This time, Ming Yuhe didn’t simply set Luo Xinci down. Instead, he tightened his arm around her, hefted her slightly, and only then placed her onto the chair.
The moment she touched the seat, Luo Xinci sprang up, ready to bolt. But Ming Yuhe’s long arms shot out, bracing against the chair’s armrests. She rose straight into his chest, his terrifyingly handsome face looming large before her eyes. Luo Xinci gasped sharply and collapsed back into the chair.
As Ming Yuhe bent closer, panic seized her. She curled her legs up onto the seat, hugged her knees, and buried her face against them—pretending that if she didn’t look, he wasn’t really there.
Watching her shrink into a ball, Ming Yuhe felt all the pent-up gloom of the past few days finally dissipate. His mood lifted. He raised a hand and lightly patted her head, earning a shiver in response. “What are you running for? Would your brother ever hurt you?”
The buried head shook violently.
“So, Niansheng, it seems you already know everything about that night. Since that’s the case, I won’t hide it from you anymore.” He sat down before her, speaking with grave earnestness. “When I told you Father was disloyal as a minister and plotted against the Crown Prince—that was true. And not only the Crown Prince’s near assassination. Even the death of the old Prince Ning was tied to him. He was not a good man, Niansheng. All these years, you never returned to the capital because you feared him, didn’t you?”
“Now you don’t need to be afraid. To tell you the truth, he died three years ago.”
Luo Xinci thought: even if Marquis Wuling were still alive, she wouldn’t fear him. What she feared was Ming Yuhe—this madman who disregarded all human bonds!
Fear aside, she still listened to his words. She recalled Steward Tang, the one who first brought her into the household, once the Marquis’s most trusted aide. A few years ago, he began to fall out of favor. The timing matched perfectly with the death Ming Yuhe spoke of.
“Father’s death brought endless complications, so I had someone impersonate him.”
“That time you stumbled upon him—it was a fake. My man had played the role too long, got carried away, and even tried to threaten me. I had no choice but to kill him. Niansheng, did that frighten you?”
Patricide was bad enough, but to keep up a deception for three years? Ming Yuhe was deranged. And his subordinate, daring to turn fiction into reality, was no less so!
Luo Xinci wanted nothing to do with such people. She shifted her grip from hugging her knees to covering her ears. But that didn’t suit Ming Yuhe. He hadn’t reached the heart of his tale yet. He seized her wrists, trying to pull her hands down, while she fought desperately to keep her ears covered.
Forcing open a small gap, Ming Yuhe said, “Niansheng, the more you resist like this, the more I find you pitiable—and the more I want to bully you.” As he spoke, he gently laid his hand over hers.
Luo Xinci had been sheltered all her life—never offended, never exposed to such twisted, taboo emotions. Just that light touch on the back of her hand conjured in her mind a scandalous, filthy image of sibling intimacy. Her head rang, blood rushing hot to her face. Like being bitten by a snake, she jerked her hand back, lifted her head, and met Ming Yuhe’s gaze for a fleeting instant—before shrinking away in frantic retreat.
The chair was large. She pressed her legs tightly together, turned sideways to face Ming Yuhe, hunched her shoulders, tucked her neck, and hid both hands in her lap, still curled up.
“That’s better,” Ming Yuhe said. “Your brother has done things that defy heaven’s law, with no one to confide in. Holding it all inside nearly made me ill—until I met you. Niansheng, the moment I realized you too wanted Father dead, that resonance from the depths of the soul made me unable to resist drawing close to you, wanting to be near you. Niansheng, you understand your brother, don’t you?”
Luo Xinci wanted to shout: *I don’t understand—get away from me!*
But she didn’t dare. All she could do was shrink further, trembling.
“Niansheng, I know you’ve told many lies—about Zhou Yi, about Linzhou. You’ve thought only of Luo Xinci, so your bond with her must be extraordinary. I won’t investigate. If you want to uncover the truth and deal with Wang Yinrao, I can teach you.”
