The swordsmanship of Qing Xiao and his men was military in style.

The three thugs, hesitant to strike, exchanged glances and fled, leaping over the wall.

The wind died down, and bare branches reflected in the standing water.

Yu Lingxi held her breath as she approached, examining the motionless youth on the ground through the veil of her hat, feeling a mixture of emotions.

“Is he dead?”

Qing Xiao sheathed his sword and walked over to turn the black-clad youth lying in the bloody water.

Meeting the youth’s deep gaze, Qing Xiao suddenly released his hand, inexplicably alarmed.

This youth had the dangerous eyes of a wild beast.

But it was only for an instant; that bone-chilling sense of danger disappeared, and the youth before him seemed so weak he might die at any moment.

Qing Xiao concealed his momentary surprise and rose to report: “Young miss, he’s still alive.”

Yu Lingxi exhaled slightly, unclear whether from relief or something else.

The youth lay on his back, his head slightly turned toward Yu Lingxi, his chest stained dark with blood.

Yu Lingxi remembered her purpose and her hand gripping the horse whip twitched.

The madman who had once been so imperious in her previous life now lay before her like a defeated dog, half-dead.

If she struck now, he wouldn’t even have the strength to roll away and dodge…

Ning Yin’s eyes were like tranquil black pools, reflecting Yu Lingxi’s graceful figure, staring at her without blinking.

Yu Lingxi found his gaze hard to describe—inky and still, yet with undercurrents surging beneath.

Those eyes swirled like whirlpools, consuming her emotions.

Scenes from her previous life flashed by like lantern slides—moments of grievance, heartbreak, anger…

The wind passed silently, and her hand gripping the whip tightened, then finally dropped lifelessly.

Yu Lingxi suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion and pressed her lips together: “Qing Xiao, let’s go.”

Qing Xiao glanced at the youth lying on the ground, hesitating to speak.

In the end, he asked nothing, leading the other four guards to follow their mistress’s somewhat hurried steps.

Yu Lingxi didn’t look back, unaware that the youth lying on the ground was staring intently at her retreating figure, supporting himself to slowly stand up.

Swaying and leaning against the ward wall, he lowered his gaze and withdrew the sharp dagger he had unsheathed from his sleeve.

The cold crows perched on the withered tree seemed to sense the killing intent and flew away in alarm.

If that woman had shown even a hint of malice just now, his dagger would have pierced her delicate, beautiful neck.

But she hadn’t.

Strangely, in their two encounters, her eyes had held complex emotions—like fear, yet also like anger.

Though disliking him, she still saves him.

How interesting—that woman carried too many mysteries.

Thinking of this, Ning Yin calmly wiped the blood from the corner of his lips, and supporting himself against the mottled ward wall, followed the unassuming carriage step by step.

The carriage swayed, dispersing the thoughts filling Yu Lingxi’s mind.

She suspected she might be bewitched—having firmly resolved to beat him, she had instead accidentally saved him.

The first enthusiasm wanes with the second attempt; she embodied that “waning.”

As she sat listlessly thinking, Qing Xiao suddenly knocked on the carriage wall.

“Young miss, that youth has been following us.”

Yu Lingxi immediately rose and lifted the carriage curtain to look back. Indeed, she saw Ning Yin with one hand clutching his chest wound and the other supporting himself against the dilapidated ward wall, following the carriage with difficult steps.

Yu Lingxi couldn’t help but recall a small black dog she had casually fed in her childhood, which had followed her for half a street with such attachment, impossible to drive away.

They were about to enter the main street of the Immortal City of Desire, with its crowds of people. Following them like this wouldn’t look proper.

Qing Xiao spoke: “Young miss, should this servant…”

Instinct told Yu Lingxi she shouldn’t have any further entanglement with Ning Yin.

Steeling her heart, she interrupted Qing Xiao: “Make the horses run faster, let’s go.”

The horses neighed, and the buildings along the street rapidly receded.

Ning Yin’s figure gradually faded into the distance, becoming an increasingly smaller black dot.

