Chapter One: Kill Him!

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. She had climbed a tower to catch a distant glimpse of the victorious general returning in glory. One look, and he was etched into her heart. From then on, she had only one dream: to marry him.

For that dream, she left no means untried. The dignity of a prime minister’s legitimate daughter, the reserve of a noblewoman—none of it mattered. Only Xiao Yuanchi’s words and glances counted. If he said he liked something, she would seek it out, learn it. No matter how tedious the occasion—if there was any chance he might appear, even a dreary temple ceremony—she’d squeeze her way in just to be near him.

She wished nothing more than to be before his eyes every hour of every day, just hoping he might turn and look at her.

Her longing could not be disguised or hidden; soon it was the talk of the whole kingdom. Any street storyteller could recount the tale of the prime minister’s daughter pursuing her beloved. Well-meaning friends tried to dissuade her: “His Highness Prince Qin is a man who’s walked through rivers of blood—if he doesn’t care for you, he never will. All your efforts are for nothing. Better to let go while you still have your dignity.”

But Ying Jiaojiao refused. She insisted on persevering, believing that sincere devotion could move even the hardest heart, that one day Xiao Yuanchi would see her true feelings.

That day came, but not as she’d imagined. The one who saw her sincerity was not Xiao Yuanchi, but his father—the Emperor himself.

With an imperial decree, they were forcibly bound together.

The day the edict arrived, Ying Jiaojiao wept for joy, certain she was the happiest woman in the world—never imagining it would mark the beginning of her tragedy.

She laughed at herself now. Before her rebirth, she had been hopelessly na�ve.

On the eve of her wedding, her grandmother had gently warned her: “Prince Qin is strong-willed and set in his ways. Even if you marry, it may not end well.”

Ying Jiaojiao dismissed her concerns. “Grandmother, whether there’s a happy ending or not, I have to try. Besides, his heart isn’t made of stone. If I try hard enough, I’ll warm it eventually!”

With her grandmother’s sighs behind her, she entered Prince Qin’s residence—and left her peaceful days behind.

Prince Qin had many enemies, both open and hidden. As his princess, Ying Jiaojiao was repeatedly caught in peril, kidnapped or held captive several times.

The last time, a foreign general spoke the truth to her.

“My lady, he only married you to use you as a living target. Did you really think you were too weak and held him back? Your Prince Qin’s heart has always belonged to Lady Ningyuan—he’s just waiting for you to die so she can take your place!”

Ying Jiaojiao wouldn’t believe it. She railed at him, steadfastly defending her upright husband’s name. And then… she was shot dead by an arrow.

The arrow pierced straight through her heart, entering from her back and exiting her chest with terrible force.

She stared in shock at the mark by the arrow’s head—a single, ancient character for “Chi,” Xiao Yuanchi’s name, in archaic script. It was a crimson-feathered arrow, specially crafted and used only by him.

There could be no doubt: he had drawn his great bow himself and loosed that arrow.

As she lay dying, she glimpsed Xiao Yuanchi’s travel-worn boots. In her ears, his voice seemed to call her—urgent, almost tender.

“Jiaojiao!”

He never called her that—except in the throes of passion.

She wanted to lift her head for one last look at the man whose heart was harder than iron. But she could not.

When she opened her eyes again, she was back in the prince’s residence, with six months left to live.

Stories always say that those who have died once become calm and detached, able to let go and walk away. Ying Jiaojiao, who had truly died, knew it was all nonsense.

The authors had never died, or they’d know—how could one simply let go of such a mortal grudge? How could one be calm?

She couldn’t.

Looking back, she knew she’d never wronged Xiao Yuanchi. By what right did he take her life?

She had already accepted that there would always be a Gu Xuezhi between them. She had even told him, if he couldn’t let go, to marry her as well, and she would treat her kindly.

She no longer asked for his love—only, only that he might grant her the barest shred of marital affection.

Why?

Why was even this last hope denied her?

Did he hate her so much—enough to want her dead?

Ying Jiaojiao sniffed, holding back tears.

Now was not the time for sorrow.

Today marked the fifth time she’d been attacked since entering the prince’s residence. She’d been kidnapped by bandits while making offerings on the mountain. Luckily, Xiao Yuanchi had been nearby and quick to act—she’d barely warmed the prison floor before she was rescued, unscathed.

But next time, she might not be so fortunate.

Counting the days, her fatal arrow was still some time away. If she wished to avoid the same fate, she would need to change something.

She’d been killed by Xiao Yuanchi’s arrow. To escape that ending, either he must not shoot, or she must not be captured.

But what then?

As long as she was Princess Qin, she would remain the obstacle between Gu Xuezhi and Xiao Yuanchi. If, in her previous life, he’d let her die in a foreign land for Gu Xuezhi’s sake, would this life be any different?

If she survived this time, could she escape the next?

The answer came to her: if she wished to live, she must strike first and kill Xiao Yuanchi—ending the threat once and for all!

A widowed princess was better than a nameless corpse.

Ying Jiaojiao’s eyes fell, almost involuntarily, to Xiao Yuanchi’s neck.

His neck and jaw formed an arresting, graceful line that had moved her countless times.

But now, she felt nothing. She stared at it intently and began to search the bed.

Before they had started, she’d been bathing, and vaguely remembered pinning up her hair with a gold hairpin. During their second round, Xiao Yuanchi had knocked it loose—it should be somewhere on the bed.

She tried to move without waking him, laboriously fumbling until her fingers closed around the pin.

Damn it! The other end of the pin was trapped beneath him.

She held her breath and shifted again.

A sharp ache ran through her body, as if her bones had come apart.

Scoundrel! she cursed him silently. No matter—calm down, be careful! Retrieve the pin, aim for his throat, then a swift, merciless stab—let it all be over!

Ying Jiaojiao silently cheered herself on.

Kill the husband, rise in status—what joy! She’d become a heartless, love-proof little widow, keep a brood of seven or eight handsome companions, and live the sweetest life!

The hairpin finally slid free.

Ying Jiaojiao curled her lips into a smile, wide-eyed, and slowly raised her hand.

Xiao Yuanchi’s neck was perfectly proportioned, his flesh and bone strong. When they were entwined, he would sometimes murmur words that made her blush and her heart race, letting her believe that perhaps, for a moment, he had truly cared for her.

She took a deep breath, forcing those thoughts aside.

No hesitation, no mercy. This man had killed her—between them, there was only life and death, no room for sentiment!

Farewell, Xiao Yuanchi!