After being reborn, the aloof prime minister was once again forced by a tyrant.

Xiao Jingyuan carried Pei Yuning out of Tingxue Pavilion.

He heard the hurried footsteps and hushed whispers of the palace servants behind him, but he ignored them.

He walked out of the courtyard gate, passed through the alley, and stopped at the corner.

"Gao An."

"Your servant is here."

Xiao Jingyuan handed the person in his arms over with a swift and decisive motion, as if he were finally letting go of something he could no longer bear. Gao An hurriedly caught her, almost losing his balance, as Pei Yuning's hair fell down and draped over Gao An's arm.

"Send Consort Ning back to Chang Le Palace and summon the imperial physician to treat her properly."

"Yes."

Xiao Jingyuan paused, his gaze sweeping over the group of palace servants behind him. His voice was not loud, but it was as cold as ice: "If even one word of what happened today gets out—I will take your lives."

Everyone knelt down in unison.

"Consort Ning's injury was caused by her accidentally bumping into a pillar while admiring the flowers in the Imperial Garden." He emphasized each word clearly. "Did you understand?"

"Your servant obeys the decree."

Gao An held Pei Yuning in his arms, glancing at Xiao Jingyuan with a hesitant air. The young emperor stood in the middle of the palace path in late spring, his black dragon robe stained with dust, the hem fluttering in the wind.

Five bright red finger marks were on his face, from when he was slapped in Tingxuexuan earlier, but he seemed oblivious to the pain, staring blankly into the distance, as if looking at nothing.

"Your Majesty..." Gao An called softly.

"Go."

Gao An dared not say another word, and quickly left with Pei Yuning in his arms. The palace servants also filed away, their footsteps gradually fading at the end of the long palace corridor.

Xiao Jingyuan stood alone in the same spot.

The wind blew in from the other end of the palace road, making the iron saddles on the eaves clang for a while. He suddenly felt very tired, not the kind of tiredness from editing composing folds all night, but a kind of weariness that seeped into his bones, heavy and sluggish, as if his whole body was soaked in water, and even lifting a finger felt like a struggle.

He walked back to his bedchamber.

The palace doors closed behind him, shutting out the late spring light and the cautious prying eyes of the palace servants. He didn't go to the imperial study, didn't review any memorials, and didn't summon any ministers. He simply walked to the bedside and lay down fully clothed.

The dragon bed was huge, big enough for four or five people to lie side by side. But when he lay in the very center, he felt pitifully small.

The curtains were dark, embroidered with five-clawed golden dragons. Light filtered in from outside, casting dim shadows on the top of the curtains. He stared at those shadows for a long time, his mind filled with everything and nothing at all.

He recalled the look in Xie Qinglan's eyes when she looked at him earlier.

Those usually cold eyes were burning with fire, making his heart ache.

That person had never looked at him like that before—not in his past life, nor in this one.

The person from his past life looked at him coldly, indifferently, without joy or sorrow, as if he were looking at an object that had nothing to do with him.

But today, those eyes held emotions. Anger, resentment, jealousy, hatred—so many things mixed together, so intense they seemed about to overflow.

That was the first time he had ever seen such intense emotions in Xie Qinglan's eyes.

But all those emotions were directed at him.

That person's anger was directed at him, their grievances were directed at him, their hatred was directed at him—even that slap was aimed at him.

Xiao Jingyuan closed his eyes and raised his hand to touch the five finger marks on his face. They stung and still hurt. Xie Qinglan had used all her strength in that palm strike, showing no mercy whatsoever.

He suddenly chuckled.

He felt like he was going crazy; he really wanted that person to slap him a few more times.

He closed his eyes and carefully recalled the scene just now. The man's voice when he questioned him was hoarse and broken, as if he had been holding back for too long and finally couldn't hold back anymore.

"Are you questioning me? You feel sorry for me after I hit your beloved concubine?"

These are not words Xie Qinglan would normally say.

Suddenly, a thought flashed through my mind—was Xie Qinglan jealous?

