Night seeped into the bones, and the cement floor of the abandoned warehouse was streaked with blood that had yet to dry.
Leng Yue’er twirled a poison needle between her fingers, its faint blue glow chilling to the eye, then drove it precisely into the neck of the last traitor in the corner.
The man did not even have time to let out a muffled groan before his body stiffened and collapsed. His skin turned a sickly bluish-purple at a visible speed, dissolving in moments into a puddle of foul, black liquid.
Leng Yue’er lowered her gaze to the tiny speck of blood on her fingertip, her brows knitting slightly. She took out a snow-white handkerchief and carefully wiped it clean, then casually tossed the cloth into the black sludge.
Dressed in a fitted black combat outfit, her figure was slender yet upright like cold bamboo. At sixteen, her face was exquisitely beautiful, yet she radiated a chilling aura that warned others to stay away, as though the deadly battle she had just finished was nothing more than brushing off a speck of dust.
She was Leng Yue’er, the sharpest blade in the assassin world. Taken in by an assassin organization since she could remember, she had grown up immersed in poison and blood, mastering ancient martial arts, toxicology, combat, and stealth. Ten years of honing had made her flawless, and since her debut, she had never failed a mission.
Assignments from the organization came one after another. Schemes, deadly traps, and life-threatening situations had long become routine to her, yet recently, an inexplicable weariness had begun to stir within her heart.
Back in her minimalist apartment, Leng Yue’er changed into a loose white shirt and casually opened the cached novel Noble Daughter’s Prestigious Marriage on her phone. She had always disliked such domestic intrigue and romantic entanglements, but she was bored enough to use it as a distraction.
On the screen, the reborn noble daughter’s revenge, the princes’ schemes, and the convoluted plot only annoyed her further. Her fingers swiped quickly, her brows tightening, impatience filling her eyes.
In her world, victory and defeat never required such roundabout methods. Rather than engaging in empty politeness and calculations, it was better to strike cleanly and end things once and for all.
None of the characters in the story stirred even the slightest emotion in her, whether it was the scheming original female lead, the ambitious princes, or the jealous and vicious women of the inner court.
Only Pei Qingmin, Prince Wei, made her fingers pause for a brief moment. A faint trace of mockery flickered in her eyes as her lips curled into a disdainful smile, and she let out a soft scoff.
“Useless.”
There was little written about Pei Qingmin in the novel. He was the most inconspicuous background figure, chronically ill, mild-tempered, with no desire for the throne and no real power, living weakly and passively, unable even to control his own fate.
Leng Yue’er had always despised such fragile people. In her philosophy of survival, weakness was the original sin. One either tempered themselves into strength or became dust. To linger on in such a pitiful state, at the mercy of others, was no different from being worthless.
She casually skipped past that section, her impression of Pei Qingmin fixed firmly as “boring.” After quickly finishing the rest of the plot, she tossed her phone aside and walked toward her desk.
The desk was covered with glass bottles of various sizes, each filled with different powders and liquids, all poisons she had personally developed.
She picked up a vial of transparent poison, tapping it lightly as she pondered how to improve its formula, when suddenly, the glass shattered.
The clear liquid splashed instantly, soaking her fingers and arms, with several drops slipping past her lips into her mouth and nose.
An intense pain swept through her body at once. Her organs felt as though they were being scorched by fire and crushed by ice at the same time. Her consciousness rapidly scattered, and her body collapsed uncontrollably to the ground.
After ten years in the assassin world, surviving countless pursuits and enduring endless torture, she had never imagined she would meet such a careless and unremarkable end.
In her final moment of consciousness, what flashed through her mind was not her past battles or missions, but Pei Qingmin, who meant nothing at all to her. Even her last lingering thought carried that same mocking scoff.
“Mm…”
A suffocating sensation suddenly seized her throat. Icy river water rushed into her nose and mouth, choking her and sending sharp pain through her chest. Her limbs felt as heavy as lead, and even the strength to struggle was slipping away.
Leng Yue’er’s consciousness gathered like fragments sinking in the sea. Shouldn’t she have died from the unfinished poison?
Her fingers weakly clawed at the water as fragmented yet vivid memories surged into her mind: the Great Zhou, Prince Wei’s dark guard Ah Yue, who had accidentally fallen into the estate pond and drowned.
So she had transmigrated, becoming an unnamed minor dark guard in Noble Daughter’s Prestigious Marriage, one who had died early without even leaving a name.
Instinctively, she tightened what little strength remained, holding her breath with the reflex of a trained assassin and trying to break free from the water’s grip. But this body was too weak, already at the end of its strength. This was supposed to be a dark guard? What a joke.
