The warm couch?

Yu Lingxi blinked very slowly. This was something she was familiar with.

Besides, she was indeed tired.

Yu Lingxi stood up, carefully removed the cloak, and hung it on a nearby wooden rack, letting her black hair cascade down to her waist, then climbed onto the couch from the other side.

Ning Yin’s gaze swept over the small of her back, but before he could savor it enough, she rolled over and nimbly slipped into the bedding, leaving only her nose and clear eyes exposed.

The movement was seamless, even her hair was properly arranged on both sides of the pillow.

Ning Yin was speechless for a long while.

For a moment, he felt as if he had seen this scene long ago, finding it incredibly familiar.

The chamber was filled with warmth, and the bloodstains on his body began to seep out, forming a stark contrast with the light floral fragrance of the young woman.

Ning Yin frowned with disgust and rose to bathe in the adjoining washroom.

The door opened, and cold snowlights spilled across the floor.

The door closed, and the sound of wind and snow ceased.

Ning Yin walked to the corridor and called for Zheji.

“Flog Wang Lingqing’s corpse three hundred times, then display it publicly,” he said coldly.

Zheji was somewhat surprised. Making Wang Lingqing “smear the ground with his brains and organs” was already a severe punishment. He hadn’t expected that even the corpse would not be spared, indicating that the master was truly angry.

In the bedchamber, Yu Lingxi lay motionless.

With Ning Yin gone, the entire hall fell silent.

She relaxed her body and yawned.

This lifetime’s little madman ultimately had some humanity, without the tormenting obsessions of her past life. He didn’t even know that the proper way to “warm the couch” was without clothing, where one had to warm it with delicate skin in earnest.

She was fully dressed, and he hadn’t said anything—he was indeed easy to coax.

Yu Lingxi’s lips curled slightly as she shifted toward the inner side of the couch, her tumultuous heart finally settling down.

Having been on edge for so long due to the palace rebellion, she was extremely tired.

She closed her eyes and, in no time, fell into a gentle dream.

When Ning Yin entered the chamber with the fresh dampness of bathing, Yu Lingxi was already asleep.

He stood by the couch, his black hair loose, a large expanse of firm, cold-white chest exposed, not feeling cold at all.

Yu Lingxi always liked to sleep facing inward, her body slightly curled, her shoulders frail and thin, quiet like a shy flower.

Ning Yin bent down, turned Yu Lingxi’s shoulder, and stared at her face for a long time.

She slept deeply, not waking up at all.

Tsk, how carefree.

Ning Yin blew on her eyelashes, and seeing no response, took a jar of ointment from nearby, warmed it in his hands, and applied it to her wounds.

Then he lifted the bedding and climbed onto the couch, adjusted his position, and encircled her soft body completely in his embrace.

Raising his sleeve, he extinguished the candle, and with an expressionless face, tightened his arms, the two of them forming two perfectly fitted bows.

……

Yu Lingxi felt she was suffocating.

Her waist seemed to be gripped by an iron clamp, impossible to struggle free from or escape, causing her nightmares all night.

When she awoke, it was already broad daylight, and the bedding beside her was cold—Ning Yin was gone.

She rubbed her eyes and discovered that the wounds on her wrists had reduced in swelling and no longer hurt, with a faint medicinal fragrance.

Yu Lingxi gathered her thoughts. The torn wedding dress still lay on the ground, reminding her of yesterday’s bloodshed and turmoil and the intruders in the mansion—everything seemed like a dream.

She hadn’t seen anyone all night and didn’t know how worried her family must be.

As Yu Lingxi rose, several subtle and reserved palace maids entered in succession, carrying copper basins, clothes, and other items, lining up.

The head maid curtsied and said, “Miss, please come down to wash and eat.”

Yu Lingxi climbed down and looked. On the tray, clothes, skirts, and cloaks were all present, but hairpins for styling her hair were missing.

“Is something missing?” she asked.

“No, Miss, nothing is missing,” the head maid replied. “These are exactly what His Highness instructed.”

Ning Yin’s intention?

Was this about the jade hairpin mentioned yesterday? Had she touched a nerve, resulting in this small “punishment”?

But he clearly wouldn’t allow her to go home and get it. Yu Lingxi didn’t quite understand.

The palace maids put down the items and left, their attitude respectful but not warm, presumably treating her as a favored maid serving with her beauty.

Yu Lingxi had no choice but to take an ivory chopstick from the table and simply make a low bun, paired with an apricot-red winter outfit, creating a delicate charm.

After eating, she tried to peek out from the bedchamber.

Green eaves held snow, cold mist swirled, and attendants stood bowing in the corridor, no one stopping her.

So she grew bolder, lifted her skirt to step out the door, and began wandering around the residence.

The snow was thick, everything in sight a vast expanse of white, but she could still make out some familiar outlines.

Yu Lingxi stopped an attendant passing by with an empty food box and asked, “Where is your master?”

The attendant stepped aside respectfully and said, “His Highness is handling affairs in the side hall.”

