After parting ways with the Crown Prince, Yang Jian rode back to the Yang family manor. As soon as he returned to his room, he collapsed onto the bed. In the depths of sleep, all he could see was the hazy silhouette of a woman.
She drifted alluringly through the air, stirring both desire and unease. His broad palm slowly reached out as far as it could, intending to pull her into his arms and give her warmth in place of the icy blade that had severed her neck. Yang Jian's heart pounded violently, his blood surging through his veins. He stared at her without blinking, afraid she would disappear.
Beneath his cold expression, the man's heart was in unbearable pain.
Mo Ming Yue opened her eyes in a new body, carrying memories that had never faded. She remembered everything clearly, whether from this life or any other.
Her slender body lay exhausted and alone on the large bed in a luxurious room.
Bai Ming Yue was her original name—but with a new family name.
Heavens! It was unbelievable, yet she had no choice but to believe it.
The former bandit chieftain Mo Ming Yue was now occupying the body of the frail young lady of the Bai manor.
Could someone have dared to use some sinister spell to tamper with her soul?
That was insane. Who would do such a thing?
Then she suddenly seemed to hear a voice from a distant land.
“Your soul has fused with a drop of my blood. In our next life, may fate bind us together, so we need not slaughter each other as we did in this one.”
Ming Yue's eyes darted about in confusion.
Of course, the woman was completely in the dark. She knew nothing about that unorthodox art, and she had no idea who the speaker was. All she had heard was a faint voice from a distant land that had followed her soul here.
Who was that person? To be so deeply in love with me—how despicable!
As she muttered and cursed, memories slowly flowed into her mind.
Ming Yue had entered this body three days after its original owner, heartbroken and inconsolable, had coughed up clots of blood before collapsing into an unresponsive coma.
The woman slowly recalled the past of the new body she had stumbled into and inhabited, without being reborn as others were.
This Bai Ming Yue was the eldest daughter of an official in the Bai manor. Her father had been infatuated with his secondary wife, leaving her primary wife to die of grief. She had a younger sister who was hateful enough to cold-bloodedly steal her lover. And that man, her supposed lover, was lazy, greedy, and selfish, hoping to hold both sisters' hearts in his hands at once.
Bai Ming Yue began falling mysteriously ill with increasing frequency.
In the end, her beloved friend lured her into drinking tea. Not long afterward, she fell asleep and never woke up.
While she lay dazed and senseless, her maid Jinxin went to call for help. As fate would have it, her father was away, her stepmother did not care, and her younger sister? She had shut the door in her face without the slightest concern.
And so Bai Ming Yue became a ghost, letting go of her worldly attachments and moving on to be reborn—leaving Ming Yue to take her place and pay for her sins instead!
Hmph! Pay for her sins?
She needed to reclaim justice, that was all!
But even if that was what her heart demanded, would she still make it in time? That was the problem. By now, Ming Yue had already been dressed up like a jade doll, wrapped in scarlet robes until she had fully become a bride.
The grand general's manor was magnificent, spacious, and vast. Its size and boundaries proclaimed its owner's influence and power, radiating honor, prestige, and overwhelming authority. Guests had come from every direction, and there were countless people attending the wedding.
Though the auspicious veil concealed more than half her vision, Ming Yue could still sense the intimidating power in the way the guests bowed deferentially to their host.
Especially when the groom beside her led her past those people, the guests' fear and reverence continued to spread without limit.
The groom himself was tall and powerfully built. He radiated a terrifying aura that pressed down strangely upon everyone around him—a tremendous, invisible force that could not be seen yet was unmistakably felt.
The grand wedding ceremony was held with great pomp and splendor, yet it ended simply and quietly in the bridal chamber, utterly unlike the lively, joyous atmosphere outside.
Ming Yue was still dazed and bewildered amid the dazzling sea of red flowers and the scarlet fabrics crafted with exquisite care. She sat absentmindedly on the bed, utterly drained of strength. This body was as delicate as any sheltered young lady's, possessing not the slightest trace of internal power or qi.
Ming Yue found it unbearably suffocating.
The one thing that made her want to bite her tongue and kill herself several times a day—more than having to inhabit this body as a spirit—was being married to the man beneath whose sword she would gladly die, but to whom she would never submit.
Yang Jian…