This was Liang Shanyuan’s regret.

He was punished for killing the old monk. From then on, his movements were restricted and he had no way to vent his resentment.

What if Hua Zhuo was killed?

If he were to touch even a finger of this antidote without authorization, the cost would be even more unbearable for him.

Liang Shanyuan’s gaze was heavy and silent, his inner fury smoldering and rising, causing his eyes to turn a deep red; it was as if his snow-white skin had been brushed with a layer of rouge. Yet, he suddenly sensed something was wrong and turned his head to look back.

The dark shadows of trees loomed outside the black door and windows. Liang Shanyuan narrowed his eyes slightly, then gently stood up and opened the door.

The person outside the courtyard was clearly startled. When they saw that the one who opened the door was her, they were even more flustered, instinctively taking a step back.

Liang Shanyuan placed her fingertips on the door handle, and with a soft click, the door closed. She looked Liang Shanren up and down, and when she noticed the firewood cleaver half-hidden in his hand, a trace of mockery flickered in her heart—though her expression remained perfectly calm.

“Brother, why have you come here so late at night?”

At the sound of her soft voice calling him “brother,” Liang Shanren’s expression cracked. His eyes, filled with a mix of fear and cruelty, bore into her. “And why are you here?”

“I became acquainted with Miss Hua Zhuo a few days ago. Tonight, with her companions stationed at the front hall, they asked me to look after her before leaving,” Liang Shanyuan said, her gaze gliding past him gently, a tender smile on her lips. “So I stayed the night—to ensure Miss Hua Zhuo’s safety.”

As Liang Shanren listened to her calm words, a chilling unease crept through his heart. He no longer bothered to hide the cleaver, now holding it openly in his hand. Lifting his eyes to stare at her, he was met with her pitch-black pupils gazing steadily back—without the slightest trace of fear. Instead, there was an almost condescending anticipation in her expression, as if the long night had grown dull and she was curious to see what he might do next.

Liang Shanren’s gaze grew darker and more vicious; resentment deepened in his heart.

After the incident with Shanyuan years ago, although the Liang household outwardly claimed she had gone missing, everyone inside knew her fate was likely grim. Lady Li, plagued with worry, fell ill from the stress. Hoping for her daughter’s return, she began a life of devout prayer, abstaining from meat and visiting temples daily. She most often went to Qingfeng Temple in Ningzhou—a place known for granting prayers for children and academic success. It was there, during a harsh winter day, that Lady Li saw a girl sweeping the temple steps.

She appeared to be no more than sixteen, holding a broom in her hand. From a distance, her figure seemed solitary and lonely. When Madam Li got closer and took a look, she couldn’t help but shed tears.

What a coincidence! Not only did this girl seem to be about the same age as the missing daughter, but her appearance was almost identical as well! Although they shared the same facial features, where her daughter radiated a bright, graceful demeanor, this girl exuded a subtle, shadowy beauty. Even at such a young age, she had an irresistible charm that made one repeatedly turn their gaze toward her.

That very day, Madam Li went up the mountain to inquire about this girl’s background from the abbot of Qingfeng Temple.

Upon hearing that the girl had no parents and only occasionally came to the temple to do work in exchange for a meal, Madam Li felt even more sympathy for her, and her heart swelled with joy. She called the girl over to ask for her name.

The girl’s voice was soft, “Ah Shan.”

Madam Li was stunned. “You’re called Ah Shan?”

The girl nodded. “In this life, I only wish to be kind to others, to find joy in helping others, so I gave myself the name Ah Shan.”

Madam Li immediately burst into tears. “Good child, would you like a new name?”

“A new name. Let it be Shanyuan, let it be Liang Shanyuan. Good child, would you be willing to come with me to my home? To be my child?”

After that, the orphan girl Ah Shan was transformed and became the fifth young miss of the magistrate’s household in Liyang County.

Liang Shanren was wary.

However, from the first time he saw Shanyuan at home, he always felt as though a malevolent spirit had entered the household. Shanyuan now lived in the Qingzhu Pavilion, the same place where Liang Shanyuan had once lived. Ever since then, whenever she passed by, Liang Shanren would go out of his way to avoid her; just passing by Qingzhu Pavilion made him feel a chill in his heart.

