Rumble!
Thunder rolled like a giant beast descending from the ink-black heavens, swallowing the entire barren mountain in an instant.
The battered cart’s wheels struggled along the winding mountain road, creaking with every turn.
Song Yuhe lay on a straw mat, her limp body swaying with the jolts of the cart.
The cold wind howled. Chills seeped up through the mat, while the sticky, metallic stench of blood clung to her. Mingled with the smells of earth and rotting grass, it crept inch by inch over her limbs.
The last scrap of consciousness flickered back. Song Yuhe tried to call for help, but before she could open her mouth, a stabbing pain tore through her chest. It ripped through her again and again. Her body grew colder, and the remnants of her awareness began to slip away.
“Big Brother, are we there yet? It’s going to rain.”
“Almost. Be patient. Once we’ve finished this job, you’ll have plenty of time to enjoy yourself.”
A moment later, the cart stopped. Song Yuhe instinctively held her faint breath.
“Big Brother, she’s not breathing. She’s gone cold all over.”
“We stabbed her five or six times. Even the gods couldn’t save her.”
“That little girl was fierce, though. Damn, she nearly took my ear off.”
As he spoke, the man spat viciously at Song Yuhe.
“Second Brother, I’m telling you, you picked a hell of a time to think about that sort of thing. You’re lucky she nearly bit your ear off and taught you a lesson. Otherwise, sooner or later, a woman would’ve been the death of you.”
“Can’t blame me, really. That little girl was so pretty…”
“Enough talk. Get her down.”
The two men carried the straw mat to the edge of the slope and heaved it over.
Song Yuhe felt herself drop. Her body tumbled down the hillside as rocks and dead branches scraped her limbs and face. The world spun upside down, then went completely black.
“Big Brother, shouldn’t we bury her?”
“Look at the sky. A heavy rain’s about to fall. Even if we buried her, the water would wash her back out, and that’d only make people suspicious. Bandits are said to roam this area. She’s covered in stab wounds—anyone would think bandits killed her.”
“Big Brother, you’ve thought of everything.”
“Hahaha… Come on. We’ll collect the rest of the reward first thing tomorrow, then the two of us can go have some fun.”
Large raindrops struck Song Yuhe’s face. In her daze, she opened her eyes. A pool of crimson spread beneath her. Her body was riddled with wounds, yet she felt no pain.
She knew she was about to die.
Her head swam, but the scenes of her life came back to her one after another, sharp and clear.
She had been abandoned as a baby. War had plagued Yan for years, and no one knew whether they would live to see the next day. No one would want to take on the burden of a child. But her adoptive father had brought her home and raised her for sixteen years.
He traveled from place to place as a physician, and she went with him. Their life was unsettled, but she had never thought it hard.
Three years ago, unrest broke out in Yan. Xiao Qingyang, heir to the Marquis of Anguo, led troops to put it down. Fooled by the enemy’s scheme, he nearly lost his life. Wounded and on the run, he came upon her and her father.
To help Xiao Qingyang escape, her father drew the pursuers away alone.
He never returned.
The person who loved her most in the world was gone. She had lost her home.
She wept until she could hardly breathe. Xiao Qingyang gently helped her up from where she had collapsed and swore at her father’s grave that he would care for her for the rest of her life.
She had hesitated on the journey from Yan to Luocheng, but as an orphan with nowhere else to turn, she had no other choice.
Life in the marquis’s residence was not as splendid as she had imagined. The Marquis of Anguo was deeply displeased that his heir intended to marry a girl from the countryside. For the time being, the household introduced her to others as a distant cousin, and the marriage was put on hold.
Though she lived in the marquis’s residence, her position was painfully awkward. She felt as if she were walking on thin ice.
At first, Xiao Qingyang treated her wonderfully. He fussed over her, did all he could to make her smile, and swore he would marry her.
Dizzy with happiness, she believed that as long as he favored her, she would one day become the mistress of the marquis’s household.
Then Lu Zhaoyun appeared.
She was the eldest legitimate daughter of the Grand Marshal, a woman like a peony: bright, graceful, dazzling. Xiao Qingyang was soon captivated by her. He became increasingly perfunctory with Song Yuhe and visited her little courtyard less and less.
Song Yuhe was terrified. She had already lost her home; Xiao Qingyang was the only person she could rely on.
