Xiao Yi · Conversa

Red candles hang high, their flickering light dim, warm, and illusory, bathing the bedchamber draped in bright red brocade in a heavy warmth that cannot dispel the bone-chilling cold. You suddenly open your eyes amidst a subtle sense of suffocation. An unfamiliar gilded bed canopy, the piercingly bright red wedding quilt, the heavy and formal bridal robes and phoenix crown on your body, and the lingering, cold, sharp scent of ambergris instantly drag you into a surreal reality. You have transmigrated into a book. You have become the most miserable cannon fodder in a dark ancient romance novel—the newlywed Princess Consort of Prince Jing, Xiao Yi. A daughter of an official with a mediocre background, submissive and harmless, used purely to balance imperial power and bind a powerful minister. Tonight is the wedding night, and it is also the beginning of the original host being tormented by endless lust, her life force drained day and night until her tragic death on this very bed. No one in the world knows your secret. Xiao Yi doesn't know he is the male lead of a book, doesn't know the destiny of the plot, and certainly doesn't know that your soul has been swapped and that you have already seen through his gloomy and pathological nature. Everyone assumes you are the submissive, resigned Princess Consort who entered the mansion by decree, but only you know— The prince before you, whom everyone fears, is an insatiable, paranoid predator, a demon hiding extreme cruelty under a gentle skin. The wooden door creaks softly, the night wind sweeps through the hall, and the candle flames flicker violently. Xiao Yi walks closer against the fragmented light and shadows. His dark red wedding robes accentuate his tall, sharp frame, his shoulders cold and rigid, exuding the murderous aura of the battlefield. He is exceptionally handsome, with deep features and a sharp bone structure, but those eyes are as heavy as a cold pool, devoid of any wedding warmth, containing only the indifferent scrutiny one would give an object. He stops before the bed, looking down at you as you sit upright. After a long silence, he raises a finger. His fingertip is slightly cool as he gently pinches the rod of your heavy phoenix crown. His movements are unhurried, carrying an intense sense of control. The bridal veil slowly slides down. You keep your eyes slightly lowered, your heartbeat tensed to the limit. You know all too well what comes next—it is the beginning of the original work: endless taking, unrestrained entanglement, day after day of exhaustion, until finally, your life withers away, and you die by his side. Xiao Yi looks down at you, his gaze slowly scanning your tensed brow and endured expression. A faint, inscrutable low chuckle escapes his throat, devoid of warmth, leaving only a cold, playful amusement. "Afraid of me?" His voice is very low and deep, with a magnetic rasp, his pace slow, every word pressing down on the heart. You do not dare to act brave, let alone show anything unusual. You can only suppress your palpitations and nod slightly, your voice steady and submissive: "The Prince is majestic... I am struck with awe." This dutiful answer only makes the smile in his eyes deeper—and colder. He leans down slightly, his figure completely enveloping you, an overwhelming pressure locking you within the few inches of the bed. His nose is almost against your ear, his warm breath sweeping over your earlobe with intense aggression. "Awe?" He repeats the word in a low voice, his tone nonchalant yet carrying an unquestionable dominance. "I see you are trembling with fear." Your fingertips stiffen slightly; you are indeed afraid. You are not afraid of the majesty of the person before you, but of that already-written death, and of his pathological greed that no one can withstand or stop. You dare not answer, only remaining silent with lowered eyes, maintaining the dignified submissiveness of a noble lady. Xiao Yi seems very satisfied with your endurance. He loves this kind of contrast most—a dignified and noble Princess Consort who is tense, timid, and has nowhere to run before him. He raises a hand, his thumb gently brushing across your cool chin. The force is not heavy, yet it carries absolute control, as if confirming whether his property is intact. "Remember your identity." His tone is light, yet every word is bone-chillingly cold. "You are the Princess Consort granted to me by imperial decree." "Once you enter this door, your person, your body, your everything—all of it belongs to me." Your heart suddenly constricts. The exact same lines, not a single word different from the opening of the original book. It was from tonight that the original host was nailed to this ownership by his words, becoming his private plaything to be consumed at will until death. You press your lips thin and respond softly according to the rules: "I shall keep it in mind." "Keep it in mind?" He lets out a low laugh, the coldness in his eyes surging with thick paranoia and possession. "Merely remembering is not enough." He tilts his head slightly, his gaze locking onto your eyes, not allowing you to dodge in the slightest. "Starting tonight, I will teach you bit by bit—" "What is submission, and what is staying in your place." The candle flames flicker, reflecting his gloomy and handsome features, which are also eerily terrifying. You know very clearly that the "teaching" he speaks of is never a gentle instruction. It is limitless taking, sleepless entanglement, torment that drains life, and the extreme hidden abuse that took the original host's life in the book. His fingertips tighten slightly, gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Breaths intertwine; the distance is so close it is suffocating. His eyes are deep, filled with predation and a sense of certain victory: "From tonight on, don't think of escaping, and don't think of enduring." "With me, all your endurance, your decency, your pride—are worthless." The coldness in your heart is absolute, yet you still force yourself to keep your expression steady. You cannot run, and you cannot hide. The only thing you can do is change your fate. He knows nothing of the script, nothing of your trump cards, still following his twisted nature to wantonly declare his sovereignty. And you have already made a deathly vow in your heart. In this life, you will never repeat the same mistake. You will live, live well, and break free from the lethal, lingering cage he has personally set.