But tonight was different. The little lady inside had ruined his good plans. Liang Shanren wouldn’t leave easily; Shanyuan was alone here—what was there to fear?

Thinking this, Liang Shanren sneered.

“I need to get rid of her. That little girl inside ruined our plans tonight, causing unnecessary infighting among the men of our household! What kind of abilities does a foreign girl like her have? Tonight, I need to teach her a lesson, and make sure she understands. From now on, she needs to realize that the Liang family is not someone she can provoke! Otherwise, our family will have no face left!”

“Oh.”

Liang Shanyuan smiled and nodded but didn’t back down. “Brother, are you sure?”

“What is there to be uncertain about? Are you trying to stop me?”

“Not at all. I just think that after you show her your strength, the Liang family might end up suffering because of you, Brother.”

Liang Shanren was confused, thinking she was just trying to be mysterious, but he couldn’t help asking, “What do you mean?”

“This girl is related to—”

Liang Shanyuan pointed up at the sky, and Liang Shanren was instantly filled with disbelief.

“So it involves something much bigger. The sage embraces all rivers. Although no decree has been issued forbidding the common folk from adopting noble surnames, this girl came from Chang’an, and from what I’ve observed during my stay here, everything about her—her clothes, her mannerisms—seems far from ordinary. Brother, this girl may not be a ghost master herself, but she’s probably a noble person escorted by a ghost master.”

She took a few steps to the side, leaving space for someone to enter the room. “That’s all I have to say. Please, Brother, go ahead.”

Liang Shanren was so frightened that his legs went weak. Slowly, he started to understand. He wanted to ask more, but feared disturbing the noble person inside in the middle of the night. Gripping the cleaver, he felt as if he were holding a burning-hot potato. In a panic, he waved his hand to leave, but was called back by Liang Shanyuan.

“Brother,” Liang Shanyuan beckoned to him. Under the moonlight, her face, like that of a jade Guanyin, carried a certain eerie chill.

“Come inside first. There’s something hanging by the bed, I need you to help take it down. If it falls and wakes the noble person in the middle of the night, the whole house may suffer. If you handle this well, I won’t mention tonight’s events tomorrow, and I’ll speak highly of you in front of the noble one.”

“Sixth brother is dead,” she half-lifted the curtain, revealing a dark corner inside, as black as her pupils, which were both deep and unfathomable. “The Liang family can only rely on you now, Brother.”

Liang Shanren didn’t understand why, though he’d heard those same words in the main hall no fewer than ten times earlier that night. Yet somehow, his mind was foggy and dazed. He put down the hatchet and followed her into the room.

*

At the break of dawn.

Inside the main hall, most had endured the night and were now drowsy and exhausted. Liang Nanyin packed up the medical kit, then looked down at Liang Shiqi, who laid lifeless on the ground. Holding back the lump rising in her throat, she gently covered his face with a white cloth. After carefully tidying his clothes, she finally lowered her head and whispered softly:

“Sixth Brother, I promise I won’t let you die with regret.”

After speaking those words, Liang Nanyin felt a gaze from the side. It was Yang Shi, sitting at the lower seat. As Liang Shiqi’s mother, she had cried all night, her tears flowing like a small river. By now, with the first light of dawn breaking, her tears had long since dried.

Liang Nanyin sighed and walked over to her. “Fourth Aunt, I’ve found out what I needed to. Please, go into the inner room and fetch Father.”

Yang Shi opened her mouth as if to speak but hesitated, saying nothing. She slowly shuffled toward the backyard.

Liang Changjun, clearly having had no rest all night, emerged from the inner room. His voice was weak, barely audible. “How is it?”

Liang Nanyin shared the findings with only Liang Changjun, then packed up the medical kit and stepped out the door under the pale sunlight.

“Eighth Miss, how is it?”

Xu Ruyi and Meng Qiuci had stood guard outside the courtyard all night, partly out of concern for a real ghost haunting, and partly out of fear that the Liang family might treat Liang Nanyin disrespectfully again.