So, clinging to the promise of marriage he had made her, she confronted Lu Zhaoyun, hoping to make her back down.
Lu Zhaoyun only glanced at her. “You’re the one who should leave. Someone like you could never marry into the marquis’s household.”
Anger and grief overwhelmed Song Yuhe. Xiao Qingyang had promised to marry her!
Desperate to win him back, she started fighting for his attention and picking quarrels with Lu Zhaoyun.
Whenever Xiao Qingyang heard about it and demanded an explanation, she put on a helpless air. One tear was enough to erase all his reproaches; he would end up comforting her instead.
She had nothing. Tears were the only weapon she had to protect herself.
Two more years passed. When the Marquis of Anguo died, Song Yuhe thought the obstacle was finally gone. At last, she could marry Xiao Qingyang openly and honorably.
Instead, she heard that Xiao Qingyang and Lu Zhaoyun had been granted an imperial marriage.
In the pavilion, Lu Zhaoyun’s fine robes fluttered as she looked down at Song Yuhe. “Do you see now? We’re the ones made for each other. You’re an orphan who thought a little favor would be enough to win your way into the marquis’s household.”
A little favor?
In their eyes, was her father’s life worth so little?
No one was allowed to belittle her father in front of her. No one!
Fire blazed in her eyes. She summoned all her strength and slapped Lu Zhaoyun across the face.
Xiao Qingyang hurried over just in time to see it. He rushed forward and shielded Lu Zhaoyun, all trace of the warmth he once showed Song Yuhe gone from his eyes.
“Song Yuhe, how can you be so vicious? Why do you keep making things difficult for Zhaoyun? I’m the one marrying her. If you’re angry, take it up with me.”
In that moment, Song Yuhe finally understood. His promise to marry her had been no more than a passing impulse. She was the one who had taken it to heart.
A hollow promise had cost her three years of her life!
It felt as if an icicle had pierced her heart. Her nose stung, and tears welled in her eyes. But this time, she didn’t cry.
The resentment and hurt she had suppressed for three years burst loose like a flood breaking through a dam. She snatched up a cup from the stone table and hurled it at Xiao Qingyang with all her strength.
Blood streamed down his face. The marquis’s residence erupted into chaos…
She was driven out.
She drifted in and out of a daze in her old house. She didn’t know how much time passed before she finally pulled herself together and decided to keep living. She never expected to meet with disaster today.
Even now, she didn’t know who had tried to kill her, or why.
She had been born without knowing where she came from. Now she was about to die without anyone knowing.
She couldn’t accept it!
But what could she do?
She was dying.
The world blurred around her. Rain fell in a fine, dense curtain, binding her among the mud and rocks.
Her eyelids grew heavier. As her consciousness drifted away, she vaguely saw someone approaching through the rain, holding an umbrella.
“My lord, it’s a woman. She’s dead.”
After a brief silence, a man slowly replied, “Find somewhere to bury her.”
The last rain of spring fell with unusual persistence.
It began as a gentle drizzle in the evening and continued until daybreak.
Tumi blossoms thrived throughout the ruined courtyard, spilling over the broken wall. Raindrops trembled on the tips of their leaves.
Sunlight slanted through a crack in the window and fell across Song Yuhe’s face. She instinctively raised a hand to shield her eyes.
The scent of Tumi flowers filled the air, drifting around her.
She didn’t think she had smelled this before she died. She took a breath, a little too deeply, and began to cough.
How could she move?
The next moment, she sat bolt upright.
The sight before her was more familiar than anything: mottled earthen walls, a broken window frame, and a courtyard full of Tumi blossoms swaying in the breeze.
She slowly lowered her head. She was wearing a clean, spotless sleeping robe the color of lotus root. Her chest was smooth and unmarked.
What had happened?
She had clearly died. How could she be back in the old house where she had once lived, without a single wound?
Her head felt heavy, as if she had fallen into a cloud. Her hands dropped limply to her sides. Then her fingertips brushed against something cool and smooth beside the bed.
A newly made green silk dress with wide sleeves. Golden cloud patterns outlined the trim, and long ribbons hung from its sleeves. In the sunlight, the fabric shimmered faintly.
She remembered this dress.
It had been Xiao Qingyang’s birthday. She had made a sachet with scented herbs and given it to him ahead of time as a present.
