(1)

Yü Lingxi hadn’t yet fully grasped the current situation.

Ning Yin was Ning Yin, just as she remained Yü Lingxi after being reborn. He couldn’t split into two souls coexisting in the same time and space.

“So, are you planning to never sleep?”

Yü Lingxi was quite concerned about his self-tormenting stubbornness. “A person can go without sleep for at most ten days before mental collapse and death. If you torture yourself to death, won’t everything be lost anyway?”

After staying awake for a day and night, Ning Yin’s complexion looked terrible, but his pitch-black eyes remained bright.

“Assuming the Ning Yin of this world returns, he will certainly compete with this prince for control of this body.”

He seemed to be anticipating it, his face showing calm confidence. “Would Lingxi care to guess whether he and I might meet in the spiritual realm?”

Yü Lingxi tried to imagine what would happen if different versions of Ning Yin from different times met… No, she dared not think further.

It was too inconceivable!

Ning Yin reached out to take a sprig of osmanthus from a porcelain vase, carelessly stroking its forked branches. “According to this prince’s deductions last night, fate changed first because of Lingxi’s rebirth, like this tree branch that, at a certain point, grew to diverge offshoots.”

He pinched the offshoot, snapping it with a crack, and said leisurely: “This prince’s branch is damaged. Why not take the offshoot for myself?”

The orange-red osmanthus crumbled between his fingers and scattered. Yü Lingxi remained silent for a long time.

She carefully sorted through the causes and effects, then pondered: “So before you return, you want to kill your other self to ensure you remain in this body?”

“Correct.”

“…” A lengthy silence.

At that moment, Yü Lingxi saw an expression resembling sadness on his perfect, cold face.

“In that world, there is no Lingxi anymore.”

Ning Yin placed the bare, withered osmanthus back in the porcelain vase and leaned back on the couch. “This prince cannot lose you twice, Lingxi.”

He half-closed his eyes and turned up the corners of his mouth, but his voice was like the desolate wind from a deep well—hoarse, unwilling, obsessed to madness.

If possible, he would willingly be “his” substitute, be Lingxi’s shadow.

“If you continue without sleep, battling yourself in the spiritual realm, what am I to do? If you fall asleep and never wake, what then?”

Yü Lingxi’s eyes moistened as she said softly, “I don’t want to lose you again either, Ning Yin.”

Ning Yin looked at her, his black eyes congealing into an impenetrable darkness.

All his selfishness and malice could not withstand that nasal-toned “what am I to do?”

Yü Lingxi suddenly understood the source of his obsession.

“Open your sachet and look inside. There’s something I’ve always wanted to tell you.”

She took a deep breath and suggested.

After a moment, Ning Yin finally dropped his gaze to his waist, untied the sachet, and opened it.

Two red beans and a slip of paper.

[Fortunate to have dual lives, seeing you brings no regrets]

Ning Yin immediately quieted, staring at the words “dual lives” for a long time before asking: “Why no regrets? You should hate this prince.”

Having tasted the bitterness of loss and understanding the futility of regret, he now wanted to stay at any cost.

“Whether in my previous life or this one, I have never hated you, nor do I regret meeting you.”

Yü Lingxi set aside the unfinished leather boots and spoke lightly but firmly.

In her heart, Ning Yin was Ning Yin, the same person across two lifetimes.

Ning Yin’s eyes flickered slightly.

Yü Lingxi said: “So there’s no need for regret, nor should you continue to torture yourself. From life to death, from death to life, inside and outside dreams, through the cycle of cause and effect, it has always been you.”

Past and present lives were never diverging branches but rather a journey coming full circle to completion.

(2)

The rain had stopped, and dawn was breaking.

Wei Qi pressed the mechanism on his walking cane, and a thin blade sprung out, resting against the floor tiles.

“Before I leave by falling asleep, I could destroy this body, and naturally, the Ning Yin of this world wouldn’t be able to return.”

Wei Qi tapped the jade handle with his finger and laid out his plan. “I’ve already arranged everything. After this body dies, all the wealth and power of the prince’s manor will be transferred to Suisui, ensuring her lifelong safety and prosperity. Isn’t that better than living at someone else’s mercy?”

Yü Lingxi simply shook her head: “If the prince were truly evil, why would I save him after being reborn? There must be misunderstandings that I haven’t yet clarified.”

Wei Qi was slightly stunned; this was a detail he hadn’t considered.