Just as her gathered consciousness began to blur again—
When she opened her eyes once more, carved wooden beams reflected dim candlelight above her. The air carried the thick bitterness of medicine mixed with a faint sandalwood scent. Beneath her was a wooden bed covered with coarse cloth. She had ultimately been saved.
“Ah Yue! You’re awake? His Highness Prince Wei is about to go out. Can you—” A young servant in a blue attendant’s outfit rushed in, his face lighting up with shock and relief upon seeing her awake, reaching out to help her up.
Leng Yue’er’s gaze turned cold instantly. Her wrist flipped instinctively, gripping the servant’s pulse point with precision, the force making him cry out in pain.
The warm, steady pulse beneath her fingers felt undeniably real, and the memories belonging to “Ah Yue” became clearer: Great Zhou, Prince Wei Pei Qingmin, dark guard Ah Yue, a spy planted by Consort Zhu Jing, mediocre in talent, who had accidentally fallen into the water and died.
Noble Daughter’s Prestigious Marriage?
Leng Yue’er raised a brow slightly. What a coincidence. A random novel she had casually read had become her foothold in another world. And her new master was the very “useless” invalid she had mocked, Pei Qingmin.
“Let go! Have you lost your mind?” The servant’s face turned pale from pain as he struggled. “His Highness’s lung illness has only just improved. Today he’s going to the moat to watch the Qixi lantern festival. You—”
Qixi Festival.
A sharp glint flashed in Leng Yue’er’s eyes as she slowly released her grip. She suddenly recalled that in the novel, the lantern festival during Qixi was where many grudges and opportunities erupted all at once. The Qu sisters, Cousin Xiao, the playboy young masters, as well as the original female lead and various factions would all be entangled there. A perfect stage for drama.
As someone raised in Huaxia, watching the drama was practically in her blood. The bigger the spectacle, the better.
She pushed herself upright, her wet hair dripping, her face pale but her eyes sharp, completely lacking Ah Yue’s former timidity. “What’s the rush? Wait while I change.” Her voice was hoarse but carried the unmistakable authority of an assassin, leaving no room for refusal.
She sent the servant outside and swiftly removed her damp clothes, changing into a fitted black dark guard outfit, tightening her sleeves and pant legs. Lifting her chin toward the door, she said, “Let’s go.”
The servant, intimidated by the coldness in her gaze, forgot to protest and led her out instinctively.
Passing through the corridor, they saw a frail figure standing at the entrance of the main hall. His moon-white robe made his already pale complexion seem even more bloodless. He held a plain folding fan in his hand, coughing lightly from time to time, his brows carrying a hint of restrained fatigue.
Pei Qingmin.
Leng Yue’er glanced at him and thought to herself that he looked even weaker than described in the book, as if a gust of wind could knock him over. Truly a fitting background figure.
As his dark guard, and now her support in this new world, Pei Qingmin survived until the end of the novel. Though mediocre, he lived steadily, making him a suitable place to anchor herself.
Standing at the entrance for a short while, Pei Qingmin’s frail body already showed signs of impatience. He frowned slightly, pressing his fingers to his lips as he coughed softly. Though weary, he showed no anger.
Leng Yue’er followed the servant to the end of the corridor, casting another glance at him and noting his impatience, but she did not linger.
Her gaze swept across the guards standing on either side of the hall. With a subtle shift of her body, she silently blended into their ranks. Dressed in black like the others, her movements were clean and efficient, her presence completely concealed. As an already insignificant dark guard, this made her even less noticeable.
Yet she failed to notice that the guards around her, both to her sides and behind her, cast her strange glances, puzzled yet meaningful.
Who is this? Did she stand in the wrong position?
The servant was too preoccupied to notice. Seeing everything in order, he quickly stepped forward to report.
Soon, a personal attendant supported Pei Qingmin as he slowly moved forward. Several guards followed closely behind as they headed toward the carriage at the estate gate. Pei Qingmin coughed intermittently, his steps slow yet still maintaining the dignity of a prince.
Leng Yue’er remained hidden among the dark guards, her gaze subtly sweeping the surroundings as she memorized the layout of the estate corridors. Her assassin instincts made her accustomed to controlling everything around her.
Moments later, they arrived at the gate, where Prince Wei’s carriage was already waiting.
The carriage was spacious and elegant, equipped with a brazier and medicinal soup for Pei Qingmin’s comfort during the journey. The attendants carefully helped him aboard, while the dark guards mounted their horses, lining both sides.
With a crack of the whip, the carriage began to move, heading toward the lantern-lit banks of the moat.