“Only… I am a man of ruined morals, who delights in defying ethics and propriety. Niansheng, you’ll have to pay a price. Do you understand?”
His voice was gentle. If she hadn’t just been dragged back and forced into the chair, she might have mistaken him for the perfect elder brother. In truth, his words stirred her heart. With Ming Yuhe as her backing, she would no longer need to live in fear, constantly on edge. But the price was too high. Even if she weren’t pretending to be Ming Niansheng—even if she had no blood tie to him—she could never bring herself to commit such a transgression.
“Niansheng. Speak.” Just four simple words, yet they carried a crushing, invisible weight.
Luo Xinci shuddered. She glanced at him, saw his eyes fixed on her, and quickly turned away. Staring at the embroidered blossoms on her skirt, she pleaded in a broken voice: “Can’t you find someone else?”
Ming Yuhe chuckled softly, as though she had said something amusing. “Niansheng, you are my only sister. Who else could there be?”
Her head nearly exploded. When she first entered the capital, she had felt guilty for stealing Ming Niansheng’s identity and dragging her into her own family’s storm. Now she thought it was Ming Niansheng who should feel guilty—because she was the one bearing all the suffering in her place!
A sob escaped her. Tear-filled eyes met Ming Yuhe’s as she cried: “But I only want a normal marriage…”
“A normal marriage?” Ming Yuhe sighed. “Niansheng, you think too simply. Look at Mother—she was a noble princess, yet even she was betrayed by her husband. How much less chance does a powerless little concubine-born girl like you have?”
Luo Xinci: “…”
To her dismay, she almost felt there was a twisted logic in his words.
Her mother had been betrayed by Wang Yinrao—one could say it was because she was too ordinary, unable to compare with the noble ladies of the capital.
But Princess Shao’an, born of Prince Ning’s household and cousin to the reigning emperor, was nearly the most exalted woman under heaven. Even she was betrayed by her husband—through a lowly maid who was inferior to her in every way.
What could one say? Sometimes a husband’s betrayal has nothing to do with his wife’s birth, beauty, or temperament. It is simply because he *chooses* to betray. Yet not all men are untrustworthy. Her uncle was a reliable, loyal husband and father.
Luo Xinci snapped herself awake from Ming Yuhe’s insidious persuasion and shook her head violently.
Seeing the shift in her expression, Ming Yuhe’s lips curved faintly. “Niansheng, if you truly wish to marry, I’ve said before I would help you choose a fine young talent from the capital. That promise still stands.”
Then he leaned closer, his voice dropping—light, suggestive, coaxing. “I promise, even if you marry, no one will ever discover the bond between us. Even if you wish to be empress, I can help you—as long as you don’t turn away from me…”
Luo Xinci’s vision swam. What did he mean? That even if she married, even if she stood at the very pinnacle, she could never escape him?
Ming Yuhe was utterly deranged—beyond cure!
“No!” Luo Xinci lifted her face, rejecting him with fierce resolve. “I don’t want this!”
“You truly don’t want it?”
“No!”
Ming Yuhe’s expression chilled. He rose from before her and said flatly, “I dislike forcing people. If Niansheng refuses, then so be it.” Though he stood, his tall figure still filled the space between them, keeping her tense.
Luo Xinci darted a glance at him from the corner of her eye, hugged her knees, and fixed her gaze on the pale crescent marks of her fingernails. Summoning courage, she whispered: “If you won’t force me, then stay away from me.”
Ming Yuhe turned and strode out, his steps brisk and decisive.
Watching his retreating back, Luo Xinci suddenly remembered Wang Shu was still waiting in the front hall. She quickly called after him: “Wait—what about Wang Shu? How will you deal with him?”
“Wang Shu is a Supervisor at the Imperial Academy. He has no ties to the Marquis’s household. I have no reason to keep him. Naturally, I’ll exchange a few pleasantries and send him away.”
“You’ll just dismiss him like that? Then how will you explain the name Wang Yinrao?”