Suisui was someone who clearly distinguished between kindness and grievances. If the Ning Yin of her previous life had treated her terribly, she would have had no reason to let go of her grudges and fall in love with him after being reborn.

“So, I want to understand everything. I want to see what thoughts are hidden beneath the prince’s cold, thorny exterior.”

Yü Lingxi smiled slightly. “Strangely, after meeting you, I’m not afraid of the prince at all anymore.”

Wei Qi focused: “No regrets?”

“No regrets.”

Yü Lingxi’s eyes held a tender resilience as she firmly said, “Thank you for telling me all this, letting me know how beautiful the future will be. No matter what happens in this life, I won’t regret it.”

Because after darkness, there would be endless light.

The morning sun rose outside the window, brightening her eyes.

Wei Qi tapped his walking cane and retracted the blade.

“After staying up a day and night, my lord should sleep,” Yü Lingxi said.

Wei Qi didn’t close his eyes; he wanted to say more, do more.

“Don’t worry about me.”

Yü Lingxi covered his eyes with her hand and coaxed, “Sleep now.”

Gentle darkness fell before his eyes. After keeping them open for a long time, Wei Qi finally closed his eyelids.

(3)

The evening light lingered as autumn winds scattered red leaves throughout the courtyard.

By the bedroom window, Ning Yin poured himself a cup of wine and added two pieces of pepper-infused plums.

Yü Lingxi thought the wine was for her, but Ning Yin raised the cup to his thin lips.

“Aren’t you afraid of spicy food?”

Yü Lingxi asked curiously.

If this were truly the Ning Yin from her previous life, he shouldn’t be able to tolerate any spiciness.

Ning Yin drained the cup expressionlessly, then set down the empty vessel and said: “I’ve grown accustomed to it.”

During the eight months after she was gone, he could only recall the warmth of her life through this spiciness, staying awake until dawn.

He caressed the rim of the cup, staring unblinkingly at Yü Lingxi as she threaded a needle. Bending his finger against his temple, he asked: “Does ‘he’ treat you well?”

Yü Lingxi knew who “he” referred to in Ning Yin’s words. She replied: “You treat me very well.”

Ning Yin raised an eyebrow but didn’t correct her.

“How well?”

“Though you’re full of mischief, you always help at critical moments. When you’re happy, you’d cut off your flesh and bone to give to me, as if in the entire world, only the brightness of ‘Yü Lingxi’ remains.”

Yü Lingxi recounted many past events, a smile lingering at the corners of her mouth the entire time.

Remembering something, she set aside her work and smiled: “It was the same in the previous life, wasn’t it? Without you, I don’t know how many times I would have died.”

“But Lingxi still…”

He pressed his lips tightly together, unwilling to mention that word.

Yü Lingxi didn’t continue this heavy topic. She simply sewed the upper and sole of the shoe together, cut the thread, placed it on a wooden form to shape it, then turned over the boot and said: “Done.”

Cloud-patterned leather boots identical to those from the previous life—

The ones he had soiled but never had the chance to request again.

“Would my lord like me to help you put them on?” Yü Lingxi blinked, deliberately changing her form of address.

Ning Yin laughed, took the boots, caressed them briefly, then put them on himself.

He paced back and forth in the hall tirelessly, as if testing the boots, or perhaps feeling the sensation of healthy legs.

After a while, he sat back down beside Yü Lingxi.

Just sitting quietly, watching the last rays of the setting sun slowly sink below the rooftop, as if trying to take in enough of two lifetimes in a single glance.

Gradually, his form tilted downward, resting his head on Yü Lingxi’s lap.

“This prince doesn’t want to go back.”

His eyes were bloodshot as he murmured stubbornly like a child, “That world is too cold. This prince doesn’t want to return.”

If possible, he still wanted to kill the other “Ning Yin.”

But what if he couldn’t stay? Leaving Lingxi to live alone, just like himself in his previous life?

How could he bear it?

“Lingxi…”

Ning Yin reached out as if trying to grasp a ray of light, laughing hoarsely, “I want to hold onto you.”

Yü Lingxi said nothing, only lowered her gaze and gently stroked his scattered black hair.

Red leaves fell in the courtyard as he gazed deeply at Yü Lingxi, slowly closing his eyes in the dim twilight.

Ning Yin could have stayed awake longer, but he closed his eyes nonetheless.

Being able to “die” in Lingxi’s arms was his greatest honor.

