Lin Sui’an would never forget that day. Fourth grade, elementary school. She’d eaten something bad and gone home early. When she opened the door, she found her father and a strange woman tangled together on the sofa without a stitch of clothing between them.

Truthfully, she couldn’t remember the specific details clearly anymore. Only one image remained with excruciating sharpness: the two bodies looked like freshly boiled pork skin — pale, glistening flesh slick with a sticky, greasy sheen.

What followed was chaos that turned the world upside down. The woman’s husband came storming over. Neighbors crowded at the doorway to watch the spectacle. Relatives cycled in and out in a revolving procession, aunts and uncles wearing the faces of benevolent saviors, urging her mother one after another not to get a divorce.

They said: a man straying once is nothing. As long as he still keeps his wife and children in his heart, he’s a good man.

They said: a woman must be magnanimous. She must understand men. She must not put too much pressure on her husband. Otherwise, if a man can’t find warmth at home, of course he’ll stray.

They said: a family can’t be without a man. A child can’t be without a father. For the child’s sake — just endure and it will pass.

They said: family matters should not be aired in public.

Her father knelt on the floor, tears streaming down his face, kowtowing to her mother, swearing this was the first time and the last time, and that it would never happen again.

To this day, Lin Sui’an remembered her mother’s expression clearly — eyes bloodshot, not a single tear falling. The deep lines carved beside her mouth never smoothed out again after that.

At the time, Lin Sui’an had no voice in any of it. She could only stand to one side in a daze, listening to the relatives speak their incomprehensible moral lectures, listening to her father sob and beg, “Trust me!”

In the end, her mother believed him — as so many women of that era did — and chose forgiveness and tolerance, placed on a pedestal and given the title of “magnanimous and virtuous.”

Lin Sui’an believed him too. After that, her father seemed to have genuinely reformed himself, and for a while, the family was warm and happy.

Until Lin Sui’an came home from university one summer, and her mother finally told her the truth.

When she was in her third year of middle school, her father had strayed again — caught in the act by the other man. In her first year of high school, again. In her third year of high school, once more.

Lin Sui’an had known none of it. Her mother and the relatives had apparently reached some unspoken agreement and hidden everything from her, wanting only to avoid affecting her studies.

Lin Sui’an had been completely stunned at the time. She asked her mother why she still hadn’t divorced him.

Her mother said: she believed her father could change. She believed that a prodigal son who reforms is worth more than gold.

She also said: regardless of anything else, he is still your father. Blood is thicker than water. You must respect him.

In that moment, Lin Sui’an felt an overwhelming sense of the absurd, and a bone-deep helplessness. And she understood something clearly: even though she was their child, when it came to this man and this woman and their marriage, she had always been an outsider. Their choices were theirs alone. Her feelings and opinions had never mattered.

After she graduated from university, her mother’s “belief” finally produced its fruit. Her father retired and spent his days cooking for her mother, walking with her, spending time with her. The neighbors and relatives praised him endlessly, saying old Mr. Lin was a devoted family man, and saying her mother had endured her hardships and now deserved her blessings.

Lin Sui’an knew the real reason. He was old. He no longer had the energy. So he had finally settled down.

And yet what could she do? Her mother seemed genuinely happy, as if every year of patience and devotion had been worth it, and the “blessings” of her final years were all she had ever asked for.

But those final years lasted only two short years.

Years of insomnia and depression had damaged her heart. One cardiac episode took her away.

Her father wept throughout the funeral like a man inconsolable, saying he would spend the rest of his life keeping vigil with her mother’s photograph. Colleagues, neighbors, and relatives all praised him as a sentimental and devoted man — a truly good husband.

Lin Sui’an found it nothing short of farcical.

What made it even more farcical was what happened three months later. Her father, through a colleague’s introduction, went on a blind date — and succeeded. He called her, full of excitement, ready to remarry.

Lin Sui’an received her father’s call delivering the happy news while driving back to the office to collect some documents. His eagerness and anticipation cut through her like a blade plunging straight into her heart. Tears surged out of her eyes uncontrollably, flooding her vision.

