Under the arched corridor draped with white roses, He Chengyuan stood with his back to her, clad in crimson robes, gently caressing the flower branches. The two had been standing in silence for a while.
The courtyard was quiet, with only the faint rustle of a breeze brushing past her ears.
Shen Zhili dared not speak more, her gaze fixed longingly on the corridor bench. She had grown weary from standing and attempted to shift her weight slightly to ease the ache in her legs. Unexpectedly, the movement made a sound, disturbing his leisurely appreciation of the flowers.
He turned sideways to look at her. "You have something to say to me."
"N-no, I don't."
"Is that so?" He Chengyuan's gaze darkened. With a flick of his fingers, he plucked a delicate white flower and twirled it between his fingertips. He walked past her and sat down on the edge of the corridor. "Is it that you don't, or that you don't dare?"
Shen Zhili repeated, "I don't…"
He Chengyuan let out an ambiguous chuckle and raised his eyes to look at her. "You don't? You're clearly afraid of me."
Shen Zhili felt a chill under his stare, her entire body growing uneasy. She could only lower her head to avoid his gaze.
He said, "Come here."
She took a small half-step forward, then stopped, not daring to move further, maintaining her distance from him.
In her memory, He Chengyuan disliked colorful things. Yet, ever since the day he fell into the water, he had inexplicably begun wearing crimson. In the sunlight, the red robes resembled blood-stained garments. Whether it was her fear of him playing tricks on her mind, she couldn't tell, but with just one glance, she felt the world spin and a sharp pain throbbed in her head.
"Do I need to repeat myself?"
Under his urging, Shen Zhili steeled herself and walked forward. But her legs gave way, and she stumbled headlong into his embrace. Clearly, He Chengyuan hadn't reacted in time either. The white flower in his hand fell to the ground as he instinctively caught her.
Shen Zhili's fingers brushed against his mask. Instantly, she froze, her arms wrapped around his neck, forgetting what she was supposed to do.
The demon lord, whose very name struck fear into the hearts of countless immortal sects, had worn a mask since his youth to conceal his disfigured right cheek.
He Chengyuan's face was a forbidden zone. Even during their intimate moments, when their clothes were shed, his mask remained in place. She never dared to touch it, only gripping the bedsheets tightly as she endured everything.
The two remained locked in a stalemate for a moment before she snapped back to reality and immediately pulled away. "I… I didn't mean to… that…"
A soft crunch sounded beneath her feet. Only after stepping back did she realize she had crushed the fallen rose.
This terrified her even more. He Chengyuan loved white roses above all else—the only pure color he could discern in his eyes. He had a peculiar habit: he would tuck a flower behind her ear, then gently pierce her earlobe, letting the blood slowly soak and redden the petals, only then would he be satisfied.
Panic-stricken, Shen Zhili picked up the rose, intending to tuck it behind her ear. But as soon as she lifted it, the fragile petals drifted from her hand.
Her eyes reddened instantly. "I… I really didn't mean to… I'll go pick another one."
Before she could take two steps, He Chengyuan's low voice sounded behind her. "A'Li, are this year's roses blooming elegantly?"
Shen Zhili halted and turned around. He Chengyuan was looking down at the scattered petals. A breeze swept through the corridor, scattering the petals further. He narrowed his eyes and said to her, "No need to pick another."
His tone was eerily calm. "This year's flowers bloom with a delicate elegance. Isn't that so?"
"…Yes." Shen Zhili returned to stand before him, fidgeting uneasily.
He adjusted the mask she had accidentally touched earlier and remained silent for a moment. "Help me take off the mask."
Shen Zhili exclaimed in shock, "What?"
He Chengyuan's brown eyes stared straight at her through the mask. Shen Zhili trembled as she raised her hands toward him, yet lacked the courage to move closer. Cold sweat slowly trickled down her forehead. When her hands touched the mask, it felt like holding a knife that could pierce her body at any moment, and she couldn't stop shaking.
