On the eighth day of every month, according to the Jing family’s tradition, porridge would be distributed at the city gate to aid the poor.
That day, peach blossoms burned brightly, falling across her body. She wore a white Shu brocade outer robe, embroidered with delicate blue orchids. A pearl lotus shawl draped over her shoulders, and beneath it, a simple pale-blue inner garment.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a soft glow upon her. A gentle breeze lifted the veil of her hat, revealing a face that seemed kissed by the goddess Nüwa herself.
He had been lying in a tree, eyes closed, listening to the wind brushing across the lake, savoring the charm of April.
But for some reason, he opened his eyes.
“Bodhisattva.”
With just one glance, it felt as though all the colors of the world had gathered upon her alone.
At that time, he was merely a petty thief and vagrant, while she was a noble young lady from a prestigious family.
But what did that matter? His heart beat so fast he felt he might die if he didn’t do something.
Clutching a branch of peach blossoms in full bloom, he swaggered over to her. Yet the moment their eyes met, he blushed.
He had been surviving on the streets since he was seven—when had he ever blushed? Flustered, trembling, he held out the flower.
“Miss Jing… this is for you.”
She took the flower casually, not even glancing at it, and tossed it aside.
“…A mere beggar like you is worthy?”
Her tone was as dismissive as brushing dust from her clothes.
She turned and left, her embroidered shoes stepping lightly on the fallen blossom, crushing its petals.
He had been humiliated countless times, but he never cared. Beggar or noble—what did it matter, as long as he lived freely?
But in that moment, he felt unbearable shame. His face burned, then paled. His clenched fists trembled.
For the first time, Ruan Xi desperately wanted to change himself.
So he killed someone, stole their identity and wealth, and appeared before her again.
But what he saw was her helping a fallen beggar, tending to them with needles and medicine.
She wrote letters for them, prepared winter clothes, arranged work for them.
Her face was always smiling, never showing disdain.
She was the “living Bodhisattva” of Qingzhou.
She showed kindness equally to everyone—except him.
In that moment, Ruan Xi understood: no matter who he became, she would never smile at him.
Why?
Unable to suppress the hatred in his heart, before leaving Qingzhou, he used the cruelest methods to kill those people—cutting their flesh piece by piece, letting them feel despair as death approached.
It wasn’t he who killed them—it was the “Bodhisattva” they worshipped.
Carrying that hatred, he joined the army and climbed step by step to his current position.
And now, he was a third-rank general, honored with a noble title—while she had become the daughter of a disgraced official.
“Jing Miaoyi, do you still think you’re that lofty noble lady?”
Ruan Xi sneered, casually lifting a strand of her hair and twining it around his fingers.
His cold gaze glinted with menace as he leaned closer, like a predator approaching its prey.
That same cold look again.
He suddenly gripped her chin harshly.
“Smile. Smile for me.”
Pain flashed across Jing Miaoyi’s face.
Madman.
“Smile! I told you to smile—can’t you understand?”
“Aren’t you a Bodhisattva?” Ruan Xi roared, his eyes red with hatred. “Where is your compassion? Didn’t you grant others their wishes?”
“I was one of your followers too. Why didn’t you save me?”
“You can smile at everyone else—but not at me?!”
The louder he shouted, the weaker he seemed. In the darkness, the flickering candlelight illuminated his madness.
His hand tightened around her throat.
He watched her struggle, her face redden, her tears fall—watched her helpless beneath him.
That once untouchable “Bodhisattva” was finally within his grasp.
He laughed wildly.
“Hahahahaha—!”
Jing Miaoyi pried at his fingers, then bit down hard on his hand.
He winced in pain, trying to pull away, but she refused to let go.
“Let go—!”
Only after tearing off a piece of his flesh did she release him, spitting blood to the ground.
“Madman!”
Reason meant nothing to someone like him.
Ruan Xi stared at his mangled hand, licking the blood slowly, his gaze burning hotter.
“To make a Bodhisattva curse… what an honor.”
He smirked coldly.
The late-night wind sent chills through her body. She tightened her grip on the hairpin in her hand.
In her previous life, he had been a bloodthirsty lunatic—delighting in tormenting her.
Whipping her, biting her ear, whispering “Bodhisattva” again and again.
Only now did she understand why.
He stepped closer. She thrust the hairpin at him, but he caught it easily and pulled her into his arms.
“Mmm—”
She struggled, trying to push him away, but his kiss was forceful and overpowering.
This was humiliation.
She bit his tongue hard, forcing him to release her.
Ruan Xi swallowed the blood in his mouth, eyes fixed on her.
Her clothes had slipped during the struggle, revealing pale skin like jade.
Amid her dark hair, a small cinnabar mark on her collarbone added a hint of allure to her sacred beauty.
His breath burned like lava, his cold eyes filled with obsessive desire.
“The night… is long.”
“Ruan Xi, don’t come any closer,” she warned, gripping the bloodied hairpin.
“Bodhisattva… have you ever killed someone? Do you even know where to stab for a clean kill?”
To him, her resistance was laughable.
From outside, a voice called urgently:
“Your Grace, someone from the palace has arrived.”
Ruan Xi frowned, then looked at her.
“Bodhisattva,” he sneered, “don’t try anything. Otherwise, I’ll show you what true suffering means.”