was Emperor Jiaping, who also looked over. With high cheekbones and deep, steady eyes, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes added to his majestic aura. Upon seeing his daughter, his stern expression softened instantly.
Emperor Jiaping waved his hand grandly. “Come, Zhenzhen. Look at these portraits. Do any catch your eye?” He then glanced at Xie Yun, who had entered a few steps behind the siblings, and said casually, “Jingchu is here as well.”
That incident was three years in the past, but Huahuan had never bothered to remember the details or the people involved. She only remembered that on that day, Xie Yun had torn every candidate apart with his words, leaving them worthless in the Emperor’s eyes. He had so enraged Emperor Jiaping that he summoned the officials in charge of the selection into the palace and scolded them mercilessly.
Speaking of her marriage prospects: Princess Kangle was well-known throughout the capital for being arrogant, extravagant, and hot-tempered.
Normally, marrying a wife like her—who brought nothing but trouble—would make any noble family run for the hills.
But she was no ordinary princess. She was the apple of Emperor Jiaping’s eye, his most beloved youngest daughter.
To marry her was to secure a path to high office, limitless wealth, and the invisible power and favor that came with being the Emperor’s son-in-law.
Therefore, countless powerful families had hinted or openly expressed their wish to marry into the imperial family, though the Emperor had always brushed them off.
By her age, most ordinary women were already married and raising children, yet she was still cherished and sheltered within the palace—a testament to the Emperor’s deep affection.
As soon as word got out that Emperor Jiaping was finally ready to choose a husband for Princess Kangle, noble families from all over worked day and night to find eligible sons within their clans. They hired painters to create portraits and rushed them into the palace, until the piles of scrolls inside the Imperial Archives towered like small mountains.
Huahuan’s eyes swept over the familiar yet unfamiliar faces.
She had vague memories of some of them. The eldest son of a marquis on the left—exposed by Xie Yun for being unfilial in her past life. The official on the right—later found guilty of forming factions and accepting heavy bribes.
She stopped before a portrait that rang no bells in her memory. “This one… isn’t bad looking.”
Emperor Jiaping leaned in to study the man’s features carefully, nodding in agreement.
“This man is only five feet and six inches tall—roughly the same height as you,” Xie Yun’s voice came suddenly from behind her.
Huahuan didn’t need to turn around to picture that infuriatingly calm expression on his face as he spoke. She gritted her teeth. “Who asked for your opinion?”
To her annoyance, Xie Yun replied shamelessly, “Don’t mention it.”
The twenty-year-old Xie Yun, full of youthful spirit, was even more infuriating than the twenty-three-year-old version she remembered.
Huahuan pointed stubbornly to the next portrait. “This one is acceptable too.”
Xie Yun’s clear voice followed instantly. “A spoiled, idle young master. He spends his days fighting crickets and chasing dogs. He has not a single useful skill to his name.”
Emperor Jiaping immediately dismissed the idea. “That won’t do.”
Huahuan gritted her teeth and moved further along. She finally found another unfamiliar face and looked at it for only a few moments before hearing Xie Yun speak again. “This man bought his official rank. He is illiterate and lacks any talent to achieve great things.”
“How would you know that?!” Huahuan snapped, turning her head to glare at him.
Xie Yun raised his eyebrows slightly. “I just do.”
She hated that calm, confident, arrogant look of his—the way he made everything seem effortless, winning everyone’s praise and always outshining her in every way.
She forced down her rising anger and pointed to the next painting, but Xie Yun’s commentary continued to shadow her every move:
“In reality, he is ugly and obese. How much silver did he bribe the painter with to make him look like this?”
“He has not taken a formal wife yet, but already keeps several concubines. He also has a mistress outside the palace who has borne him a son—about two or three years old now.”
Finally, she stopped before the very last portrait. She remembered clearly exactly what Xie Yun had said about this one.
“This man suffers from a hidden illness.”
“This man suffers from a hidden illness.”
They spoke in unison.
Huahuan crossed her arms and turned around, looking smug, a knowing smile spreading across her face.
Xie Yun’s smile froze. “How did you know that?”
She countered with a question of her own. “And how did *you* know?”
It was bad enough that he knew the private details of people’s households, but how could he possibly know about secret illnesses? He was probably just making things up and spreading rumors to ruin people’s reputations!
Sensing the unusual tension in the air, Emperor Jiaping’s gaze shifted curiously between the two of them. He rubbed his thumb slowly over the jade ring on his finger and smiled amiably. “You two seem to be quite in sync.”
Huahuan remained silent, just staring hard at Xie Yun with an expression that said she would not let this go until he explained himself.
She stared until her eyes were nearly dry, until finally Xie Yun was the first to yield. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “… I heard it mentioned.”
“Marquis Ming’an truly has astonishing reach. It seems people are willing to ferret out every little detail for you,” Si Huahuan said deliberately, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
Xie Yun ignored her remark. He walked calmly to his seat, lowered his eyelids, picked up the tea cup that had been prepared long ago, and drank slowly.
