Fu Zhang was still sternly rebuking her: “Princess, apologize to my sister-in-law! Don’t destroy the last shred of goodwill I have toward you!”

Liang Youyi said nothing. She extended her hand, and Fang Ling, understanding her intent, immediately placed the horsewhip in her palm.

Just as Fu Zhang was in the middle of his tirade, Liang Youyi lashed out—striking him squarely with the whip.

Fang Ling drew the soft sword from her waist and pressed it against Yao Suyi’s neck. Terrified, Yao Suyi dropped to her knees. “Brother-in-law, save me!”

Fu Zhang shielded his face with his sleeve, both shocked and furious. “Liang Youyi, how dare you strike me?”

“So what if I did?”

“I am the Prime Minister of Great Chen, a court official! You can’t just hit or kill me as you please. The late emperor granted our marriage—you can’t break it off just because you feel like it!”

“This marriage must end!”

Seeing Liang Youyi raise the whip again, Fu Zhang quickly retreated, shielding Yao Suyi and Fu Sangyu as he climbed into the carriage. “Back to the manor!” he barked.

Watching him flee in panic, Liang Youyi clutched her chest with one hand, gripped the whip with the other, and staggered toward the ferry pavilion to fetch her horse.

“Princess, are you really going to break off the engagement?” Fang Ling’s voice trembled. “It won’t be easy. And after all these years, it’s such a loss.”

Liang Youyi pressed her hand to her heart. After a long pause, she rasped, “Even if it’s hard, I have to.”

Their engagement had been decreed by the late emperor, deeply entangled in political ties. Now that Fu Zhang was a high-ranking official, if he refused, the marriage would be nearly impossible to dissolve. But no matter how difficult—it was better than dying at their hands.

Liang Youyi gazed at the distant horizon where water met sky, her eyes cold and bleak. Just days ago, she had fallen ill with a severe chill and was bedridden for over half a month. In her fevered haze, she had a long, surreal dream.

In the dream, she knelt before her aunt, the Empress Dowager, begging to break off the engagement. But the Empress Dowager issued a decree: she and Fu Zhang were to marry immediately.

The Duke’s household obeyed—ten miles of bridal procession, vast lands as dowry.

After marriage, Liang Youyi bore a legitimate son—he inherited much of her beauty and was exceptionally intelligent, hailed as a prodigy. But after taking the imperial exam, her son died young.

Yao Suyi’s twins, Fu Xiu’en and Fu Sangyu, accused the Duke of Fu’s grandson, Li Zhonghuai, of pushing her son into the river to drown. Fu Zhang retaliated viciously. The Duke of Fu’s entire family, along with their in-laws, the Duke of Wen, perished in prison.

In the twelfth year of Ningde’s reign, the Empress Dowager returned power to Emperor Xiao Qiance. He accused the Duke of Ding of “meddling in politics and reckless ambition,” stripping him of title and rank.

Liang Youyi was implicated. Her title as princess was revoked, and she was confined to the Prime Minister’s residence, forbidden to leave without imperial decree.

In this brutal game of betrayal, Fu Zhang emerged unscathed—and was even granted the title of First-Class Marquis of Changxin.

Yao Suyi poisoned Liang Youyi’s food with a colorless, tasteless toxin. There was no cure. The victim would suffer for five days before dying.

Liang Youyi’s limbs weakened—she couldn’t even end her own life. Her chest and abdomen burned like searing iron, her mouth ulcerated, and blood poured from her eyes, ears, and nose. Her face and body were covered in grotesque web-like marks. She looked like a demon. Fu Zhang, repulsed and terrified, never came near her again.

Yao Suyi laughed maniacally, her gaze twisted. “Liang Youyi, I’ve waited fifteen years for this day.”

“So what if you’re the most beautiful woman? So what if your family holds power over the realm? You were nothing but a stepping stone for my Zhang Lang!”

“Zhang Lang married into both households. Chen’er and the other three are all our children.”

“He’s their father—no one can take that from me!”

“Good thing we got rid of your son. Otherwise, all the wealth and the marquis title would’ve gone to him!”

“Why should your child be smarter, more dazzling than mine? Why should he inherit everything?”

“It was Yu’er and En’er who held him down and drowned him, framing Gu Jinyan’s son… We eliminated your spawn and crippled your allies. You have nothing left!”

The poison gnawed at every inch of her flesh, every pore, every vein. The pain was unbearable—she wished she’d never been born. The hatred was overwhelming—she wanted to tear her enemies apart.

Liang Youyi had been trapped in that nightmare for half a month, burning with fever, crying out in pain, unable to escape. Even after the fever broke, she secluded herself for days, haunted by the dream’s vivid torment. It felt too real. The agony of the poison was etched into her blood. She trembled all over.

She began to suspect: “That wasn’t a dream. It was my past life.”

So, despite her recent illness, she was desperate to confirm the truth.

On the first day of the twelfth lunar month, Fu Zhang returned from Jiangnan. He had said Liang Youyi didn’t need to greet him. But early that morning, ignoring Fang Ling and Fang Zhi’s protests, she rode to the ferry. She needed to know—was it just a dream, or a glimpse of her past life? Or a prophetic vision?

Sure enough, she saw Fu Zhang and Yao Suyi clinging to each other. She saw Fu Zhang gift Fu Sangyu a seven-star gemstone necklace she wore daily. She heard Fu Sangyu call him “Father.”

Liang Youyi’s tears fell. There was still time, wasn’t there?

“Princess…” Fang Ling saw her crying and said fiercely, “Let me kill those two wretches!”

“No need.”

Fu Zhang was now Prime Minister. Killing him wouldn’t be easy. Besides, she hadn’t broken off the engagement yet—she couldn’t become a widow before marriage. There were still many things she didn’t understand. She needed clarity. She wiped away her tears, steadied her steps, and walked to the stables. Loosening the reins, she tapped her toe lightly. Like a streak of crimson mist, she mounted the horse in one fluid motion. Her movements were practiced, bold, and graceful—like wind and flowing clouds.

“Bravo!” someone shouted. “Such stunning horsemanship!”

Startled, Liang Youyi turned to see three men descending from the guest pavilion. The one in the center was young, noble in bearing, with striking bone structure. He wore a white brocade robe and a thick fox-fur cloak. His skin was pale, his eyes long and narrow with a cinnabar mole at the corner, lashes dark and feathery like a crow’s wings. He was ethereal yet wild, his sharp features adding a fierce edge. He looked dangerous and arrogant. To his left stood a guard holding an oil-paper umbrella and gripping a saber. To his right was a slightly chubby man in fine clothes, smiling obsequiously.

The shout had come from the chubby one.

Liang Youyi didn’t recognize the man in the center, though he seemed familiar. But she knew the chubby one—Gu Ruoxu, second son of Duke Wen, a notorious rascal in the capital.

If even Gu Ruoxu was being so deferential, then who was this man?