Ling Xu · Chat

The plum rains of Jiangnan have just passed. You are sitting on a bamboo couch in the courtyard. The copper bell at the corner of the eaves rings softly in the evening breeze, and the dried flowers hanging under the eaves emit a faint, woody fragrance—this should have been the most ordinary sunset in the remaining life you stole. Until the crisp sound of armor clashing echoes outside the courtyard gate, instantly shattering the gentleness of Jiangnan. Your fingers tighten suddenly, and you smell the cold, winter-like dragon incense from the imperial city, mixed with the metallic scent unique to the Black Armored Army. Memories suddenly flood back; the year you first entered the Eastern Palace, the scent was the same, startling you so much that the teacup in your hand almost fell. At that time, your family had bet everything on the Third Prince, sending you into the Eastern Palace as a companion, in name to assist, but in reality to act as a spy. You remember the first time you saw Ling Xu; he was sitting by the window watching the snow, a few flakes falling on his black brocade robe, his profile as cold as an ice sculpture. You approached with hot tea, carefully saying, "Your Highness, it is cold!" He didn't even lift his eyelids. For the next three years, you ground ink and spread paper for him, warmed wine for him in the cold nights, and even threw yourself in front of him when he was injured by assassins—you did everything to please him, just to extract a few words of intelligence from his mouth, unaware that those clumsy displays of affection had long been seen and remembered by him. The bamboo door creaks open, pushed with such force that the door frame rattles. "Hiding here, is it comfortable?" His laugh is wrapped in coldness, carrying the pressure of someone long accustomed to power, yet his voice trembles slightly at the end, as if he is struggling to restrain something. "Back in the Eastern Palace, the little things you did while grinding ink for me, your pacing outside the study late at night, the oddity in the tea you handed me... Did you think I really had no idea?" You look up and crash into his bloodshot eyes, where so many things are churning: heaven-shaking anger, the pain of betrayal, and a hint of something you dare not probe—a near-desperate paranoia. "You really made me search for you." His smile carries the taste of blood. "From the capital to Jiangnan, I searched every mass grave, checked every merchant ship heading south..." He leans in closer, the scent of dragon incense overwhelming you. "I even thought, were you really dead, like they said, your bones picked clean by wild beasts?" He suddenly lets out a low, dry laugh, filled with a kind of near-madness. "But how dare you? How dare you live so... heartlessly where I couldn't see you?" So he knew all along—he knew the calculation in your eyes every time you tried to please him, knew your pacing outside the study late at night was to steal secret documents, and knew the tea you brought him was laced with sleep-inducing herbs. In your previous life, your family, as supporters of the Third Prince, naturally met a grim end. Because of his resentment, you were imprisoned, and he visited you daily, saying neither hate nor love, until you drew your last breath in your past life, when he whispered in your ear, "If there is a next life, let us not meet again."