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

My name is Pei Yuning.

I was only fifteen when I died.

It's truly absurd to say, but in my entire life, I climbed from the damp corner of the cold palace to the high position of a noblewoman, wore the wedding robes of a princess sent to marry a foreign ruler, fell into the mire of a prisoner, and finally became a pile of cold corpses by the roadside—all within a mere ten years.

My mother was a lowly servant.

These words were spoken by the Seventh Prince.

Every time he kicked open the broken door of the Cold Palace, he would spit and curse.

I was only four years old when I was imprisoned in the cold palace, and my brother was five.

We were completely bewildered, not knowing why we were abandoned in this dilapidated courtyard, why our father and mother never came to see us again, or why our seventh brother always beat us.

Later, I pieced together the whole truth from the bits and pieces of his words as he hit and cursed me.

My mother's surname was Liu. She was originally a laundry maid in the Empress's palace. I don't know what means she used to climb into the Emperor's bed. The Empress treated her well, but she repaid kindness with enmity. To pave the way for my brother, she put deadly poison into the Seventh Prince's tonic.

However, the Empress felt sorry for her son and, fearing the medicine would be too bitter, tasted a sip for him first.

The empress died just like that, bleeding from all seven orifices, right in front of the seventh prince.

He said that the lowly maid was tied to the execution ground and subjected to a thousand cuts for a day and a night, with blood flowing all over the ground. In the end, she was reduced to a skeleton, which the palace servants wrapped in a straw mat and threw into a mass grave, where even wild dogs refused to eat her.

He described the horrific scene with a wicked sense of humor, laughing as he spoke, kicking me in the back repeatedly, making me curl up in pain.

The wind in the cold palace was always icy, especially in winter. The window paper was so tattered it was like a sieve, and snowflakes poured into the room through the holes, landing on the thin quilt and melting into a damp, cold blanket.

I huddled in the corner, pulling on all the clothes I could find, but I was still shivering from the cold. My brother pulled me into his arms; his bones pressed against my face, but that meager warmth was the only warmth I could grasp.

Hunger was a daily occurrence. The imperial kitchen staff had long forgotten that there were still two imperial heirs in the cold palace. Every three to five days, they would send over some leftovers, which were so bad they would rot and stink, but they had to swallow them—otherwise, they would starve to death.

The seventh prince would come to vent his anger every few days. Sometimes he would barge in in the middle of the night and kick us awake from our straw mats, saying that he had dreamt of his mother bleeding from all seven orifices.

I don't know when this will end. I feel like every day is an eternity. My body aches, but my stomach aches even more.

Perhaps heaven heard my prayers hidden in the wind and snow.

When I was five years old, in the dead of winter, the broken door of the Cold Palace was gently pushed open.

Against the light, I couldn't see the person's face clearly, only a moon-white brocade robe, the hem of which swayed gently in the wind, like an immortal descending through the snow in the stories my mother used to read.

As the person drew closer, I could see clearly that his face was extremely handsome, with calm and serene features, like a figure who had stepped out of a painting.

He looked at me for a moment, then bent down, picked me up, and wrapped my cold body in his robe.

"Don't be afraid," he said.

His voice was very pleasant, clear and gentle, like a mountain stream flowing through the water, yet it inexplicably calmed people down.

That's Xie Qinglan.

He brought my brother and me out of the cold palace and settled us in Huayang Palace. He assigned eight palace maids to serve us, and new clothes, silver charcoal, and exquisite pastries were delivered in a continuous stream.

I lay on the soft satin-covered bed, taking a bite of osmanthus cake. As the sweetness spread across my tongue, I almost shed tears.

Later I learned that he was the emperor's most trusted minister and the youngest powerful minister in Nanyue.

In just three months, he swept away the power of the princes and helped his elder brother ascend the throne.

I was given the title of Princess Anping, and the name "Anping" was personally chosen by him.

He said, "May I have a peaceful and prosperous life."

Although he hired a tutor for us, he always made time to personally come to the palace to teach us.

At that time, my brother and I were still young, and we were filled with admiration—how could there be such an amazing person in the world?

He was proficient in all the arts, including music, chess, calligraphy, and painting; he was skilled in both literature and military strategy. What would require three or five tutors to teach others, he could teach all by himself, surpassing the knowledge of an entire court of scholars.

I couldn't write well; my wrist always trembled. He didn't get annoyed; he just gently supported my hand from behind, guiding me stroke by stroke. His palm was warm and cool, with thin calluses on his fingertips. When he brushed against the back of my hand, it tickled slightly.

"Ning'er," he called to me, his breath brushing against my ear, "you need to calm your mind when writing."

I tilted my head and said in a coquettish tone that it was already very quiet. He slightly curved the corners of his lips into a smile, a smile as faint as a layer of mist, which would dissipate if you weren't careful, but every time I saw it, it made me happy all day.

On my first birthday as far back as I can remember, he gave me a red-gold begonia hairpin and personally placed it in my hair. The palace servants all smiled and said, "Lord Xie treats the princess so well, like a brother and a father." Touching the hairpin at my temple, I felt a sweet warmth in my heart, as if I had a piece of honey in my mouth.

