Assassinato delicado numa noite de primavera

Since she was destined to be killed by him in half a year, it would be better to strike first and kill him instead!

This thought first sprang up in Ying Jiaojiao’s mind during the third time that Xiao Yuanchi claimed her, and it lingered there until exhaustion finally drew her into sleep.

When it came to such matters, Xiao Yuanchi knew nothing of tenderness or pity. He only cared for his own pleasure, storming her as if conquering a city, never considering her feelings in the least. For a time, she made excuses for him—telling herself that men were, by nature, careless, and that it was only to be expected from a man honed in the rigors of military life. The rougher he was, the more upright he must be.

But that day, when she saw him with her own eyes clutching Gu Xuezhi’s hand—her skin barely scraped—and calling for the imperial physician in alarm, she realized: it wasn’t that he didn’t know how to cherish a woman, he simply didn’t care to cherish her.

Of course—he didn’t love her. Why would he show her any tenderness?

Above her, the floral-and-bird patterned, gold-gilded silver incense ball hung, trailing Xiao Yuanchi’s favorite agarwood scent through the air. Ying Jiaojiao turned her head with difficulty—and then froze.

The sun must be rising in the west for once—he hadn’t left!

Whenever they shared a bed, Xiao Yuanchi always departed right after, never once staying the night. Why had he lingered today?

Gazing at his striking profile, Ying Jiaojiao couldn’t help but recall their fateful first meeting.

It was spring.