Volume One, Chapter One: The Punishment of Being Devoured by Serpents and Rats

“You’ve finally come…”
Wen Shiyan lifted her eyes woodenly.

In the damp, filthy stench of the water dungeon, her limbs were twisted, nailed to wooden stakes. Her thin body was covered in countless whip marks, flesh torn and bleeding. Each of her ten fingers was pierced with the silver needles she once used to heal others, and even one ear was missing.

Three days ago, she, a lowly imperial physician, had failed in her assassination attempt at the new emperor’s coronation. Once her true gender was exposed, every past honor and favor vanished in an instant.

“Why did you try to kill me?” Liang Jiang looked down from above, his voice carrying a bewitching chill from the underworld.

Wen Shiyan opened her mouth to reply, but a flamboyant woman beside them cut in first.

“Your Majesty, she will not speak.”

Yu Mingyue stood between them, clutching her extravagantly bandaged shoulder. It was she who had thrown herself in front of Liang Jiang at the critical moment, earning the title of Empress. Yet she knew well that her leverage over him could never compare to the emperor’s true affections; even while Wen Shiyan was believed to be a ‘man,’ she alone enjoyed his unique favor—how much more so, now that her secret was revealed?

“I’ve tried every method and could not pry a word from her. There is, however, one last trick I believe will help Your Majesty.”

As if. She didn’t wait for Liang Jiang’s approval, merely signaled to the guards outside.

Several guards carried in two bamboo baskets, lifted the lids, and dumped them into the water. Instantly, the murky surface rippled with strange patterns, all converging toward Wen Shiyan.

Yu Mingyue could not hide her excitement. “Starving snakes and rats. Lord Wen’s fresh flesh will be their feast.”

“No…”
With every struggle, the nails through Wen Shiyan’s bones drove deeper, pain wringing sweat and blood from her. Agony flared in her calf as a chunk of flesh was gnawed away. Next came her abdomen, her toes—a swarm of tiny, gnawing mouths.

No!

Liang Jiang watched silently, the flickering candlelight concealing his expression, impossible to read. “Confess, and I will spare your life.”

Wen Shiyan’s consciousness drifted, breath caught in her throat. Once, she had stood radiant, one step below the throne, above all others. Now, even the mercy of death was a luxury denied.

He saw her lips tremble, her voice barely a whisper.

Liang Jiang narrowed his eyes, brushing aside those who tried to intervene. With a few strides, he came forward, gripping her throat, bringing her closer.

“I… saved you… you… killed…”

The fragmentary words resisted all attempts at sense.

Wen Shiyan’s lips curled into a smile. The harsh yellow of the candlelight blurred her vision as bitter laughter broke free, growing more and more unhinged. Blood and phlegm caught in her throat, the sound rasping and sharp.

Fifteen years ago, she had rescued a dying boy at the edge of the Healer’s Valley. The boy suffered from a rare congenital disease. His parents had used their clan’s most precious treasure to save him, only for him to repay their kindness with betrayal. In one night, a fire consumed everyone—including her baby sister, still in swaddling clothes.

Three years ago, she disguised herself as a man and entered the Imperial Medical Bureau. There, she met Liang Jiang, then the third prince, believing him a kindred spirit—until days ago, when she received an anonymous letter. Someone told her Liang Jiang was her enemy. Later, Liang Jiang himself confirmed he had suffered from that same illness as a child.

Despair and regret overwhelmed Wen Shiyan; all the laughter and companionship of the past became a flood that drowned her will.

Liang Jiang watched her, unable to fathom her thoughts. Fame and fortune—she had almost held them all. He recalled how much he had trusted her, to a degree that now chilled him. Her mind was truly unfathomable.

Why betray him? Why did she want him dead above all?

“Wen Qing,” Liang Jiang ground out, his brows sharp as blades. “Have I not treated you well?”

Wen Shiyan stared back, her gaze like hooks digging into his eyes. The hatred in her was all-consuming—she hated him, but herself even more.

“Liang Jiang…”

The simple utterance of his name dragged Liang Jiang through every memory of their years together. His Wen Qing had been his shield, his spear, his healer, his bowl of porridge at dawn, his confidant in the dark. She was never this stranger before him.

“Tell me—who are you, truly?”

Her identity had always been false, even her gender a lie. What was left that was real?

Liang Jiang gingerly cupped her ruined face, letting her draw closer. Their breath mingled—one burning hot, the other icy cold. Their lips met, teeth grazing, the taste of blood bitter on their tongues.

Liang Jiang suddenly pushed her away.

In that instant, the bitterness in their throats turned to searing agony; black blood streamed from every orifice.

Wen Shiyan had crushed the deadly poison concealed in her false tooth—ten seconds, enough to kill.

Yet at once, Liang Jiang drew from his sleeve an antidote pill and swallowed it.

That was…

Wen Shiyan remembered. It was something she herself had once given him, to protect him from his brothers’ plots. In the end, it shielded him from her.

Ah. The falseness of men’s affection was no less than her own downfall. Even now, when she had nothing left, he still guarded against her.

Wen Shiyan forced her eyes wide, unwilling to die.

Before she could become one with the writhing snakes and rats, no one heard her last desperate whisper.

“Liang Jiang, even as a ghost, I will never let you go…”

—

Wen Shiyan did not become a vengeful spirit, but was reborn.

She returned to three years prior, on the very day she first received her wages from the Imperial Medical Bureau.

She and Liang Jiang had arranged to meet today—she would play host, and they would drink.

Draped in a snow-white fox fur, she trod through winter’s snow to the Prince of Qingya’s residence. The guards at the gate, wise to her presence, let her pass.

Inside, the fire crackled, melting the snow tracked in from outside.

She shed her cloak and sat at the table, fingers tracing a palm-sized jade gourd at her waist. Inside was a colorless, tasteless liquid with a simple, notorious name: “love potion.”

She had intensified its effects.

If she could get Liang Jiang to drink even a little, by nightfall the scandal would spread—“the third prince dead of exhaustion in the saddle”—and no one would suspect her.

“Liang Jiang, this is the most disgraceful death I could devise for you.”

She waited a while.

At last, the familiar figure hurried in from the cold. Liang Jiang shook the snow from his shoulders as he untied his cloak, revealing the dark jade-trimmed robe beneath—broad-shouldered and slim-waisted, youthful vigor shining through.

His eyes sparkled with quiet joy as he called into the room, “Ah Yan.”

Wen Shiyan was stunned—she had almost forgotten how bright and cheerful he once was.

When did it change? When did he grow silent, and she reserved?

Seeing her staring blankly, saying nothing, Liang Jiang gave a helpless smile.

He strode over, rummaged in his robes for some time, then clutched something in his palm, glancing back at her with mischievous secrecy.

“Ah Yan, guess what I brought you?”