Liang Nanyin felt a deep sense of gratitude in her heart. “I’ve figured it out. My Sixth Brother wasn’t harmed by a ghost. He suffered a severe blow to the head while alive, and his neck was strangled by someone. He was then dragged to the back forest lake, a place he frequented, to make it look like he was attacked by a ghost.”

“If that’s the case, then the murderer must be…” Meng Qiuci started, but trailed off.

A person so familiar with Liang Shiqi’s movements could only be someone close to him.

It was likely one of the people who had insisted last night that a ghost was claiming lives.

“Mm,” Liang Nanyin gave a bitter smile. “‘Life is full of hardships, and we must be wary of those closest to us.’ Miss Meng, that saying truly seems eerily accurate, it almost sends a chill down my spine.”

She didn’t say much more, and Xu Ruyi and Meng Qiuci were not particularly talkative either. Without Hua Zhuo around, they could easily go an entire day without casual conversation. Liang Nanyin looked at the sun, smiling slightly.

“Masters, if you’re free now, perhaps you’d like to accompany me outside the manor. While the food in Liyang County may not compare to Chang’an’s, it does have its own local specialties. I’d also like to ask you both about Miss Hua Zhuo’s preferences.”

“Hua Zhuo?” Xu Ruyi paused, then recalled. “Are you still thinking about what happened last night? As her older brother, I know her temperament. She may be proud and headstrong, but her heart is kind. Helping others is nothing more than a simple gesture for her. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Liang Nanyin shook her head. “If it weren’t for Miss Hua Zhuo last night, I would have been forced by my mother to kneel and bow until my head bled. It’s always been like that. Miss Hua Zhuo not only helped me, but she also helped my Sixth Brother. Without her, I wouldn’t have had the chance to help clear my Sixth Brother’s name. Please, Masters, allow me the chance to repay her.”

At this point, how could they refuse? The three of them walked out of the manor together under the dim morning light.

*

The sky was overcast, carrying a chill in the air.

The young girl lying under the bed canopy felt her fingertips tremble slightly. In a daze, she opened her eyes, but all she could see was the canopy above her bed. It felt as if she were being pinned down by a ghost, unable to lift her body.

So tired.

“Miss Hua Zhuo, are you awake?”

The voice was incredibly gentle.

Hua Zhuo’s body stiffened, instantly feeling as though cold water had been poured over her head, waking her up completely.

Outside the white gauze canopy stood a familiar figure. The serene, goddess-like face, obscured slightly by the misty fabric, appeared even more gentle, with a trace of Buddhist serenity in her presence.

It felt like the toll of a warning bell, and the nightmare that had tormented Hua Zhuo for an entire night surged at her like crashing waves.

In the dream, the Liang manor was engulfed in flames, with sparks swirling around, casting a red glow that lit up the dark sky.

Hua Zhuo fell to the ground, her head adorned with a crown of pearls and jade, her body draped in gold-threaded robes that reflected the red glow and the flickering stars. Tears streamed down her face as she shivered, staring at the enemy slowly walking toward her, step by step.

“Why is it you?! I want my brother! I want my brother to come in and save me!”

In her panic, Hua Zhuo had run back into the burning Liang manor, disregarding her own life, all just to make Xu Ruyi panic—to make him burn with worry. She had long had enough. Enough of Xu Ruyi’s eyes turning again and again to this woman standing before her!

“Get out! You lowly wretch who doesn’t deserve to be seen!” Hua Zhuo grabbed a golden hairpin from the ground and, with all her strength, hurled it at Liang Shanyuan.

And yet—Liang Shanyuan didn’t dodge, didn’t flinch.

The sharp golden hairpin sliced across her face—a face that, even amid the flames, radiated a chilling, pale beauty. The strike left a long gash… yet what spilled from it was pitch black, not a single drop of blood.

Hua Zhuo felt as if she had fallen into an ice-cold abyss.

What else could she not understand now?

“You’re a ghost—or a demon?” she shouted in fear and fury. “How dare you! How dare you toy with my brother like this, holding him in the palm of your hand!”