Until his persistent silhouette completely disappeared, Yu Lingxi exhaled with a whoosh, feeling as if she had finally surfaced from the water to breathe.

She had set out with imposing force but returned weary and dejected.

Back in her room, Yu Lingxi said nothing, just tossed the small horsewhip onto the desk and fell face-down into her bedding, lying motionless.

Frustrated, deeply frustrated.

She refused to admit her soft-heartedness, thinking defeatedly: Truly, even being a villain requires talent.

…

Winter Solstice—snow had fallen all night, covering the entire capital city in a vast blanket of white.

The Ci’en Temple was known for its efficacious prayers during the mid-month. Madam Yu had planned to go there to fulfill her vow, but just before leaving, she suffered a headache and couldn’t brave the wind, causing her to frown with worry.

Earlier, she had made a wish at Ci’en Temple, begging Buddha to bless her husband and son, who were “unconscious from serious illness,” for a speedy recovery.

Now that her wish had been fulfilled, paying respects to Buddha could not be neglected.

“Daughter will go fulfill the vow for you,” suggested Yu Lingxi as she helped her mother take medicine.

She also wanted to worship Buddha, to ward off evil, disasters, and Ning Yin.

“That would work. Fruits and lamp oil have already been prepared. When your brother returns from his duties, let him escort you to Ci’en Temple.”

Madam Yu looked somewhat haggard, but her gaze remained gentle and bright as she cautioned her daughter, “On such a snowy day, take utmost care.”

Yu Lingxi smiled: “Daughter understands.”

By the hour of You, dusk was falling, and lanterns were being lit.

The winding lights of the capital reflected on the snow, creating an indescribable beauty.

The Yu family carriage entered the broad Yongle Street, passing by another luxurious, jewel-topped carriage.

The wind lifted the hanging flower curtain, and Yu Lingxi glimpsed the passing carriage, startling her: She had seen that carriage before, in front of the Beast Arena in the Immortal City of Desire.

“What’s wrong?” Yu Huanchen waved his hand in front of her.

Yu Lingxi came back to her senses, thinking it must be a coincidence, and shook her head: “Nothing.”

The luxurious carriage turned a corner, traversing another hundred paces along the alley of Yongning Ward before stopping in front of a secluded courtyard.

The carriage dipped as a corpulent man in brocade clothes emerged from inside—it was Prince Ning Changrui of Western Sichuan, who had appeared at the Beast Arena before.

Ning Changrui, long immersed in wine and women, with a fondness for killing, had bought this residence to house his fighting slaves and concubines, deliberately choosing a quiet location away from the bustle.

Reeking of alcohol, he descended using a kneeling servant as a footstool, holding ornamental walnuts in his hand.

No one had cleared the snow in the courtyard, and Ning Changrui nearly slipped. Just as he was about to rage, he heard pleasant zither music coming from the hall.

Among his concubines, only one could play such music—truly a woman whose very bones seemed soft and alluring.

Ning Changrui’s purple-hued face showed a lewd smile as he impatiently dismissed his attendants and pushed open the door with heavy breath, shouting: “Woman, flaunting yourself in my absence…”

With a squelch, his foot just crossing the threshold stepped into something wet and sticky.

His smile froze as he looked down, immediately horrified.

Blood! So much blood!

The bodies of his household servants lay scattered on the floor, and his beloved concubine sat amid the sea of blood and mountain of corpses, her small face deathly pale, her eyes terrified and tearful.

A sharp dagger was held at her throat.

A black-clad youth sat cross-legged in the master chair, one hand supporting his temple, the other holding the dagger, which he pushed slightly forward as he looked up and said: “Continue playing.”

With a whimper, the zither music resumed, halting and broken.

“Today is truly fine weather for listening to music.”

Ning Yin’s posture remained unchanged, displaying a ruthlessness and composure completely different from his time in the Beast Arena. He looked at the ashen-faced Prince of Western Sichuan and smiled, curving his lips: “Isn’t it, Second Cousin?”

