Chapter One: The Nightmare Begins

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The first year of the Jing'an Era, the Winter Solstice.

It was the bitterest part of winter, with snow swirling thickly through the air. The Kingdom of Yan lay buried beneath a vast expanse of white.

In the empty courtyard behind Zhaojue Temple in the capital, Luo Yunqiao fainted once more after three consecutive months of kneeling and reciting sutras, her strength finally giving out.

When she awoke, she was already on the road back to the Jing'an Marquis Residence.

The carriage creaked over the muddy road. Amid the jolting, Luo Yunqiao slowly opened her eyes.

“Miss, you’re awake.”

The voice was filled with both surprise and delight. It was Yinxin, the young maid who had served her ever since she entered the marquis’s household.

“How… are you… here?”

After three months of intermittent high fevers, Luo Yunqiao’s throat was so swollen and hoarse that speaking was terribly difficult.

Fortunately, Yinxin had served her for more than two years. She quickly understood and replied, “Miss, Old Madam has returned to the residence. When she learned that your period of punishment was over, she ordered them to bring you home. You won’t have to suffer anymore.”

Yinxin’s voice choked with emotion, and her words easily dragged Luo Yunqiao’s memories back three years.

Three years earlier, people from the Jing’an Marquis Residence had appeared in Luo Village. They had told Luo Yunqiao that she was not a peasant girl at all, but the eldest daughter of the Jing’an Marquis Residence, and that they had come especially to take her home.

Everyone in Luo Village had said that Luo Yunqiao had gone from a peasant girl to the legitimate daughter of a marquis by sheer luck. She was going to the residence to enjoy a life of comfort.

They had never imagined that it would be the beginning of her nightmare.

The marquis’s household was immensely wealthy. Everyone there wore fine clothes, ate delicacies, and lived in comfort and luxury.

When Luo Yunqiao first arrived, she was like an ugly duckling dropped into a flock of swans, utterly out of place.

Her younger brother, Luo Zefeng, and the false heiress, Luo Yunzhen, were extremely close. They detested Luo Yunqiao, who had returned home as a threat to Yunzhen, and never once showed her a kindly expression.

Her father, Luo Chao, and her mother, Madam Luo, professed concern for her, but had never truly drawn close to her.

Only her eldest brother, Luo Zeting, treated her with even the slightest degree of kindness.

For that, she had been deeply grateful. Whatever Luo Zeting asked her to do, she obediently complied.

She had once believed that so long as she was docile and sensible, and worked hard to learn the etiquette of a prestigious household, they would come to regard her more favorably and genuinely accept her as family.

She had believed that all along, until that day…

The Third Prince had come to the marquis’s residence to discuss official matters. A maid serving Luo Yunzhen had struck Luo Yunqiao unconscious. When she awoke, she was lying beside the Third Prince’s bed, her clothes in disarray.

The maid denied having knocked her out, and everyone declared that Luo Yunqiao had become infatuated with the Third Prince. Resentful that the marquis’s household would rather marry Luo Yunzhen to him than choose her, she had deliberately sought an improper connection.

She denied it and tried to explain, but no one in the entire household believed her—not even Luo Zeting.

From that moment onward, her heart died.

Now, to Luo Yunqiao, the Jing'an Marquis Residence was no different from hell.

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Yet they wanted her to return. What did they want her for this time?

Luo Yunqiao stared blankly at the carriage roof overhead, her eyes vacant and lifeless, as though she were already a corpse. Yinxin’s heart ached at the sight.

“Miss, I know you’re suffering, but please don’t be like this…”

“Miss Yinxin, is the young lady awake?” the coachman called from outside.

“She is,” Yinxin answered.

The next moment, the carriage stopped, and Luo Zefeng lifted the curtain to look inside.

In the cramped, dim carriage, Luo Yunqiao sat weakly against Yinxin’s embrace, dressed in coarse hemp garments.

Her chin was sharply pointed, her small face flushed, and her forehead covered in a fine sheen of cold sweat—the lingering traces of a high fever.

For some reason, Luo Zefeng, who had promised Luo Yunzhen before setting out that he would never be moved by Luo Yunqiao and would not give her a kindly look, suddenly felt a pang of discomfort.

His chest felt heavy, as though someone had stuffed a wad of cotton inside it, making even breathing difficult.

“Luo Yunqiao is our own sister. I’m not asking you to treat her as well as you treat Yunzhen, but you could at least show her a little concern.”

His elder brother Luo Zeting’s words rang in his ears once more. The heart he had thought would never soften suddenly yielded, if only for a moment.