Hmph, he was retreating because he knew he was in the wrong.
So his path to rebellion had begun long ago. He must have planted countless spies throughout the court to learn such minute details about every minister’s household.
Huahuan looked away, rolling her eyes.
He had taken more than ten sips from that tiny cup already. What was he trying to prove?
“I’m done looking. I’m leaving.”
Princess Kangle had lost all patience and interest. She turned on her heel, marched over to the chair furthest away from Xie Yun, and drained the cup of warm tea in one gulp.
It was her favorite tea: Mengding Ganlu.
Emperor Jiaping looked displeased. He sat on the Dragon Throne, thinking it over, and suddenly slammed his hand on the table. “What is the Ministry of Revenue doing? How dare they send anyone and everyone into the palace! Someone, summon Minister Yuan to the hall immediately!”
“Father, I shall take my leave,” Si Huahuan said suddenly, bowing respectfully.
She was afraid that if she stayed one moment longer, she would throw her teacup straight at Xie Yun’s hypocritical face.
Watching her retreating figure hurrying away as if fleeing for her life, Si Huarong turned to Xie Yun. “You two were getting along perfectly well yesterday. What is wrong today? Did you make her angry again?”
Xie Yun frowned slightly, speaking in a low voice, almost to himself. “How should I know?”
Si Huarong sighed helplessly and shook his head with a faint smile. “You never know how to be gentle with her. She has been spoiled since childhood; her temper flares up fast, but it passes just as quickly. Just be a little more patient and indulge her a bit.”
Xie Yun’s eyes remained fixed on the direction Huahuan had vanished into. A soft hum vibrated in his throat. “Mmm.”
After returning to her own palace to change her clothes and redo her hair, Si Huahuan boarded a carriage and left the palace, heading straight for the residence of Princess Qingyang.
If there was one person in the world that the arrogant, fearless Princess Kangle listened to—apart from her father—it was her Second Sister, Princess Qingyang.
Princess Qingyang was something of a legend within the royal family and the entire capital.
By law, the consort of a Great Yue princess was forbidden from taking concubines for life. Years ago, Princess Qingyang discovered that her own husband had been cheating on her behind her back. Without a word, she had drawn her sword and castrated him. She threw him out of the mansion and had him dumped outside the city gates, declaring that he was forbidden from ever stepping foot in the capital again.
The incident shocked the entire court. Many civil officials, feeling it was excessive, lined up to impeach her at the morning assembly. They claimed she had gone too far, that it was attempted murder, and given the severity of the crime, she should be exiled three thousand li away, in accordance with the law.
Emperor Jiaping felt that Qingyang had indeed been too bold and reckless, but eventually settled the matter by merely confining her to her residence for six months to appease the grumbling ministers.
Young Kangle had been terrified by her Second Sister’s earth-shaking deed at first, but that fear soon turned to deep admiration. From that day on, she behaved perfectly in front of Qingyang, obeying her every word as if she were her leader.
The carriage came to a smooth halt before the gates of Princess Qingyang’s residence. The coachman set a small stool on the ground.
A figure stepped out of the carriage—stunningly beautiful. Her fair and delicate hand rested lightly on the arm of her maid, Wei Zi, as she lifted her skirts and descended slowly.
One of the doormen recognized the emblem on the carriage and hurried inside to announce her arrival, while the other stepped forward to pay his respects. “Greetings, Princess Kangle.”
Upon entering the main gate, a maid guided Huahuan through the halls. She walked with the familiarity of frequent visits and waited obediently in the outer hall for her sister.
“Little Kangle.”
A bright voice drifted in from the doorway, slow and lazy, tinged with amusement.
Before the person appeared, a faint, sweet fragrance of powder drifted into the room. The beaded curtain was swept aside with a swish, and Princess Qingyang stepped over the threshold.
She swept her sharp, phoenix eyes across the room. Her cheeks were flushed and her smile radiant. As she moved, four gold bracelets on her wrist chimed together. She adjusted her robes, yet they still slipped slightly, revealing distinct red marks high on her chest.
Qingyang picked up a teacup and drained it in a few large gulps as if she were parched. A maid immediately stepped forward to refill it. She smiled and leaned comfortably against the back of her chair, waiting for Huahuan to explain her visit.
Huahuan noticed a lock of hair falling loosely by her sister’s temple. Her cheeks were rosy, and her breathing was still slightly uneven, as if she had been running just moments ago. “It’s nothing urgent, Second Sister. You didn’t have to rush here so fast.”
“You little girl wouldn’t understand,” Qingyang replied, looking at Huahuan with a meaningful glint in her eyes. “Go on then. What is it?”
Huahuan bit her lip and asked point-blank, “Second Sister, where do you find all your male companions?”
Qingyang choked, spitting out the strong tea she had just sipped.