Ning Changrui sobered instantly, grinding his teeth audibly.

“It’s you.” Ning Changrui glanced around, confirming the youth had invaded his residence alone, and the wariness in his eyes turned to contempt.

No matter how formidable, he was just an injured brat—how could he fight against more than ten of his fighting slaves trained through bloodshed?

“I had intended for you to die in the Beast Arena, but who knew you’d be so resilient, escaping time and again.”

Thinking of this, Ning Changrui played with his walnuts and sneered: “Even if you escaped, you dare come to this prince’s residence seeking death! Truly, heaven’s path you refuse to take, yet hell’s gate you insist on crashing through!”

With a wave of his hand, ten personal fighting slaves with swords and blades surrounded the youth.

The zither string snapped with a twang, abruptly ending the music.

A cold wind swept through as the courtyard gates suddenly closed, concealing the bloody scene.

Meanwhile, at Ci’en Temple.

High monks lit lamps and chanted sutras. Thousands of oil lamps burned brightly, as brilliant as a sea of stars, creating a liveliness unattainable during daylight.

Yu Huanchen, carrying fruits and lamp oil, helped his sister down from the carriage and teased her: “Quickly pray for a marriage, let the Bodhisattva bestow Sui Sui with a suitable husband.”

He paused, then leaned close to her ear: “Preferably, one surnamed Xue.”

He had expected his sister to blush crimson as usual, but Yu Lingxi merely glanced at him and snorted with a calm smile: “Better pray for a marriage for brother first, preferably a well-educated, gentle young lady.”

Struck at his weak point, Yu Huanchen fell silent.

At eighteen, he had once been commanded by his parents and arranged by matchmakers to become engaged.

The young lady came from a scholarly family, was the same age as Yu Lingxi, and was a quiet, beautiful girl.

Unfortunately, Yu Huanchen had always preferred bold, straightforward women of the jianghu world, disliking delicate, tearful young ladies from distinguished families, and was dissatisfied with this arrangement.

Yu Lingxi knew that in her previous life, her brother had used the northern expedition as an excuse to avoid marriage, but never returned. Later, she heard that the young lady, unwilling to break her promise and remarry, had cut off her hair in anger and become a nun…

Yu Lingxi knelt before the enormous Buddha statue with her hands clasped, praying devoutly.

In this life, she wished that all past regrets could be fulfilled.

…

The wind swept through the scattered snow, drifting down upon the secluded courtyard in Yongning Ward.

In just a moment, it covered the dark red mud before the steps.

A splash of blood appeared on the window paper, followed by the sound of a huge body heavily falling to the ground.

The fallen fighting slave had a dark complexion with a ferocious scar above his eyebrow—it was the leader who had attempted to assassinate him earlier in the “den.”

Ning Yin crouched down and retrieved a blood-stained secret letter from the fighting slave’s body.

Opening it for a look, a dark gleam flashed through his deep eyes: there was indeed a traitor in his midst, working in collusion with this stupid pig.

His five fingers clenched, turning the secret letter to powder that scattered from between his fingers.

Ning Yin kicked the corpse at his feet, tore an iron pendant from his neck, examined it against the light for a moment, then detached about ten similar iron pendants from his waist and combined them with the one he had just obtained.

At the threshold lay a corpulent man covered in fresh blood, his limbs twisted in a strange posture.

Two-quarters of an hour ago, he had been mocking Ning Yin for seeking death; two-quarters of an hour later, he lay in a pool of blood with his limbs broken, unable to call out or move.

All the skilled fighters in his mansion had been killed by this youth!

Fear and hatred intertwined in Ning Changrui’s eyes as he watched the black-clad youth carrying the blood-stained iron pendants walk elegantly to his front, then bend down.

“The thirteen people you sent to kill me are all here.”

Blood splashes near his eyebrows added a touch of color to Ning Yin’s pale face. His slender fingers loosened, letting the thirteen iron pendants clink as they fell before Ning Changrui. He smiled harmlessly: “Would you like to count them?”