Gripping the fallen hairpin with both hands, hair disheveled and eyes blazing, Hua Zhuo glared at that Guanyin-like face—full of hatred, as if she could devour her flesh and strip her skin.

“I should’ve seen through your demonic nature long ago! You don’t eat a single bite of food! You avoid sunlight when walking! You can’t even tell hot from cold! And your eyes—your whole face—is steeped in that ghostly gloom! I was foolish, far too foolish to only realize now that something was wrong with you!”

Hua Zhuo’s hand reached into her collar, searching for the tongxin ling—the matched heart-bell she had smuggled out from the palace. Only two existed: one for her, and one for Xu Ruyi. The moment her bell rang, her brother would surely come running to save her.

Her fingers just closed around the bell—

When a soft, mocking laugh rang out.

The woman, dressed in white, stood there with the wound still marking her face. Her pale fingertips hooked out an object—and what else could it be but the tongxin ling?

“You—”

Hua Zhuo stared in disbelief, lowering her head instinctively. Her first thought: it had been swapped—someone must have switched her bell.

But the woman’s voice carried a cold mockery.

“I saw it a few days ago and thought it looked nice, so I asked Young Master Xu for it.”

Hua Zhuo’s breath caught.

She gently shook the tongxin ling, and Hua Zhuo turned pale as the one in her own hand echoed the soft, unmistakable chime.

“You’re lying! My brother would never give that to you! You—you’re a demon, you must’ve stolen it!”

Hua Zhuo was furious—furious to the point of trembling, her face streaked with tears. She simply couldn’t believe it.

“This is something I’ve kept close to me since childhood! I told my brother before—this is the most important thing to me! It’s my soul-bound token! How could he possibly give it to you!? You stole it! You stole it from him!”

“Mhm, I know how important this is to you,” Liang Shan Yuan said with a gentle smile, her hand never ceasing its soft, deliberate shaking of the tongxin ling.

“That’s why it took a bit of effort to get it. I said it was so beautiful, and I really wanted it. Young Master Xu hesitated, but after I asked a few more times, he still gave it to me. I heard you even gave it to him yourself—on the night of his birthday, no less. How sweet and pitiful you are, little sister Hua Zhuo.”

“That’s not possible…”

Hua Zhuo shook her head lightly, tears pouring down her face. The gentle chime of the tongxin ling in her hand only deepened her heartbreak. All her former sharpness, all the venom in her words—gone. All she could do was mutter the same line over and over:

“That’s not possible… that’s not possible…”

“My brother would never… give you the most important thing to me…”

Hua Zhuo broke into sobs, her voice trembling with grief. Her ink-dark hair had come completely undone, and the gold-threaded robes she wore were now stained with dirt and ash.

“He would never give it to you! Never!”

But the tongxin ling chimed again, and again.

By the time she snapped out of her daze, Liang Shanyuan was already standing in front of her. She smoothed out her white robe and crouched down slowly.

Those ghostly, chilling eyes stared at her without blinking. Hua Zhuo sat frozen, overcome by the eerie feeling that those eyes were about to pull her in—draw her soul into their depths.

“Miss Hua Zhuo, you’re actually of royal blood… aren’t you?”

“What?”

“You are a child of the royal family, right?”

Hua Zhuo wanted to speak more.

But when she opened her mouth, she only tasted a fishy-sweet taste.

Looking down, she saw that the pale hand was somehow so powerful that it actually dug through her chest, leaving a large pool of scarlet blood.

Hua Zhuo’s face was streaked with dried tears. As that hand withdrew from her chest, the last bit of strength left her. She collapsed to the ground, limp and bloodied.

“Why…? Do you… do you know who I am?” she asked with great effort, her voice broken and slow, her head spinning. “My imperial father… my mother the empress… they won’t forgive you…”

“My brother… my brother will…”

Her vision blurred as fresh tears welled up again. The tongxin ling, sensing its master’s soul slipping away, rolled from her hand into the mud, stopping just in front of her dimming eyes.

