With a crisp crack, the melon split in two.
Lin Yao stared intently at the heart of the melon for a long moment.
Inside… there was nothing.
No poison needles, no notes, not even a single insect—just a perfectly ripe melon.
Lin Yao cut off a piece and tasted it.
Mm. It was just ordinary grapes and melon, nowhere near the carefully cultivated sweetness of the modern era—merely refreshing and pleasant.
“Nothing special. I got all worked up over nothing.”
She wiped her hands, her gaze drifting past the fruit platter to the final tray—those carved leather shadow-puppet figurines.
This was the one thing she couldn’t “eat.”
Lin Yao picked one up, examining it in the fading twilight.
The craftsmanship was indeed exquisite. The leather had been scraped thin as a cicada’s wing, the colors vivid and bold. They appeared to be characters from Journey to the West—one was a monkey wielding a staff, the other a monk riding a horse.
By now, night had fallen, and the candles inside had just been lit.
Acting on a strange impulse, Lin Yao took the monkey figurine and brought it close to the candle stand. The dim amber light pierced through the leather, casting a huge, wavering shadow on the mottled wall.
She instinctively moved her fingers, and the shadow on the wall swung its golden-banded staff.
Boom—
In that instant, the same throbbing sensation she’d felt in the Eastern Palace—as if an invisible hand were squeezing her heart—came crashing over her like a tidal wave!
Lin Yao’s hand trembled, nearly dropping the shadow puppet.
She stared blankly at the swaying dark silhouette on the wall. Though it was her first time playing with it, her fingers seemed to move of their own accord, carrying a deep-seated familiarity that sent an inexplicable dizziness through her.
Night fell, and the Quiet Seclusion Pavilion was plunged into darkness.
Lin Yao lay in bed, drifting into a deep, hazy sleep.
Her dream surged like a scrambled picture book, tumbling wildly through her mind.
At first, the perspective was low to the ground—the vantage point of a child.
Peach blossoms filled her vision, their pink almost searing. Laughter rang like silver bells from among the rockeries. There were delicate pastries, chilled fruits…
“Brother Huaian, slow down!”
“A-Yao, when I become emperor one day, I’ll give you all the grapes in the world!”
The dream was filled with saccharine laughter, beautiful as a fairy tale that would never end.
But the next second, the scene shattered!
The perspective shifted violently! No longer a peach grove, but a bridal chamber draped in red silk and pasted with double-happiness characters.
It was the night Lin Yao had first transmigrated. But this time, she wasn’t the just-awakened observer—she was trapped inside this body, yet unable to control it.
Her limbs felt nailed to the bed, immovable.
The blood in her veins seemed to have turned to molten lava, her organs churning and burning wildly. That familiar, suffocating heat—it was the residual drug effect from when she’d first crossed over.
Her eyes were closed, the world pitch black. Vague but venomous voices reached her ears, muffled as if through a film of water:
“Did you get the drug into her?”
“Don’t worry, it’s done. It came from the Fourth Prince’s side—a full triple dose of potent aphrodisiac!”
“Good. The Crown Prince will be here any moment… Quick! Mess up her bridal clothes! Make her look wanton!”
Then, rough hands tugged at her. Her lapels were brutally torn open, exposing the crimson bodice; her elaborate skirts were pushed up past her knees…
Humiliation… fear… She wanted to scream, to struggle, to kill.
But she was like a broken rag doll—unable to see, unable to cry out, unable to move.
Yet in the depths of this utter despair, a strange… anticipation began to rise from the core of this body?!
The Crown Prince is coming? Is Brother Huaian coming? He’ll recognize me for sure…
This obsession—not Lin Yao’s, but originally “A-Yao’s”—wound around her heart like clinging vines.
Suddenly, the drug’s effects seemed to intensify!
Her heart pounded violently, as if it would burst through her chest at any moment. The agony of dying made her very soul tremble.
Just as she thought she might truly die, a miracle happened.
Perhaps it was a final flash of lucidity, or perhaps the drug had forced open meridians blocked for years—the darkness that had shrouded her vision for eight years suddenly split open with a crack!
She could see!
Blurred red light, flickering wedding candles, and… the tall figure pushing through the door.
A robe of apricot-yellow with embroidered pythons—the most familiar color in her memory.
“Brother Huaian!”
A surge of overwhelming joy instantly dispelled the fear of death. Her heart, already racing from the drug, now pounded with wild excitement against that broken shell of a body.
She couldn’t speak, but screamed with all her might in her mind: Brother Huaian, look at me! I’m A-Yao! My eyes are healed, I can see you! I promised to be your Crown Princess, and A-Yao kept her word! You’ve come to marry me too, haven’t you?
She used the last shred of her strength, trying to catch a glimpse of his face with her eyes, trying to make him see the light within them.
The man walked to the bedside. From his elevated position, he swept a glance over the disheveled, flushed woman on the bed.
A-Yao greedily drank in that face.
It was the face she had thought of day and night for eight years—the boyish innocence faded, now more handsome and imposing than ever.
But there was not a ripple in Chu Huaian’s eyes. Or rather, he hadn’t truly looked at her at all.
That slender hand, the one that had countless times gently combed her hair, did not fall upon her cheek.
Instead, that hand pinched the red silk bridal veil that had slipped halfway off her head from her struggling.
Then, a gentle tug.
Whoosh—
The red silk fell, covering her face once more, snug and secure, blocking the eyes that had just regained their sight, brimming with love and a plea for rescue.
Darkness descended again.
This time, it was eternal night.
…
“Ah—!”
Lin Yao jolted awake from the dream, springing upright in bed.
She gasped for air in ragged breaths, her entire body drenched in cold sweat, her heart still throbbing painfully in her chest, as if the process of “dying of a broken heart” were still ongoing.
Instinctively, she raised a hand and touched her face.
Her fingers met cold dampness. At some point, she was already crying profusely, a large patch of the pillow soaked through.
Those weren’t her tears—they were the final, desperate accusation left in this world by the deceased A-Yao.
As her breathing gradually steadied, the fragmented dialogue from the dream pieced itself together in Lin Yao’s mind like a puzzle snapping into place, crystallizing into a bolt of icy thunder.
The Fourth Prince’s triple dose of aphrodisiac, and the Crown Prince pulling down the veil.
So this was the truth.
That Chu Liyuan—who had been clumsily carving a wooden hairpin in front of her these past few days, guarding his food like a silly dog—was the culprit who had personally handed over that bottle of poison. It was he who, to scheme against the Crown Prince, had callously sacrificed an innocent woman’s life, leaving her to die from exhaustion under the torment of the potent drug.
And that Chu Huaian, with his probing nature and unfathomable depth—he had clearly had the chance to save her, could have recognized her with just one more glance—yet he had personally pulled down that red silk, snuffing out the last glimmer of light she had in this world.
Lin Yao clutched the bedsheet beneath her with white-knuckled grip, the last trace of confusion and warmth in her eyes fading completely, leaving only a stark, clear desolation.
What kind of transmigration romance was this? This was a battlefield of demons.
Within these deep palace walls, there were no innocents, and even fewer saviors.
Everyone was a villain.