At the birthday banquet, Lu Zhaoyun took a liking to the sachet at first glance. Xiao Qingyang merely smiled and let her snatch it away.
Song Yuhe watched coldly from the sidelines. Less than half an hour later, Lu Zhaoyun’s face suddenly began to itch. Red welts broke out all over her body, and she scratched herself until she was a miserable sight.
Lu Zhaoyun accused Song Yuhe of hiding poison in the sachet and trying to harm both the heir and her. Xiao Qingyang looked at Song Yuhe with sudden suspicion, as if he had believed Lu Zhaoyun’s slander.
Song Yuhe met his gaze with mournful eyes, packed her things, and left the marquis’s residence. She moved into this old house.
She knew Lu Zhaoyun’s character. Anything Song Yuhe gave her, Lu Zhaoyun would make sure never ended up in Xiao Qingyang’s hands. Song Yuhe had also made discreet inquiries into Lu Zhaoyun’s habits. When she prepared Xiao Qingyang’s sachet, she had deliberately added crabapple blossoms.
If Lu Zhaoyun didn’t take it, nothing would happen. If she did, she would have only herself to blame.
As it turned out, the matter was investigated. Lu Zhaoyun had simply developed a rash from contact with peach blossoms.
Song Yuhe had carefully bathed and dressed, waiting for someone from the marquis’s household to come.
Sure enough, Xiao Qingyang felt so guilty afterward that he came in person to bring her back.
Lu Zhaoyun had lost face at the birthday banquet. Song Yuhe, meanwhile, pretended to be heartbroken and disappointed as she left, winning Xiao Qingyang’s sympathy.
She had followed Xiao Qingyang back to the marquis’s residence with her chin held high, wearing this very new dress.
She had returned to the time, one year earlier, when she had pretended to be sensible and left of her own accord, waiting for someone to come fetch her.
In her previous life, she had fought with Lu Zhaoyun for three years over a promise to marry her.
Lu Zhaoyun was a highborn lady. The Marquis and Marchioness of Anguo adored her, and Xiao Qingyang loved her. Even Zhao Yuanyin—the powerful, wicked minister who held the court in his thrall—loved her, and had been willing to die for her.
Song Yuhe, meanwhile, had become a spiteful woman who fought for a man’s affections, failed to marry into a powerful family, tried to harm the heir, and was thrown out of the marquis’s residence.
How laughable. Everything she had done had been nothing but a stepping stone on Lu Zhaoyun and Xiao Qingyang’s path to a happy marriage.
Whatever happened, she would never return to the marquis’s residence.
She picked up the dress she had laid out and tossed it back into the trunk, then locked it tight.
She didn’t want to be the heir’s wife. She didn’t want the marriage promise.
All she wanted now was to stay alive and find out who had killed her.
She would find him and ask why he had dealt her such a cruel blow.
In this life, she would live with her eyes open and her head held high.
As she lay among the rocks waiting to die, she had tried to think it through.
She was an orphan. While she lived at the marquis’s residence, she had made no enemies. After being driven out, she had lived alone in this old house. The neighborhood was full of all sorts of people, but she rarely went out and never picked fights.
She had no enemies in Luocheng. She had only one sworn rival: Lu Zhaoyun.
Could Lu Zhaoyun have done it?
And if she had, did Xiao Qingyang know?
Or had Xiao Qingyang also resented Song Yuhe enough to want her dead?
Her thoughts tangled together. Her mouth was parched, so she got up and went to the main room for water. She downed it in one gulp.
She hadn’t even set the cup down when a dull thud sounded outside.
Startled, Song Yuhe stood and went to the door, slowly pushing open the battered wooden panels.
Tumi blossoms shivered along the wall beyond the doorway. Amid the scattered shadows on the ground, a man lay sprawled.
His black hair was disheveled. His eyes were closed, and a trace of blood still clung to the corner of his mouth. Dust covered his clothes. He looked like a withered lotus, forgotten in a pond after its final, glorious bloom, wavering in the wind.
Even in such a wretched state, his face had a sharply striking beauty.
At the sound of the door, the man on the ground struggled to lift his head and look toward her.
Light poured through the broken doorway. The last fallen petals swirled in the breeze, rising in a fluttering haze. Through the blurred glow, someone slowly approached.
Summoning the last of his strength, the man reached out toward the indistinct figure.