(4) The Rebirth of the Great Madman

Ning Yin stood in endless darkness, seeing another version of himself.

The two faced each other like mirror images, equally handsome and cold.

Ning Yin knew “he” wanted to kill him, just as he wanted to kill “him.”

Ning Yin lifted his foot, and the other did the same, moving closer and closer as time and space twisted and pulled at them.

“My lord?”

He heard Lingxi’s voice.

“Ning Yin?”

“He” also heard Suisui’s voice.

The two passed each other like crossing through a mirror, rushing toward their worlds.

The familiar pain crawled up his left leg, but Ning Yin paid it no mind, running toward the direction of the voice—

Then, he plunged downward.

…

Opening his eyes, dim light filtered through the screen, and the familiar scent of tea wafted through the air.

Behind the table, Yü Lingxi sat properly with her knees drawn together, her cloud-like hair tied up revealing a slender, beautiful neck, but her head was nodding, extremely tired.

Her appearance and demeanor were exactly as he remembered.

Ning Yin quietly watched Yü Lingxi, his dark eyes like bottomless pools, like the mist spanning two lives.

He picked up the walking cane beside the bed, rose, and went to Yü Lingxi’s side, reaching out to touch her warm cheek.

Yü Lingxi awoke with a start, blinking her eyes in confusion: “My lord?”

Ah, even her voice was just as before.

He hadn’t returned to the secret chamber, nor the ice bed. He had returned to the time when Lingxi was still alive.

Ning Yin’s dead heart revived and began to beat, faster and heavier.

The walking cane rolled to the ground as he embraced her, confining her tightly in his arms.

“I’ve caught you,” he laughed softly.

Yü Lingxi was somewhat bewildered.

She had just had a long dream in which the prince had dealt with her greedy uncle’s family on her behalf and had said many heartfelt words to her.

Upon waking, what awaited her was not the prince’s unpredictable mood but an embrace so tight it almost suffocated her…

Perhaps because of that dream, Yü Lingxi inexplicably felt that such trust and intimacy between her and the prince was natural.

“Alright.”

So she smiled and reached up to stroke his broad back.

“By the way, yesterday was the eighth day of the eighth month, the anniversary of our meeting. I embroidered a sachet for you.”

At this, Yü Lingxi’s voice lowered, “But my hands are out of practice, it doesn’t look very good…”

Before she could finish, Ning Yin pinched the back of her neck and demanded imperiously: “Give it to me.”

The sachet with its crooked stitches was still as ugly as before.

But Ning Yin smiled freely and hung it at his waist.

A brilliance never seen before spread across Lingxi’s eyes.

In this life, he would hold on tightly and never let go.

(5) The Little Madman’s Awakening

A sharp pain pierced his mind.

“Ning Yin… Ning Yin?”

Yü Lingxi’s voice grew clearer, moving from distant to near.

Ning Yin opened his eyes abruptly. The familiar furnishings of Prince Jing’s bedchamber spread before him, and looking to the side, he saw Suisui’s drowsy face.

He was back.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

Yü Lingxi snuggled closer, worriedly stroking his brow.

Ning Yin gazed at her for a long time, then suddenly embraced her tightly.

“I had a nightmare.”

He said hoarsely, “I dreamed that I treated Suisui very badly before.”

Before falling into the void, Ning Yin seemed to have passed through a long river of memories.

He saw the red-clad beauty carried into the manor in a sedan chair on the eighth day of the eighth month, witnessed her day after day of forbearance and caution, and also saw the spraying black blood and…

And the silent stillness of death on the ice bed.

Those images were so real, so real that just recalling them briefly made his heart feel as if it were splitting open.

Speaking of dreams, Yü Lingxi had also had a strange dream last night.

She dreamed that shortly after she died in her previous life, Ning Yin had also burned down the Regent Prince’s manor, taken poison, and laid down beside her on the ice bed.

She dreamed he had come to this world and told her: he wanted to stay; he didn’t want to return to a world without Lingxi.

Though she knew it was a dream, her eyes still grew hot as she kissed Ning Yin’s tightly pressed thin lips.

The two clung to each other for warmth, intimately close, as if only this could prove each other’s existence.

“We will be together forever, Ning Yin.”

Yü Lingxi’s eyes were clear as she spoke with unsteady breath.

Ning Yin gave a deep “mm” and returned with an even more passionate kiss.

Outside the hall, red leaves fell as the morning sun shone brightly, and time continued to flow forward.