Xiao Jingyuan turned over and buried his face in the pillow. Trying to squeeze those delusional thoughts out of his mind, he lay quietly, his thoughts suddenly drifting away.

He recalled the day he first met Xie Qinglan in his previous life.

On that day, in the Golden Hall, the marriage procession came from the distant Mount Heng. The civil and military officials lined up on both sides, and he sat on the dragon throne, looking down at the envoys kneeling at his feet.

He listened listlessly to the official's greetings, thinking that he should leave the court early so he could go to the training ground to practice his swordsmanship.

"The Envoy of Nanyue, Prime Minister Xie Qinglan, accompanied by Princess Anping, comes to pay homage—"

Then the man walked in.

He had only glanced down casually.

But that one glance froze him on the dragon throne.

The man was dressed in a crimson official robe, his black hair tied up with a jade crown, his face like cold jade, his eyebrows like distant mountains covered in snow, and his eyes like a cold pool reflecting stars. Standing atop the golden hall, with a grand procession of envoys behind him and the solemnly lined-up officials of the Northern Shuo on both sides, the hall was filled with gold and jewels, yet it could not suppress the frost-like look between his brows and eyes.

He refused to kneel.

Everyone in the hall knelt down, including the envoys and Princess Anping, who was of noble birth.

He stood there, his back ramrod straight, like a drawn sword, cold, sharp, and unassailable.

He merely bowed slightly, performing a simple salute, his voice clear and melodious like the clinking of jade: "Xie Qinglan of Nanyue greets Your Majesty."

Xiao Jingyuan did not respond.

He opened his mouth, but found that he couldn't say anything, and the wine cup beside him was knocked over.

Something exploded in my chest—like an avalanche, like a mountain collapsing, like a thousand horses galloping past my ears.

His mind went blank; all thoughts of marriage alliances, princesses, diplomatic relations, and the court officials were thrown to the winds.

He only knows one thing.

He wants this person.

My heart aches from thinking about it.

I was so lost in thought that I forgot to breathe.

It was only when Gao An secretly tugged at his sleeve that he came back to his senses.

He coughed, said a few polite words, bestowed the title of Consort Ning upon Pei Yuning, held a banquet for her, and dispatched envoys.

But his gaze never left that person from beginning to end.

He did not go to Chang Le Palace that night.

He climbed over the wall into the Lanyue Pavilion where Xie Qinglan lived.

He remembered that the moonlight was very bright that night. When he pushed open the window, Xie Qinglan was sitting on the bed, as if he was about to go to bed. His gaze was warily fixed on the window. When he saw him clearly, Xie Qinglan's cold eyes widened slightly for a moment, and then returned to calm.

"What brings Your Majesty here so late at night?"

The voice was cold, and so was the gaze.

But he didn't care.

He walked over, approached the person, and smelled a faint scent of agarwood. The scent was so pleasant that he wanted to bury his nose in the person's neck and never look up.

"I want you."

He remembered saying it like this: blunt, domineering, and unquestionable.

Xie Qinglan's pupils suddenly contracted. He tried to get up and retreat, but Xie Qinglan had already moved in front of him and grabbed the man's wrist. He poured in his inner force, sealing the true energy flowing in the man's body, and pressed him down onto the bed.

There was no struggle—his internal energy was sealed, his meridians were restricted, he couldn't even struggle. But those eyes were alive; he saw those beautiful eyes wet, a touch of vibrant color appearing at the corners. He bit his lip until it bled, blood seeping out and staining his lips red, but he refused to make a sound, not even a muffled groan.

That was the greatest sin of his life.

In the days that followed, he often thought of that night. Every time Xie Qinglan gave him a cold look and wouldn't even give him a glance.

He will regret it.

If their beginnings weren't forced, if he pursued that person like a gentleman instead of pouncing and tearing at her like a wild beast—

Could there be other possibilities between them?

Will that person occasionally smile at him, or occasionally take the initiative to say a word to him?

he does not know.

Because he had never tried it before.

He never knew how to treat someone well.