“I’ll say it was left behind by an assassin, meant to mislead me into searching for Wang Yinrao. That way, it’s not entirely a lie, is it?”
Indeed, the “assassin” was Luo Xinci herself, and the name Wang Yinrao had come from her lips, meant to draw him out. That was perfectly true.
The Imperial Academy was the state school, its students all sons of noble and powerful families. Luo Xinci could never enter, nor approach the Supervisor.
Once the Marquis’s pressure was gone, who could say whether Wang Yinrao might relapse and send killers to Linzhou again?
The thought made her restless. She slipped down from the chair, hurried to Ming Yuhe’s side, eyes brimming with tears, gazing up at him in silent plea.
He lowered his head, met her eyes for a moment, then turned away coldly—only to have his sleeve caught. He stopped and saw her delicate brows knit, her eyes trembling with emotion, a fragile, pitiable sight that tugged at the heart.
If he truly were a beast who scorned all human bonds, he might have been moved—perhaps even softened- and fallen into her trap. But he was not a beast. He was something far more terrifying.
Ming Yuhe suddenly lowered his head, leaning close to Luo Xinci. She instantly released his sleeve, retreating two full feet in a flash, cutting off any chance of physical contact. The movement was identical to the way she had dodged him in the corridor that night.
Ming Yuhe’s gaze sharpened, fresh anger mingling with old resentment as he stared coldly at her.
Sweat broke across Luo Xinci’s brow. Under his piercing eyes, she crept forward again, whispering like a mosquito: “I’ll agree, Brother… I’ll agree.”
He raised his brows. From his observations over the past few days, he was certain this was only a temporary compromise—she merely wanted to use him against Wang Yinrao.
“Do you mean it?”
“Really…” Her lips trembled, the words barely audible.
Ming Yuhe studied her inscrutably, then bent closer once more. He didn’t believe she could truly accept him. Yet Luo Xinci lifted her face, her eyes wide with visible tension and rejection. She stood rigid as stone, unmoving except for the trembling of her long lashes. He leaned nearer, until his breath stirred the fine hairs at her temple, until he could see the tiny down on her cheek. Then he stopped. He didn’t want to lose this contest. He could have kissed her outright—after all, in such intimacy, it was always the girl who suffered more. But he had always kept himself clean, never indulging in such acts with any woman. Deep down, he minded. His feigned depravity, his threats and torment, were meant to make Luo Xinci regret impersonating Ming Neisheng. He had never intended to entangle himself.
Looking down at her tear-bright eyes forced wide open, he felt himself becoming as contemptible as Marquis Wuling.
Two breaths passed. Still no interruption from the guards. Ming Yuhe had to invent his own reason to stop.
“Very well…” He had barely spoken when Luo Xinci suddenly shut her eyes, rose on tiptoe, and pressed her moist, full lips toward his face. His reaction was uncharacteristically slow—he only managed to turn his head aside. He caught the faint fragrance, felt the warmth brushing his cheek, and saw the flush at her ears. The twin-swallow earrings dangling beneath them swayed gently before his eyes.
Luo Xinci pulled back at once, lowered her head, and murmured so faintly it was almost inaudible: “Let’s take it slowly, all right?”
Ming Yuhe: “…” He stood stiffly before her, gaze resting on the crown of her head. After a pause, he said evenly, “Of course. How could Brother ever force Niansheng?”
Then he stepped back. “Niansheng, tidy yourself. Later, come with me to the front hall to meet Wang Shu. Don’t worry—Brother will handle everything.”
She dared not lift her head, only whispered a soft “Mm.”
And Ming Yuhe left.
When his figure finally vanished, Luo Xinci crouched down, covering her face, dazed for the time it takes half a stick of incense to burn. Then she jolted awake and cried: “Lianxing, Yunxiu—bring water, quickly!”
Elsewhere, Ming Yuhe returned to his room, face dark, and likewise ordered water. He changed out eight basins before tossing aside the towel. Even after changing clothes, his anger still burned.
Luo Xinci—how dare you!