For a long time, there was no further movement.
Suddenly, He Chengyuan turned away, slapped her hands aside, stood up, and walked off. After distancing himself, he said, "The blood will be taken two days later."
Shen Zhili watched his slender back, touched her wrist—smooth and unscarred—and puzzledly examined both hands.
The next moment, He Chengyuan stopped and asked, "Do you like these roses?"
Shen Zhili froze for two seconds before stammering, "I… like them."
He Chengyuan stood motionless amidst the myriad flowers. She thought he wouldn't say anything more. "He…"
"Marriage in two days," he casually tossed out the words, then strode away, leaving Shen Zhili dumbfounded.
His subordinates tightly surrounded the courtyard.
That night, she was awakened by the crackling sound of fire. Opening her eyes, she saw flames blazing outside the window. Hastily pushing open the door, she discovered the swaying, vigorous sparks illuminating his figure. He held a torch, burning that patch of roses. Servants trembled, kneeling throughout the courtyard.
And she could only watch helplessly as those wildly blooming, beautiful flowers burned through the night.
…
The silver moon hung high, the window half-open, red curtains dancing. The bronze mirror was wiped clean, reflecting light.
In the mirror, the girl's face was pale, dressed in wedding attire, showing no hint of joy for this hastily arranged grand wedding. Her neatly styled black hair was pinned up. A delicate golden hairpin she had removed was placed beside a white porcelain bowl.
He Chengyuan had set the wedding at night. Servants were bustling outside, broom sweeping the ground, rustling sounds as they tidied up the aftermath. The once flower-filled corridor was now reduced to ashes. According to the servants, roses were the last flowers to wither in this courtyard, yet now they became the earliest to perish, burned to the roots. Henceforth, this courtyard would have no roses, solely because that day she accidentally trampled one, so he deemed it dirty and destroyed the entire grove.
Shen Zhili sighed helplessly. She dared not speak much, unable to plead for that unfamiliar gentleman nor seek a lifeline for these roses.
The room was festively decorated, candlelight swaying dimly on the red curtains. These were among the most colorful days she recalled.
The small white porcelain bowl held half a bowl of blood. She stared at it silently, bitterness stirring within.
The servant beside her noticed her weakly drooping hand, the startling blood dripping from wrist to fingertip onto the floor, and finally couldn't resist saying, "Miss Shen… I… I shall bandage it for you."
Shen Zhili shifted her gaze, looking again at herself in the mirror. Her hair was adorned with ornate golden pins; whether that butterfly pin was added or not made no difference.
As the servant was about to pick up the pin again, Shen Zhili suddenly raised her hand to press it down.
"Miss Shen… this pin… cannot not…"
Why must this golden pin, which added no embellishment, be fastened to her hair?
Shen Zhili forbade her from taking it away or pinning it to her hair. As they struggled, her fingertip brushed against it, discovering the pin was actually a hidden weapon, its concealed sharp point exposed.
"Miss…"
System broadcast: "Host, please note: assassination mission has been advanced. Assassinate antagonist He Chengyuan within today."
Today?!
Shen Zhili’s gaze fixed on the dagger beside the white porcelain bowl. Moving swiftly, she pulled the sharp hairpin from her hair and pressed it against her own neck, diverting attention while hiding the dagger.
“Don’t move! I said no!”
Instantly, the attendants in the room panicked, frozen in place. “Miss… if you don’t want the hairpin, then don’t wear it. Please put it down—it’s too dangerous.”
Just then, the auspicious hour arrived. He Chengyuan’s subordinates came to hurry them along. After the attendants hastily bandaged her wrist, they led her away.
With the wedding veil swaying before her eyes, Shen Zhili nervously gripped the dagger hidden in her sleeve.
The sedan chair stopped before the hall. The heavy doors were slightly ajar, and He Chengyuan’s mocking laughter drifted out from the dim, lightless chamber. “There aren’t many left like you, willing to sacrifice everything for your master.”