Amid the sharp blaring of horns, she was struck hard and sent flying. Her line of sight leveled with the sky — and then there was only endless darkness.

When she woke again, she had become Lin Sui’an of this world.

The memories of her previous life had grown impossibly distant with the rebirth, yet now she had finally recalled them — and that feeling of being deceived, of being betrayed, flooded back. It was like having a piece of flesh torn from her chest, raw and bleeding, exposed to an unending icy wind.

No one can be trusted. Only yourself!

These words etched themselves into her mind, one character at a time, in rhythm with her heartbeat. A faint ringing pierced her ears; her blood began racing faster, as if driven by a high-pressure pump into every limb and vessel. Lin Sui’an abruptly gripped the chain, looped it upward with a single twisting motion, and wound it cleanly around Ming Shu’s neck. One sharp jerk and a throw sent him flying — he slammed into the thin wall with a crack, and it gave way. It turned out the “wall” was nothing more than a wooden panel dressed up as a wall.

Lin Sui’an slapped both palms against the floor, swung herself upright, pinched her own jaw between her fingers, and shoved it back into place with a snap. She kicked the panel flat and walked straight through.

In the billowing dust, she saw Prefect Zhou sitting on the floor in a trembling heap, and Ling Zhiyan staring at her with his mouth open.

She also saw Hua Yitang — restrained from behind by another officer, his mouth covered, one leg frozen mid-kick. When he saw Lin Sui’an, his eyes blazed bright. He thrashed violently against his restraints, legs whirling like a windmill in the air, making muffled, urgent sounds through the hand over his mouth.

Lin Sui’an went still for just a moment. So Hua Yitang had been trying to answer Ling Zhiyan all along — he had simply been held down and silenced…

The officer restraining Hua Yitang rushed at Lin Sui’an and was sent airborne by a whip of her iron chain. Hua Yitang broke free and unleashed a torrent of furious language: “You can go eat dirt! Lin Sui’an would never in a million years kill anyone! Ling Zhiyan, you shameless rat — forging confessions, sowing discord, using entrapment — a Ling family with a hundred years of noble heritage and they produce a worthless piece of garbage like you! If your ancestors knew, they’d claw their way out of their coffins and bite you to death!”

Hua Yitang’s roar of abuse poured into her ears like a cup of ice water poured over an overheated mind. The ringing in her ears dimmed by several degrees.

He…what did he just say?

He said she couldn’t possibly have killed anyone?

“How…how is this possible?!” Ling Zhiyan stared at Lin Sui’an in disbelief. Lin Sui’an’s gaze shot back at him like an arrow finding its mark.

“Adjudicator, watch out!” Ming Shu shouted, throwing himself forward. Lin Sui’an didn’t even spare him a glance — she swung the chain and sent him flying. Ling Zhiyan’s face changed color sharply. He drew the blade at his hip and struck downward. Lin Sui’an grabbed the chain to swing it again — but this time, for some unknown reason, the chain suddenly felt impossibly heavy. She couldn’t get it moving.

What is happening?!

In the brief moment of Lin Sui’an’s distraction, Ling Zhiyan was already upon her. His blade swept down in a sweeping arc. Lin Sui’an seized the chain and threw it across her body in a block. The blade bit into the chain and was caught there, producing a teeth-grinding metallic screech.

Ling Zhiyan gripped the hilt with both hands and clenched his jaw, his hands shaking violently. Yet no matter how he strained, the chain would not budge a fraction. The strength of this young woman before him was terrifying — but more terrifying were her eyes. Black. Hollow. Bottomless. Entirely without emotion. Like a puppet.

“Help! Murder! Someone help!” Prefect Zhou scrambled on all fours toward the door, still wailing — but before he got two screams out, Hua Yitang kicked him flat and proceeded to stomp on him enthusiastically while producing a varied and creative stream of insults along the lines of “You blind old mule! You blind sow! You miserable turtle!”