“You’re awake?”

“Are you still feeling unwell?”

“There’s a relay station ahead. Do you want to stop and rest for a while?”

Earlier, when Luo Yunqiao’s fever had reached the point of threatening her life, Luo Zefeng had arrived just after the monks of Zhaojue Temple managed to save her.

Old Madam Luo had returned to the residence the previous day and had deliberately sent him to fetch Luo Yunqiao today. She wanted to see this granddaughter who had been separated from the family and whom she had never met, so he had to bring her home before nightfall.

Thus, despite the fact that her fever had only just broken, he had taken her directly onto the road. Only after his heart softened did he realize how inappropriate it was to force her onward in such a weak condition.

Unfortunately, Luo Yunqiao’s heart was already dead.

Neither he nor anyone else in the marquis’s household could stir the slightest ripple in her emotions anymore.

“I’m fine. I haven’t died, so there’s no need to rest.”

Her voice was cold and distant, utterly detached. An aura of rejection seemed to surge toward him, keeping everyone at arm’s length.

Luo Zefeng was displeased. “I’m showing you concern out of goodwill. What are you being so sarcastic for?”

“Then how would you like me to respond?” Luo Yunqiao asked.

Her indifferent, expressionless eyes gazed at him from afar.

When she had first entered the marquis’s household, she had yearned for familial affection and feared being mocked for her ignorance. She had spoken carefully to everyone, always cautious, always humble.

But her attempts to please them had won her no kindness.

Her own kin, who shared her blood, kept her at a distance. The servants fawned on those of high status and trampled those beneath them. They showed her respect to her face while mocking her behind her back, and tried to deceive her with shoddy goods…

There had been countless such incidents.

Since pleasing them was useless, why should she continue trying to please them?

“You… Do as you please. Say whatever you want.”

Luo Zefeng had a bad temper and disliked Luo Yunqiao. His momentary softness vanished at once when it was not received, and he immediately grew cold again.

“After all, I’m not the one suffering. Go on, drive faster. Hurry back to the marquis’s residence, or I’ll skin you alive.”

With that, Luo Zefeng spurred his horse forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.

The coachman dared not delay and immediately cracked the whip to follow.

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“Miss, it’s rare for the Second Young Master to show you even a little kindness. Why did you have to speak to him that way?” Yinxin said anxiously.

“If I didn’t, would he treat me well?”

The memory of being punished to kneel and recite sutras in the snow at Zhaojue Temple was still vivid before Luo Yunqiao’s eyes. Yinxin had no answer to that question—and Luo Yunqiao had never expected one.

The snowy road was slippery. Even moving slowly made the carriage jolt violently, let alone traveling at speed.

Luo Yunqiao’s discomfort worsened, and she began coughing so violently that it felt as though her lungs were being torn apart. Yinxin could not help shouting, “Stop the carriage! Stop! The young lady won’t be able to bear this!”

The coachman looked troubled. “I can’t decide that. We need the young master’s permission.”

Yinxin pulled back the curtain and shouted Luo Zefeng’s name. It was a long while before he heard her and rode back. After learning what had happened, he looked down at Luo Yunqiao from horseback, his expression cold and condescending.

“Hmph. You were sent to Zhaojue Temple for punishment, but you clearly learned nothing. Your temper has only grown worse.”

“You even dare to show me that attitude? I’ll teach you whether you have the right to do so. If you want to stop and rest or travel more slowly, then beg me. If I’m in a good mood, I’ll slow down—or perhaps agree to let you rest for a while.”

“No need. I can endure it.”

Luo Yunqiao’s voice was hoarse, but her refusal was crisp and decisive.

Luo Zefeng’s face twisted with anger. Gritting his teeth, he said, “Fine. You’re tough enough. Since you insist, whether you live or die is none of my concern. I’m done caring.”

With that, Luo Zefeng turned his horse around and rode off at once. The coachman hurriedly followed.

The carriage began jolting violently once more. Yinxin let out a heavy sigh.

“Miss, why must you do this to yourself?”

Luo Yunqiao did not answer. Her entire body ached so badly that she no longer had the strength to speak. She could only clench her teeth and dig her fingers into her palm, struggling to keep herself from coughing aloud.

But she had always been frail, and she had not yet recovered from her long illness. No matter how determined she was to endure, her body would not allow it. Before long, she fainted.

When Yinxin realized that she had lost consciousness, she immediately began crying out for the coachman to stop. She slapped Luo Yunqiao’s face again and again, but no matter how hard she struck her, Luo Yunqiao did not respond.

“What happened up ahead? Do you need help?”