“Using the lives of your closest kin as a wager, pretending to submit to me, only to go and rescue your master.” His tone was flat, emotionless, yet it sent an involuntary chill down the spine. After a pause, he added, “And you even took her to see him. Where is the item?”
When no response came for a long while, a flicker of anger surfaced in him. He pressed, “Answer, and I might spare their lives.”
A familiar woman’s voice, weak as the hum of a mosquito, murmured, “I… don’t know.”
It was the voice of the masked woman in black from that day.
“How stubborn.”
Shen Zhili had failed to save either the young master or the flower. Sensing what He Chengyuan might do next, she rushed to push the door open and stop him.
“Miss…” an attendant awkwardly blocked her path.
“Thud—”
The blade pierced flesh.
He had killed someone on their wedding day… blood staining an auspicious occasion, an ill omen.
But then again, the marriage was merely a casual mention, the ceremony nothing but a formality.
The woman in black, her mouth full of blood, mumbled incoherently but still mustered her last breath, shouting with undiminished defiance, “My young master was right! A demon lord will always be a demon lord! You forbid Miss from knowing the young master’s name, afraid she’ll learn of your cruelty, but she will remember one day! Do you think this is how you can win her?”
“Miss!” the attendant exclaimed, failing to hold her back.
“What is the young master’s name?” Shen Zhili pushed the door open with one hand.
“Xie… Gu Bai.”
He Chengyuan’s brow twitched, his eyes darkening. With a swift motion, he slit her throat.
A shadow melted into the hall. The woman in black clutched her throat, struggling to crawl toward Shen Zhili for two steps before collapsing into a pool of blood.
“He Chengyuan!” Shen Zhili was about to lift her veil when the attendants restrained her.
System: “Host, please note: complete the task within today.”
To avoid exposing the hidden dagger, she could only remain at the hall’s entrance.
He had killed someone—right before her, on their wedding day.
He Chengyuan tossed the woman in black into the darkness as if discarding trash. “Since you’re here, let’s proceed with the ceremony.”
Though called a ceremony, it was nothing more than her bowing to him alone. From beginning to end, he sat on the high platform, casually wiping the blood from his fingers.
“First bow to heaven and earth!”
“Second bow to the ancestors!”
“Third bow between husband and wife!”
Shen Zhili went through the entire ritual alone. This was no wedding ceremony—it was humiliation.
Humiliation for her naivety, for offering herself willingly, for staying with him namelessly all these years, only to be treated as a plaything for his moods.
The attendants closed the doors and withdrew, leaving the two of them alone in the pitch-dark hall. The figure on the high seat remained silent for a long while, and so she stood quietly, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the dagger’s hilt.
Half an hour later, a slight sway from the pain in her feet caused the golden bells hanging from her veil to jingle softly, their crisp sound echoing through the silent hall.
At the same time, He Chengyuan spoke in a low voice, "Nothing you wish to ask?"
Shen Zhili remained silent.
His voice was exceptionally gentle. "Come closer. It's time for me to lift the bridal veil."
The bells chimed with each step, Shen Zhili's heart tightened to its limit, beating rapidly.
She stopped before him, peering down through the veil to see him clad in a dignified red robe, its hem stained with splattered blood.
A hand with distinct knuckles appeared in her line of sight. He grasped the veil but did not rush to lift it. Shen Zhili swallowed nervously, fine beads of sweat forming on her forehead. The hand clutching the dagger in her sleeve trembled—this was her final chance.
"A'Li…"
Shen Zhili shuddered, nearly holding her breath.
System: "Countdown initiated."
"Clang!"
The golden bells on the veil collided, ringing sharply. As the veil was pulled away, the dagger in her sleeve was revealed!
Then came a deafening buzz, as if the entire world had frozen—everything turned blank.
"Alert! Mission failed! Mission failed!"
"Plot progress 80%, incomplete!"
"Assassination mission 10%, incomplete!"
"Assassination of antagonist He Chengyuan failed! Host will be Erased."