Even in the midst of this razor-edge standoff, Ling Zhiyan was taken aback by Hua Yitang’s remarkably vigorous and colorful fighting spirit. Truly, meeting was worth more than hearing tales — this Hua Family wastrel was even more outrageous in person than the rumors suggested.

Just then, the utterly motionless chain trembled slightly. Ling Zhiyan noticed that the pitch-black pupils of Lin Sui’an’s eyes had kindled a faint spark of light. Her hands had begun to shake. Sweat broke out on her brow. She exhaled and inhaled in deep, heaving breaths — like someone waking from a nightmare.

To describe Lin Sui’an’s current state more precisely, it was less like waking from a dream and more like sleep paralysis — the surging power within her body gave way like a bursting dam, hemorrhaging out. An unspeakable exhaustion crept upward through her meridians, like countless white ants gnawing simultaneously at every muscle — aching and sore.

Then, a sudden numbness shot through her chest. A taste of rust flooded her throat. Her entire body gave out in an instant. Ling Zhiyan’s blade, still tangled in the chain, pressed hard into her shoulder. At that very moment, Hua Yitang let out a shout and flung himself bodily into Ling Zhiyan. Ling Zhiyan had been completely focused on Lin Sui’an and had never expected this supposedly useless, willowy wastrel to move so fast. Caught entirely off guard, he was knocked aside. His head struck the corner of the table. Blood trickled out.

“Lin Sui’an, what’s wrong?!” Hua Yitang grabbed Lin Sui’an and shouted.

Lin Sui’an felt a sharp spasm in her chest. She opened her mouth — blood trickled from the corner of her lips. She remembered — this pain, this sensation, was the same as when she had first arrived in this world. Her limbs lost all strength. She collapsed entirely into Hua Yitang’s arms. All four chains had been supported by her body’s strength; now that she’d gone limp, their full weight transferred onto Hua Yitang. He cried out in a string of pained yelps as he was dragged downward, landing on the floor with a thud, his face a wince of pain — but his arms never let go, not a fraction, clutching Lin Sui’an as tightly as he could.

The parlor door was kicked open. The rushing officers nearly trod on Prefect Zhou’s head — fortunately one sharp-eyed officer caught and steadied him. Prefect Zhou clutched his backside and bellowed, “Beat them — beat them thoroughly!”

“Stand down!” Ling Zhiyan pressed a hand to his head and rose. Half his face was red with blood. His voice was severe and commanding. “No punishment without lawful authority!” His gaze went directly to Hua Yitang. “No one is to harm either of them!”

This was the last image Lin Sui’an saw before she lost consciousness.

Lin Sui’an dreamed she was sunk deep in a mass of black cotton. Her chest was stifled and oppressed; breathing was nearly impossible. A giant bee circled her — humming to her left, humming to her right — then suddenly revealed its stinger and drove it into her wrist. The pain shocked her eyes open.

What filled her vision was the dark stone ceiling of the prefectural jail. Damp rot crept into her lungs; the stale air burned them. The taste of blood in her mouth was heavier than before. Lin Sui’an swallowed, only to find her throat was parched. Worst of all, her entire body was sapped of strength — she couldn’t summon even a fraction of energy. The bee’s humming from the dream was made real in the waking world as pointed, name-specific cursing.

“You can go eat dirt, Ling Zhiyan! You can go eat dirt, Zhou Changping! You can go eat dirt, Feng Yuyi!”

Lin Sui’an used the last reserves of her strength to turn her head sideways. She found Hua Yitang sitting beside her, muttering his string of curses while using a small ceramic jar to carefully scoop out a jade-green medicinal ointment and apply it gently to her wrist. The stinging pain on her wrist was slowly smothered beneath a cool, soothing layer. Lin Sui’an exhaled involuntarily.

Hua Yitang looked up, immediately brightening. “You’re awake! How do you feel?!”

His clothes were dirty, his hair loose and disheveled, stray strands plastered to his pale cheeks. His eyes, in the dim space, were luminous — almost as if they’d been edited in.

Lin Sui’an: “What happened to me?”