Ning Changrui’s fat body began to tremble violently, spitting bloody foam from his mouth.

“You… were pretending? Why…”

Ning Yin casually wiped the blood from his hands and picked up the conversation: “Why do I have such good martial skills, yet was previously tormented so badly by you?”

As if recalling something pleasant, he smiled: “Without concealing my strength and using myself as bait, how could I catch all you big fish in one net? Fishing requires patience, you know.”

Ning Changrui’s eyes widened as everything made sense.

What had seemed like weak prey was the most deadly hunter.

“Not… not me…” Ning Changrui laboriously spat out a few broken words, anxious to explain.

“Of course, I know you’re not the mastermind. Someone as stupid as a pig and fond of fighting as you are is only fit to be used as a pawn by others.”

Ning Yin walked to the blood-stained ancient zither, his slender fingers brushing across the strings, casually playing a few notes: “But what does that matter? Tonight, I simply… wanted to kill you.”

Ning Changrui began to regret, trembling as he said with difficulty: “Since you know, then… then spare me, I can… pretend you were never here…”

“Very well, cousin, answer a question for me.”

Ning Yin played the zither strings intermittently and asked with a smile, “Who is that woman?”

Ning Changrui was stunned, mumbling through blood foam: “Which… woman?”

A trembling note as the hand on the string stopped.

“The black market—she had a prescription only I should know about. The den—she appeared too timely.”

He raised his eyes, “Don’t tell me it was just a coincidence.”

Unusual events must have supernatural causes; Ning Yin never believed in such coincidences.

Besides, everyone wanted him dead—who would save him without reason?

“I don’t know who… you’re talking about…”

Seeing Ning Yin’s cold eyes sweep over, Ning Changrui’s layers of fat trembled as he whimpered, “I’m not lying! I really… don’t know!”

Could her appearance truly have been accidental?

Impossible—he had never told anyone about the secret recipe for Nine Abyss Incense.

He drifted in thought for a moment.

Unexpectedly, the dark-skinned man who had “died” in the pile of corpses suddenly opened his eyes, leaped up, and struck at Ning Yin fiercely with his wolf-toothed iron hammer!

Ning Yin’s body sensed the killing intent first, instinctively raising his short blade to block.

With a clang, sparks flew.

Ning Yin heard the crisp sound of bones breaking in his right wrist, followed by intense chest pain, and his short blade flew from his hand.

He reacted quickly, spinning to dissipate the force, while simultaneously drawing the dagger in his left hand and slashing it across the dark-skinned man’s neck.

The man froze, a thin line of blood appearing on his throat. He fell to the ground with bulging eyes, utterly silent.

Purple-red viscous blood gushed from beneath the corpse, quickly spreading a dark stain across the floor tiles.

Ning Yin shook his right hand; his wrist had no strength at all, hanging limply.

He examined his red, swollen wrist with interest for a moment and concluded: “Tsk, dislocated.”

Then he gripped his wrist and twisted it, producing a soft “crack” as the dislocated wrist bone was reset.

Throughout, Ning Yin never blinked once, as if it were merely a piece of wood without feeling.

He bent down and picked up the dark-skinned man by the collar with his good left hand. Remarkably, he effortlessly dragged the two-hundred-pound body, then threw it with a thud before Ning Changrui.

Still not satisfied, he touched his chin, and adjusted the position further, making Ning Changrui face-to-face with the corpse whose eyes still stared in death.

Next, Ning Yin picked up the dropped short blade and placed the handle in Ning Changrui’s twisted, broken hand, making him grip it.

Ning Changrui’s murky eyes were filled with terror and bewilderment.

But he wasn’t bewildered for long; soon he understood Ning Yin’s intentions.

“The fighting slaves of the Western Sichuan Prince’s mansion rebelled, attempting to kill their master and escape. In a duel, the fighting slave and the Western Sichuan Prince perished together…”

Ning Yin leisurely picked up the candlestick from the table, squatted down, and smiled: “This is the ending I’ve chosen for you, cousin. Are you satisfied?”