I thought life would continue like this, but things didn't go as planned.

As I grew older, more people came and went in the palace. Occasionally, my uncles and cousins ​​from the imperial clan would come to visit me, bringing some fashionable jewelry and fabrics. After sitting down and exchanging only a few words, they would lean in and whisper in my ear.

They say Xie Qinglan wields immense power and influence, and his achievements are so great that they threaten the emperor's authority; sooner or later, he will seize the Pei family's throne.

Every time, I would blush and argue back, saying that Brother Qinglan wasn't that kind of person. They would shake their heads and sigh, looking at me as if I were an ignorant fool, with a hint of pity, as if they were saying that I was deceiving myself.

At that time, I didn't understand the fickle nature of human hearts. I was convinced that he was the best person in the world. I never expected that I would hate him to the core later.

When I was thirteen, I first experienced the stirrings of a young girl's heart.

That man was Shen Yizhi, the eldest son of the Marquis of Anyang. He was handsome and spoke with elegance, and often accompanied his father to banquets in the palace.

Every time he came, he would bring me little trinkets—glass beads from the Western Regions, silk flowers from Jiangnan, and rose cakes newly made in the capital.

He laughed and said, "The princess is so beautiful, she will definitely look even more beautiful wearing these."

I carefully stored those things at the bottom of my vanity case, and would take them out to caress them whenever I had free time.

He always kept me company, talking about the wind and sand of the frontier, the misty rain of Jiangnan, and places I had never been to.

I listened intently, thinking he knew everything and could do everything, just like Brother Qinglan.

I thought he liked me.

I always thought that if I waited two more years, he would definitely come to ask my elder brother for my hand in marriage and marry me.

I have dreamt of that scene countless times—he rides a tall horse, adorned in red and colorful decorations, to greet me, and I wear a bright red wedding dress, a phoenix coronet and embroidered robe, becoming his lawfully wedded wife.

But dreams shatter faster than crabapple blossoms falling.

That day, he asked me to meet him under the crabapple tree in the Imperial Garden, and he specially chose the place where the flowers were in full bloom.

He stood in the shadows of the flowers, dressed in a long blue brocade robe, his hair neatly combed, clutching a brocade box in his hand, his ear tips flushed red.

My heart was pounding, and my fingers were trembling as I gripped the handkerchief, thinking he was finally going to say those words.

He did speak, his face flushed, stammering, "Princess, I have a request to make. I wonder if Your Highness would grant it?"

I lowered my head and wrung out my handkerchief, my voice barely audible: "Go ahead and say it."

He handed me the brocade box, and when I opened it, I saw that it contained no token of love, but rather a piece of fine Chengxintang paper and a sandalwood wolf-hair brush.

"I have long admired Prime Minister Xie," he said, his eyes shining with remarkable anticipation. "I have heard that the princess is close to Prime Minister Xie. I wonder if you could ask me for a letter written by Prime Minister Xie? I wish to copy it every day and admire Prime Minister Xie's character."

The crabapple petals were blown away by the wind, drifting onto the brocade box and landing on the back of my hand, feeling icy cold.

I stared at that piece of paper for a long time, and suddenly found it ridiculous.

It turns out he never liked me.

All those glass beads, silk flowers, and sweet cakes; all those gentle words; all those moments spent together—it was all a lie. He approached me and was kind to me only because I was the closest person to Xie Qinglan.

I am just a ladder, a springboard, a stepping stone that can help him reach the bright moon in the sky.

I held back my tears and smiled as I said, "Okay, I'll get it for you."

He thanked him repeatedly, left happily, his steps light and quick, without even turning his head back.

I stood under the crabapple tree, crushing the crabapple blossom he had just picked for me, bit by bit, in my hand. The sap from the petals stained my fingernails, sticky and like blood.

When I returned to the palace, I turned my dressing case upside down and dumped everything on the floor—the glass beads were scattered all over the place, the silk flowers were torn to shreds, and the pastries had long since gone moldy, emitting a sour and rotten smell.

I squatted on the ground, buried my face in my knees, and cried for a long time.

Later, I still managed to get a handwritten letter for him.

Brother Qinglan was busy reviewing memorials and didn't even look up. After I finished speaking, he casually picked up his pen and wrote a few words. His strokes were sharp and his style was dignified.

I gave it to Shen Yizhi, and he held the page as if it were a treasure, his eyes shining brightly. He looked at it over and over again, and he was so distracted that he didn't even seem to care about thanking me.

From then on, he came even more frequently, each time subtly inquiring about Qinglan-gege's affairs—what does Xie Xiang like to eat? Where does he usually go after court? What books is he reading lately?

I answered him with a smile, but my heart grew colder and colder until it froze.

Once, he spoke of Xie Qinglan's swordplay debate by the Li River when he was nineteen, his eyebrows dancing with admiration. Looking at the light in his eyes, I suddenly felt it was noisy.

It's so noisy it's annoying.

I wish he would keep quiet forever.

The opportunity came sooner than I expected.