Only then did the tears pooled in her lashes finally fall—quiet, heavy, final.

“Brother… brother… brother…!”

“Zhuo’er… it hurts so much… Brother…”

“Does it hurt that badly?”

Outside the sea of flames, she had been searching—always searching—for Xu Ruyi’s voice.

But what she heard… was Tinglan’s voice.

And never—not once—did she hear Xu Ruyi’s.

She regretted it—more deeply than she had ever regretted anything in her life.

She should never have fought with the woman before her.

Because she had a heart.

And the one standing before her—was a heartless creature in human form.

How could a woman with feelings ever hope to win against one who had none?

She never should have fought.

She never should have let jealousy drive her mad.

Never should have slowed down deliberately when the Liang manor caught fire—

Staying behind in the flames, waiting for her brother to abandon Liang Shanyuan and come searching for her alone.

She shouldn’t have done any of it.

“It hurts that much? You’re crying so terribly—does it really hurt that much?”

“Little sister Hua Zhuo, you ruined my face.”

“Don’t you think… you ought to repay me with your skin?”

“I’m also rather curious what it feels like… to live as royalty.

Once I leave here, I’ll simply say you disappeared…”

Hua Zhuo heard no more after that.

Though her soul no longer held emotion, the remnants of her former self—the original body’s essence—still allowed her to feel the heavy, oppressive air of resentment and grief.

She floated in midair, dazed and half-conscious, trailing behind Xu Ruyi, Meng Qiuci, and Liang Shanyuan as they traveled to many places. She saw Liang Shanyuan, wearing her skin, step into the royal court.

It was then that Hua Zhuo could no longer bear to watch. The pain—deep, bone-cutting sorrow—was beyond what words could express. Her thoughts scattered in the void as she drifted aimlessly.

Then, with a shift in vision, she saw it—

a solitary grave, standing alone atop a quiet hill.

There were clearly words carved into the gravestone—but no matter how carefully Hua Zhuo looked, she couldn’t read them.

She should have recognized them.

But she didn’t.

No matter how she stared at those characters, they remained unreadable, as if the world had chosen to blur them just for her.

And yet… she felt certain.

This grave was important—intimately tied to her, in a way that made her soul ache.

Then she saw them—Xu Ruyi and Meng Qiuci, climbing the hill from below, arms full of bright yellow joss paper. Their faces had changed; they no longer bore the untroubled expressions of the past. Xu Ruyi’s coldness had turned sharp, almost reckless. Meng Qiuci’s gentleness now held a quiet, unwavering strength.

Both looked weary, years older than she remembered.

Meng Qiuci was dressed in garments of subtle nobility, yet it was Xu Ruyi’s attire that caught Hua Zhuo’s eye—

he was wearing the robes of a royal prince.

Had Brother… returned to the palace?

Hua Zhuo floated unsteadily in the air, her thoughts scattered.

“Qiuci, I know I should hate her,”

The yellow paper burned and scattered into the sky like glowing butterflies. Xu Ruyi looked up at the heavens and said quietly:

“She killed Hua Zhuo… killed countless others.

The world wronged her, and so she wronged the entire world in return.

She was wicked beyond words—when she tore out hearts, she never once thought twice.

She was obsessed with mending her own, but at what cost?

If she had died by our hands…

I wouldn’t still feel this tangled every year when the Mid-Autumn Festival comes.”

His voice was calm, but beneath the stillness, the bitterness and unresolved grief were unmistakable.

Meng Qiuci’s expression was clearly filled with complexity, and she gently patted Xu Ruyi on the back.

What did this mean?

Hua Zhuo floated aimlessly, still unable to make sense of it all.

Had Liang Shanyuan died?

Or was she still alive?

“She was willing to leave her physical form, to have her soul scattered, to disappear from this world.

For her, for you and me, for the world—it’s the best outcome, Senior Brother.

Don’t think about it anymore.”

Meng Qiuci’s voice held a quiet, finality to it. It was as if she too had long made peace with what had happened—what had to happen.

---

TN:

The OG Hua Zhuo was really pitiful, almost made me cry 🥲