The bright candlelight gilded his thin, handsome face, but Ning Changrui saw it as the face of a demon, desperately twisting his doughy, fat body.

But with his limbs broken, no amount of struggling could move him an inch.

He couldn’t even throw away the incriminating short blade in his hand.

Ning Yin admired his desperate expression, then amidst Ning Changrui’s terrified wails, slowly released the candlestick in his hand.

With a clang, the flames quickly climbed up the curtains, instantly engulfing the entire beam structure.

In the towering flames, heat waves rose, and Ning Yin’s smile was both handsome and twisted.

The great hall of the prince’s mansion caught fire, and Ning Changrui wailed miserably.

But what was the use? He could only watch helplessly as the flames licked his clothes, seared his flesh, and finally swallowed him whole.

The wind was strong today; by the time anyone discovered it, everything would have been burned to ashes.

Ning Yin walked out of the courtyard and stretched lazily. Looking up, he saw fine, white flakes drifting down.

It was snowing.

“Snow is good, it can bury all filth…”

Before he could finish speaking, Ning Yin suddenly covered his lips and spat out a mouthful of blood.

Viscous crimson flowed from between his pale fingers, dripping onto the snow, a color redder than the raging flames behind him.

The sneak attack earlier had caused severe internal injuries; he had already pushed himself to the limit.

His vision began to blur, the falling snow appearing double, but he paused only briefly before continuing, fresh blood seeping from his mouth and nose with every few steps.

He took a shortcut toward the Immortal City of Desire.

He could no longer stay in the Immortal City of Desire. To be safe, it must be burned completely, burned clean…

On Yongning Street, gongs sounded urgent as flames towered.

Soldiers galloped past, shouting to organize manpower for firefighting.

Yu Lingxi’s returning carriage was blocked on the main road, unable to move an inch.

“Where is such a large fire coming from?” Yu Huanchen jumped down from the carriage to ask.

Qing Xiao rushed out from the crowd, panting: “Young General, the Western Sichuan Prince’s courtyard caught fire. The flames are fierce, and the entire street is blocked.”

The wind was strong tonight; if the fire wasn’t controlled, it might burn down the entire Yongning Ward.

Yu Huanchen instinctively stepped forward, then paused, turning back to look at his sister in the carriage: “Sui Sui, you…”

Seeing her brother hesitate, Yu Lingxi knew he wouldn’t stand idly by.

So she lifted the veil of her hat and said with a helpless smile: “Brother, go help with the firefighting. I have guards to take care of me; I can return by myself.”

Only then did Yu Huanchen mount his horse with peace of mind, shouting: “Qing Xiao, take my token and mobilize the city patrol forces, focus all efforts on fighting the fire!”

With that, he cracked his whip and galloped toward the fire.

Yu Lingxi watched her brother’s gallant figure riding against the flow through the heavy snow, her heart-stirring slightly.

He was still as chivalrous and spirited as in her previous life.

“Young miss, we cannot go through Yongning Street now; we must detour through Shengping Street to return to the mansion,” the guard holding the restless horse reported from outside the carriage.

Shengping Street?

Isn’t that adjacent to the Immortal City of Desire?

Yu Lingxi controlled herself not to think of that pale, handsome face as she lowered the carriage curtain and said: “Then let’s go.”

Shengping Street.

Ning Yin stumbled, finally unable to withstand his injuries, and fell headlong into the snow by the roadside.

Perhaps because his body’s temperature was draining away, he no longer felt the cold, only a sense of contentment.

He lay on his back, watching the goose-feather-like snowflakes drift down—beautiful, desolate.

“Whoa—”

A passing carriage discovered him and pulled up sharply, the fine horse letting out a strained neigh.

Someone carrying a lantern stepped through the snow and called out hesitantly: “Who blocks the road ahead?”

On the swaying carriage lantern, the characters “Yu Mansion” could faintly be seen.