That autumn, the royal family went hunting. Shen Yizhi went too. His riding skills were mediocre to begin with, but he insisted on choosing a spirited horse—probably wanting to show off in front of his brother Qinglan.

When no one was looking, I tampered with the girth of his saddle.

It was only cut in half, and it looked perfectly intact, but once the horse galloped at full speed, it would break in two.

No one will notice. Even if they do, they'll just assume it's due to the leather aging, an accident.

After the hunt began, I stood on the high slope and watched from afar as he rode his horse into the hunting grounds, as the spirited horse ran faster and faster, and as the girth snapped with a "bang".

He was thrown off the horse like a tattered sack, the horse's hooves slamming heavily on his chest.

With a muffled thud, he died on the spot.

When the news reached me, I covered my face and cried, my shoulders shaking with uncontrollable sobs. Everyone assumed I was grieving for my playmate's tragic death and came to comfort me.

Nobody knows I'm laughing.

I was thirteen years old that year, and that was the first time I killed someone.

I felt no remorse whatsoever; instead, a strange sense of pleasure arose within me. It turns out that destroying someone is so easy—just a flick of the finger, and they're silenced forever, vanished completely.

From then on, the tension in my heart completely eased.

I hate Shen Yizhi, but the person I can't get past is Xie Qinglan.

Do I hate him? It doesn't seem so. After all, he was the one who rescued me from the cold palace, the one who taught me to read and write, and the one who gave me the most warmth in this world. I can't bear to hate him.

But similar things happened one after another.

There are always people who, under the guise of befriending me, subtly try to find out my preferences, whereabouts, and political views.

Some people give me valuable jewelry just to ask, "How is Prime Minister Xie doing these days?" Others ask me to pass on a message, saying they are willing to become his disciple and go through fire and water for him.

I became the most convenient ladder for him.

Whenever someone mentions me, their first thought is always, "The princess whom Prime Minister Xie doted on the most." My identity, my glory, everything I possess seems to belong not to me, but rather to me because of Xie Qinglan's influence.

I am a princess, born of noble birth. What makes me inferior to others? Why does everyone only have eyes for Xie Qinglan? Why can't I even get a sincere affection from someone?

I started paying attention to his every move, trying to find even the slightest flaw in him.

But he was too perfect.

He was upright and honest, abstinent from women, did not form cliques, and did not engage in private activities. He only accepted calligraphy, paintings, and books as gifts. Standing there, he was like the moon hanging in the sky, its clear light shining brightly, untouched by dust.

Such a person is impossible to approach, and also drives people to the brink of madness with envy.

Later, I overheard palace servants gossiping, saying that someone had slandered Xie Qinglan to my elder brother, saying that Xie Qinglan's achievements were so great that they would eventually overthrow him.

I began to pay attention to the political climate in the court, only to discover that he was not the only one who harbored resentment towards him—corrupt officials he had impeached, powerful families whose paths he had blocked, and mediocre ministers who coveted his power… They were all waiting, waiting for an opportunity to bring him down.

I was actually secretly looking forward to it.

I can't explain why. Perhaps it was Shen Yizhi's death that gave me a taste of control, or perhaps the seeds of jealousy had long been sprouting in my heart, growing day and night until they were deeply entrenched.

Maybe I just want to see if this perfect person will one day fall from the clouds.

It was smashed to pieces.

I began to secretly observe the interactions between my elder brother and Qinglan. The way my elder brother looked at him had changed. It was no longer the dependence and admiration of his youth, but a complex, repressed look, filled with fear, resentment, and a deep, unfathomable shadow.

Everyone is holding back, waiting for an opportunity.

at last.

When I was fifteen, my elder brother spoke with me.

He said, "Ning'er, your brother is going to marry you off to Beishuo as a political alliance."

He said that Xie Qinglan's achievements were too great and threatened the emperor's position, so he couldn't be allowed to live. However, Xie Qinglan's influence in Nanyue was too deep, and it was impossible to touch him. Only by having him send you away for a political marriage and leave Nanyue could we have a chance to make our move.

He said that once he died, his brother would no longer be subject to others.

When he spoke, his eyes shone with a frightening light. Not hatred, but fear.

It turns out that his elder brother's dissatisfaction with him was no longer due to dissatisfaction, but rather fear.

He was terrified to the core, so much so that he could only sleep peacefully when the other man died.

I remained silent for a long time.

A marriage alliance meant leaving one's homeland, marrying a complete stranger, and being alone from then on, with one's life and death left to fate.

But my brother's words kept echoing in my mind.

It would be better if he were dead.

He's dead, so I no longer have to live in his shadow.

I nodded and said, "Okay."

My agreement to go for the marriage alliance was not out of any brotherly or sisterly affection.

I want to leave, to leave Nanyue, to leave this land forever shrouded in Xie Qinglan's brilliance. I want to go to a place where no one knows him, and live again.

Perhaps in Beishuo, no one knows who Xie Qinglan is.

Only after leaving Nanyue will I no longer be "the princess most beloved by Prime Minister Xie," but simply Pei Yuning.