“The doctor said your vital energy surged against your own meridians and reversed on itself — you nearly died!” Hua Yitang said urgently. “You have no idea how terrifying you looked — you collapsed just like that and then came the blood, so much blood spilling out…”

Lin Sui’an latched onto one detail amid the chaos in her head: “Since when does a jail have a doctor?”

“We had one brought in from outside — credit where it’s due, at least the man surnamed Ling has some humanity left in him… Stop talking for now. Rest. Look at your face — white as a ghost — enough to frighten anyone…” At that last part, Hua Yitang’s voice hitched slightly and he looked away.

Lin Sui’an watched his profile quietly. This frivolous wastrel was indeed, beyond any dispute, blessed with exceptional features. From this angle — a long graceful neck, a high, elegant nose, and even the line of his repeatedly bobbing throat held a certain artistic quality.

Lin Sui’an closed her eyes briefly, then let her gaze sweep around. She was startled to realize she was in Hua Yitang’s private cell — lying in his bed, covered with his blanket. Well, blankets, actually — the breath-stealing weight now made sense. Hua Yitang had apparently layered two of them over her, pressing down on her like a mountain.

Lin Sui’an: “It’s too heavy.”

Hua Yitang: “What?”

“The blankets. Too heavy.”

“You’re cold all over. You need to be kept warm.”

Lin Sui’an: “Is there any possibility that my hands and feet are cold precisely because the blankets are pressing down so hard that my blood can’t circulate?”

“Eh?!” Hua Yitang was aghast. He hurriedly peeled off one layer of blanket, then carefully tucked in the corners of the remaining one. “Better?”

Lin Sui’an sighed with relief. Indeed — breathing was far more comfortable now.

Hua Yitang sighed too, and then resumed gazing at her with the earnest, anxious look of a mother hen guarding her egg.

Being stared at like that made Lin Sui’an deeply uncomfortable. She suddenly remembered what Hua Yitang had said just before she lost consciousness:

Lin Sui’an would never in a million years kill anyone!

Tangled as it had been within all that cursing, the conviction in his tone was impossible to fake.

He…he had actually believed her…?

How?

What possible reason could he have for believing someone he’d known for only a few days, someone whose background he knew nothing about?

Surely it wasn’t just instinct — or something as absurd as liking her face?

The thought made Lin Sui’an almost laugh despite herself.

“Why do you believe me?” Lin Sui’an asked.

Hua Yitang: “Hm?”

“Why do you believe I didn’t kill anyone?”

Hua Yitang went still, looking startled. He probably hadn’t even noticed it himself, but when Lin Sui’an asked this question — pale-faced, eyes deep with something that might have been a fragile, tentative thread of hope —

Hua Yitang’s breathing became faintly unsteady. He had the distinct feeling that this question mattered very much. That it deserved a careful, honest answer.

Why did he believe her?

Because he could tell immediately that the confession Ling Zhiyan had produced was false. Because Prefect Zhou’s smug, self-satisfied expression was infuriating. Because Ling Zhiyan was a terrible actor, and his probing was far too transparent. Because what Mu Zhong had told him about her story felt strangely, inexplicably familiar…

Because from the very first moment he had seen her, he knew — she was different from everyone else…

Hua Yitang smiled. He already knew his answer.

“No reason,” he said. “I just believe you.”

Lin Sui’an’s pupils contracted sharply.

Golden morning light filtered through the ventilation window, lying thinly across Hua Yitang, its pale shimmer catching on clothing stained with grime and blood until the fabric seemed to radiate its own faint white glow — like a spotless white peony blooming in the middle of a muddy swamp.

Lin Sui’an was struck completely.

Good heavens. Two lifetimes, and this was the first time she had ever encountered this legendary creature — living, breathing proof of an “innocent idealist.”

Mini Skit:

Ling Zhiyan faces the mirror to dress his wounds, wincing with every touch: hiss — this woman really doesn’t hold back at all!

Mini Skit:

Lin Sui’an: Men really do nothing but slow down the hand reaching for the blade.

Ling Zhiyan (clutching his head): That really hurts.