Yu Lingxi thanked him and headed toward the side hall, proceeding without hindrance.

Strange, this was her first visit to Ning Yin’s residence, yet why did she find every brick and tile so familiar?

When she reached the side hall, Yu Lingxi finally understood where this sense of familiarity came from.

This residence was the embryonic form of the Regent Prince’s residence from her previous life. Even the furnishings in the side hall were almost identical to those of the past.

Ning Yin wore a deep purple brocade robe, his black hair half-bound with a jade crown, leaning on a couch examining a memorial, his high-quality sleeves hanging down along the edge of the couch without a single wrinkle.

Glimpsing the beautiful woman peeking at the door, Ning Yin’s thin lips twitched as he called, “Come here.”

Yu Lingxi walked in confidently. As she moved, her skirt swayed, two strands of hair falling by her ears, adding a touch of gentle charm.

She had ingeniously used an ivory chopstick to tie her hair bun.

A small punishment had made her play creatively.

The beauty approached and, seeing no extra chairs, naturally sat on the other side of the armrest.

Before Ning Yin was a plate of golden, sweet chestnut powder cakes and a cup of bright, translucent hawthorn jam.

Her apricot eyes curved, as clean and bright as when she was at the Yu residence, and she took the initiative to ask, “Has Your Highness eaten yet?”

Ning Yin did not answer, withdrawing his fixed gaze and throwing the memorial into the charcoal basin.

Watching the flames rise and burn it to black ash, he casually pushed the chestnut powder cake on the table toward Yu Lingxi.

Yu Lingxi thought Ning Yin was giving her the cake. Although she had just had breakfast and wasn’t hungry, she politely took a piece, dipped it in the sweet and sour hawthorn jam, and gently took a bite.

Ning Yin glanced at her, his expression becoming subtle.

He raised his handsome eyelids and asked, “You were sent to this prince’s residence, but what exactly are you here for?”

Yu Lingxi was startled, then realized that she was a “gift” offered to please him.

She had been a young lady for too long and had almost forgotten what it was like to serve someone.

Yu Lingxi bloomed with an unsparing smile, without any awareness of being a “gift.”

Since she only had these few days of freedom left, she might as well enjoy the moment.

“Alright,” she put down the half-eaten pastry and picked up a new piece, offering it to Ning Yin’s mouth. “Your Highness, please.”

Ning Yin changed his posture and said critically, “It has no jam.”

Yu Lingxi had no choice but to carefully dip it in the jam. Just as she offered it, Ning Yin caught her wrist.

He didn’t use force; his warm palm pressed against her bruise, causing a slight tingle.

“That’s not how you dip it.”

Ning Yin laughed, using his other hand to scoop up a finger of hawthorn jam, slowly spreading it over Yu Lingxi’s soft lips.

Yu Lingxi’s lips were full and beautiful. Coated with the crimson jam, they looked as if glazed with a layer of lustrous lip rouge, making her skin appear snow-white, more enchanting and alluring.

When Ning Yin leaned in, Yu Lingxi momentarily forgot to breathe, her eyelashes trembling slightly.

He tilted his head, first brushing those two tempting, sweet lips with his own, then tracing them with the tip of his tongue, licking the hawthorn jam clean, bit by bit.

Ning Yin half-lowered his eyelashes, deliberately slowing his movements, delicate and lingering as if savoring more than just the jam.

“Your Highness, Deputy Xue, and Young Master Xue request an audience,” an attendant’s voice came from far away at the steps.

Yu Lingxi awoke from the dreamlike state and hurriedly tried to back away, but Ning Yin held her firmly, pulling her into his embrace.

Ning Yin opened his eyes, his gaze becoming profound.

In the pause between breaths, Yu Lingxi heard him say hoarsely and deeply, “Let them in.”

Let them in?

Yu Lingxi certainly didn’t want to see Xue Chen in this situation—more precisely, she didn’t want to face the marriage she had barely escaped temporarily.

The hall doors opened wide, and footsteps were already heard in the corridor, but Ning Yin showed no sign of stopping.

Unlike the gentle breeze earlier, this went beyond the scope of tasting hawthorn jam. His hot breath, like a vortex, pulled Yu Lingxi downward.

“Ning…”

Yu Lingxi placed her hand against Ning Yin’s solid chest, pushing slightly, but it didn’t move an inch.

What did Ning Yin want to do?

She widened her eyes, her heart suddenly racing wildly, her blood throbbing painfully.

The footsteps sounded as if they were treading on her heart, each step closer than the last.

But Ning Yin’s hand moved upward, forcefully holding the back of her head, as if devouring her soul completely.

He had gone mad and wanted to drive her mad with him.

Yu Lingxi tensed her body, feeling as if her entire being was about to catch fire.

Her heart pounded like a drum, unable to breathe.

The footsteps had reached the hall entrance. Her mind went blank, and she clutched Ning Yin’s collar with a muffled sound.

Ning Yin waved his hand, and the half-rolled gauze curtain before them fell, blocking the view from outside.

Almost simultaneously, Xue Song and Xue Chen stepped in.