Jiang Lingyue seemed to have gone through a fierce battle. Her arm was injured, strands of hair clung messily to her sweat-soaked cheeks, and dried blood stained the corner of her lips. Yet her eyes remained stubbornly bright, like an eagle on a snowy plain—though trapped in disadvantage, none of her sharpness was diminished.
“Your Majesty!”
When the rebel leader saw this, a flash of cunning and triumph crossed his eyes. The blade at Song Nianyun’s neck did not loosen. With his other hand, he gestured for his men to press another blade against Jiang Lingyue’s throat. His voice carried a mocking, savage laugh.
“It seems this General Jiang weighs more in Your Majesty’s heart than your beloved beauty!
Well, of course. Jiang Xiuran’s younger sister is naturally precious!
Good! Then let me see whether this Imperial Jade Seal is more important—or this heroic woman’s life!”
“I’ll count to three. If you don’t hand over the seal, I’ll kill her first!”
“One!”
Beiming Jin’s pupils shrank suddenly. His gaze instinctively locked onto Jiang Lingyue, especially the glint of steel at her throat.
It was an expression Song Nianyun had never seen in his eyes before—almost panic, undisguised tension and concern, even a trace of… fear.
“Two!”
“Stop!”
Beiming Jin roared hoarsely, his voice cracking.
As the words fell, he hurled the brocade box he had clutched so tightly—refusing to give it up for her just moments ago—toward the rebel leader.
“Take it! Let her go!”
The brocade box traced a heavy arc through the air, falling swiftly along with the line of blood at her neck.
The rebel leader, reaching to catch the Imperial Jade Seal, jerked his saber away. The sharp blade instantly sliced a deep wound across her throat.
Warm blood burst forth, staining her plain-colored robes crimson.
The intense pain darkened her vision. She saw Beiming Jin staring blankly at her, his eyes filled with disbelief and an emotion too complex for her to read.
Was it regret?
Was he unable to believe that someone as strong and cunning as her could truly die?
But whatever it was, it no longer mattered…
Song Nianyun slowly opened her eyes.
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the carved window lattice, scattering broken patches of light across the green brick floor.
Dust motes drifted in the air, quiet and peaceful.
There was no smell of blood, no clamor of battle, no… the man who had broken her heart.
She raised a hand and lightly touched her neck.
Her skin was smooth, without a single scar.
Yet the agony of being cut by a blade, and the despair of being abandoned without hesitation by the one she loved most, remained branded deep in her soul like the darkest nightmare. Every breath still carried pain.
She sat up, wrapped in a thin quilt, her gaze falling on the peach blossoms blooming outside the window. But her eyes pierced through the petals, looking toward the distant capital.
Beiming Jin.
When you chose for Jiang Lingyue to live, did it ever occur to you that I could die too?
Or did you think that I, Song Nianyun, would always survive desperate situations as I had so many times before—and continue to be your most useful, most loyal chess piece?
They say emperors are the most heartless. I never believed it before.
Now… I know it to the bone.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, all lingering weakness and pain had been suppressed, leaving only the calmness of someone who had seen through illusions.
In this life, she would never again remain by anyone’s side.
She would live for herself.
She would become powerful, hold real authority in her hands. Only then could she firmly grasp her own fate.
Only then… would those who once belittled and discarded her never control her again.
Even him… no longer.
“Song Zhuangzhuang!”
Song Nianyun called out.
“Yes! Miss, you’re awake? What do you need?”
The door banged open, and a figure nearly crashed inside.
The newcomer was named Song Zhuangzhuang, Song Yibai’s personal maid.
Her name suited her perfectly.
She was built broad and sturdy, half a head taller than most men. When she stood in the room, even the light seemed dimmer.
Her features were rough, and because of her heavy body hair, there was even a faint dark stubble around her lips.
Yet despite such an appearance, she had been the original Song Yibai’s most trusted and dependable servant.
There was a simple reason.
With the timid, rabbit-like temperament of the original host, living in this deep household compound meant she naturally needed someone strong enough to intimidate troublemakers.
When Song Zhuangzhuang stood behind her, she was confidence itself.
“Nothing much. I’m a little thirsty. Pour me some water.”
At once, Song Zhuangzhuang turned to fetch water.
Though her movements looked clumsy, they were actually swift and efficient.
“Miss, your water.”
She handed over the teacup, but her brows were tightly furrowed, her face full of indignation.
“Miss, Die’er from the side courtyard just came by. She said the Chen family has been spreading bad rumors about you everywhere!”
Song Nianyun accepted the cup and took a slow sip before raising her eyes.
“Oh? What are they saying?”
“That old Chen woman!”
Song Zhuangzhuang clenched her fists in anger, her voice rising unconsciously.
“She’s standing on the street outside our courtyard, telling everyone!
She says you’re arrogant and overbearing, disrespectful to elders, and she also said you…”
She paused, unable to continue, her face flushing red.
“What else did she say about me?” Song Nianyun’s tone remained calm.
“She said… she said you already belong to her son, yet you keep making a fuss about breaking off the engagement.
If the engagement is broken, who would dare marry you?”
She slammed a fist onto the table, making even the teapot lid jump.
“That old hag said it like she had proof! She said when you were sick and her son came to visit, you… you enticed him… enticed him…”
Song Zhuangzhuang could not continue, but Song Nianyun understood.
In her previous life in the palace, she had seen every kind of vicious accusation.
But this sort of filthy slander still disgusted her.
“Miss!”
Song Zhuangzhuang trembled with rage, fists cracking as she clenched them.
“If these words spread, what will happen? How will you ever marry in the future? Let me go tear her mouth apart right now!”
As she spoke, she turned and charged toward the door like an enraged bull.
“Stop.”
Song Nianyun’s voice was not loud, yet it was like an invisible rope that instantly halted Song Zhuangzhuang’s steps.
“Help me get dressed.”
Song Nianyun slowly rose, fingertips brushing the folds of her sleeve. A cold glint flashed in her eyes.
“Some debts… it is time I settle personally.”