The mad princess forces love upon him, and the aloof imperial advisor trembles every night.

Her voice trailed off, as if she were talking in her sleep: "Only here... do I feel like I can still breathe."

Si Chen stood silently for a long time before finally closing the door without a sound.

Outside the door, he looked down at the faint red lipstick mark on the back of his hand, his fingertips trembling slightly as if burned when he touched it. For the first time in over four hundred years, he felt—what heat was, what chaos was, what… inescapable calamity was.

-------

She didn't know how much time had passed. In her dream, Chu Qingyue returned to Beiming. It wasn't a battlefield, nor a palace, but a gloomy courtyard.

Three iron pots were set up in the courtyard, the firewood crackling and popping as it burned, the boiling water in the pots bubbling and steaming.

Several children were gathered around the pot, the oldest being only five or six years old and the youngest only two or three. They were all thin and bony, their eyes filled with fear, but they dared not cry out loud—because the children who cried would be thrown into the pot first.

A general from the Northern Underworld casually grabbed the three-year-old boy. The child was so frightened that he couldn't even cry out, only staring wide-eyed at Chu Qingyue, his lips trembling:

"Sister... save me... my mother said... you're a good person..."

The child's innocent voice pierced her eardrums like needles. The general grinned maliciously, lifted the child high, and then—throw him into the boiling pot.

"Ah—!" A piercing scream tore through the air, only to be swallowed up by the sound of boiling water.

The tiny body struggled in the boiling water, its skin instantly turning red, blistering, and peeling off to reveal bright red flesh.

Someone nearby, while munching on a boiled little hand, exclaimed in admiration, "These two lamb legs are definitely the most tender, especially for children. The meat is as smooth as tofu, it melts in your mouth."

Chu Qingyue wanted to rush over, to kill them, to save the child. But she couldn't move. Because on the other side, her mother—the palace maid who had been favored by the emperor for one night and then abandoned—was being held down by several black-clad men from the Blood Blade Sect.

They took a saw and began sawing at her limbs, stroke by stroke. "Cut them smaller, they're too big, the tiger can't eat them," one of them complained.

"That's the precious tiger that Her Majesty the Empress gave to the First Prince. If anything happens to it, even several of our lives wouldn't be enough to compensate for it."

The saw cut through flesh and bone, making a teeth-grinding scraping sound.

The mother didn't scream. She simply stared intently in Chu Qingyue's direction, her eyes wide open. Those once gentle and tender eyes were now filled only with endless resentment and bitterness.

Do not look down.

Chu Qingyue stood there, her blood frozen solid.

Amidst the lightning and thunder, she clearly saw two groups of people in the courtyard—one group boiling children, and the other dismembering mothers.

She herself was chained to a pillar and could only watch helplessly.

Heaven and earth are ruthless, treating all things like straw dogs. She heard something shatter within her heart. Then, a darker, more frenzied power surged forth from the cracks.

Kill them. Kill them, and you'll avenge the child and the mother. Kill them, and such tragedies will never happen again.

She moved. With a strength she didn't know she possessed, she broke free of her chains, grabbed a knife from somewhere, and charged into the crowd like a madwoman.

The sound of the blade slicing through flesh mingled with thunder, and blood splattered on her face and body, burning her skin but making her even more excited.

She killed one, two, three... she couldn't remember. All she saw was a sea of ​​blood, and all she heard were screams and thunder.

She felt a sharp pain in her leg. Looking down, she saw a little girl, about five years old, holding a dagger and plunging it deep into her thigh.

The girl looked up, her face streaked with tears and fear: "I'm sorry, sister... If I kill you, they'll let me go... I don't want to be boiled... I don't want to..."

Before she could finish speaking, Chu Qingyue was kicked away. Her back slammed heavily against the stone wall, the sound of bones cracking clearly audible. A Beiming general stepped on her chest, his boots stained with mud and blood.

"You're really beautiful." The man leaned down, his rough fingers pinching her chin. "If it weren't for the 'Red Beauty Ashes' on your body, we brothers would definitely have taken good care of you and let you be a woman before you die."

She turned her head with difficulty, looking towards the corner of the courtyard. The Imperial Advisor, dressed in purple robes and with white hair, stood there, silently watching everything. Lightning illuminated his indifferent face, his silver hair fluttering slightly in the wind, his purple robe spotless, completely out of place in this bloody hell.

"Grand Preceptor..." she stretched out her blood-stained hand, her voice hoarse like a broken bellows, "Please...save me...save my mother...please..."

Amidst the lightning and thunder, he spoke, his voice cold and otherworldly: "I cannot help you. This is your destiny; you can exchange it for ten years of peace for the Great Chu."

She froze, tears mingling with blood streaming down her face, yet she laughed, a maniacal laugh: "Ten years of peace... exchanged for the lives of my mother and these children? Such is the divination, such is destiny."

"The divination!" she roared. "Si Chen! All you care about is the Great Chu Empire and your own path! Don't you have a heart?!"

He paused for a moment, then said calmly, "I cultivate the Path of Ruthlessness, and thus have no emotions or desires. My duty is to protect the fate of the Great Chu Kingdom."

He had no heart. He had no emotions or desires. So her pain, her mother's tragic death, and the child's wailing were all just "fate" in his eyes.

Chu Qingyue laughed. A maniacal laugh, a laugh of despair. With her last strength, she scrambled to her feet and grabbed a rib from the ground—a stark white bone, the cut as sharp as a blade.

Then she lunged forward. As her ribs pierced the general's neck, blood gushed out, splattering her eyes and body. The world turned crimson. She could see nothing but the rumble of thunder and the approaching footsteps.

Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed the person by the neck.

"Qingyue".

"Chu Qingyue".

A familiar voice pierced through the blood-red mist. She opened her eyes abruptly. Cold sweat soaked her clothes, and her breathing was rapid like that of a drowning person. Before her were familiar plain-colored curtains, her old room in the Star-Picking Tower.

With one hand, she was tightly gripping Si Chen's neck.

So what just happened... was a dream, no, it wasn't a dream. Except for Si Chen's part, the rest were real memories.

Si Chen looked at her quietly, his light gray pupils reflecting her current appearance—bloodshot eyes, face covered in sweat, long hair disheveled and plastered to her cheeks, like a vengeful ghost that had just crawled out of hell.

He had already been choked red by her, but he didn't struggle; he just looked at her like that.

"What did you dream about?" he asked.

Chu Qingyue released her grip, but instead of backing away, she grabbed his collar and pulled him closer.

Their noses almost touched.

Si Chen could feel the heat of her breath and smell the cold sweat mixed with the stench of blood on her body—traces left by nightmares, yet so real they were chilling.

"Si Chen, listen to me."

Chu Qingyue spoke each word clearly, her voice hoarse as if scraping rust from iron:

"This empire, I'm determined to have it. And you, I'm determined to have you too. You can hide, you can escape, you can continue cultivating your damned ruthless path, you can stand on the clouds looking down on all living beings, you can coldly watch me struggle in this quagmire—"

"But one day—"

She leaned close to his ear, her breath hot as hellfire:

"I will pull you down from that altar, tear your purple robe to shreds, rip your silver hair apart, and let you taste what it means to be entangled in love and hate, what it means to desire but not obtain, what it means to experience... the deepest pain in the world."

I want you to look me in the eyes and say you love me. I want you to hold me and say you were wrong. I want you to—

She paused, her voice suddenly turning as cold as the deepest ice in the netherworld:

"Kneel down and beg me."