The late spring rain fell in a persistent, sorrowful drizzle, tapping against the green tiles of the Shen Estate's rear courtyard like a quiet weeping.
Shen Qingci had been kneeling on the cold, unforgiving stone floor of the ancestral hall for four hours. A chilling dampness seeped into her bones, yet she kept her slender back perfectly straight, resilient as a stalk of bamboo in a storm.
"Fourth Miss, the Mistress requests your presence."
The voice of the head matron, laced with undisguised contempt, cut through the sound of the rain.
Shen Qingci rose slowly, stumbling for a moment as her numb legs protested. She quickly regained her balance, smoothed the faded fabric of her dress, and pushed open the heavy wooden doors.
The courtyard air was thick with the damp scent of rain-soaked blossoms. As she walked along the covered corridor, the hem of her skirt brushed against the pooled water, creating dark, spreading stains like ink on silk.
In the main hall, Lady Shen sat poised in a rosewood chair, a cup of steaming Dragon Well tea in her hands. Beside her, the third daughter, Shen Qingyue, toyed idly with a lavish hairpin adorned with gold and kingfisher feathers.
"Mother," Shen Qingci said, curtsying, her voice a calm, placid surface.
Lady Shen set down her cup, her gaze lingering on Qingci with a cold, appraising quality.
"A messenger has arrived from the Ninth Prince's residence," she announced, her tone measured. "They have requested you to marry the prince in Qingyue's place."
The air in the room grew still.
Shen Qingci lowered her eyes, her long lashes casting faint shadows on her pale cheeks. She could hear her own heartbeat, a slow, heavy drum against her ribs.
"Why me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Shen Qingyue let out a laugh, a sound as clear as a bell but sharp as splintered ice. "Because the Ninth Prince is a cripple, a brute with a violent temper. Three of his fiancées have already met untimely ends. A marriage like that is a burden fit for a concubine's daughter like you."
Every word was a deliberate, twisting blade.
Qingci's mind flashed back three days, to when she had accidentally seen Shen Qingyue in a clandestine meeting with the Crown Prince behind the rockery in the garden. She had known then that she had stumbled upon a dangerous secret.
So this was her punishment.
"If you are unwilling…" Lady Shen began, slowly twisting a jade bracelet on her wrist, "that is an option. However, I fear your frail, ailing mother might not survive the spring."
Shen Qingci's head snapped up, her composure finally cracking.
She saw the image of her mother's blood-stained handkerchief, thought of the withheld medicines, and heard the muffled, desperate coughs in the dead of night.
"I will marry him." The two words were as light as a sigh, yet they carried the weight of a mountain.
A genuine smile finally touched Lady Shen's lips. "A wise choice. The wedding is in three days. Prepare yourself."
The rain had stopped by the time she left the main hall. The last rays of the setting sun broke through the clouds, bathing the courtyard in a tragic, beautiful crimson.
Instead of returning to her own small quarters, Shen Qingci took a detour to the lotus pond in the rear garden. She needed to think, to understand the hidden currents beneath this sudden, life-altering command.
The Ninth Prince, Xiao Yu, was the Emperor's least favored son. An accident three years prior had left him bound to a wheelchair and twisted his temperament. Rumors painted him as a monster, a man whose consorts and concubines either died or were grievously injured.
Why would the Shen family be so desperate to marry a daughter to such a man? Desperate enough to send a substitute bride?
"My, my, Fourth Sister, you are more resourceful than I imagined."
The familiar voice came from behind her. Shen Qingci didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Shen Qingyue came to stand beside her, her reflection joining Qingci's in the murky water. "I truly thought you would rather die than agree."
"Did you, Third Sister?" Qingci replied, her tone flat. "If I had, your little secret would never be safe, would it?"
The color drained from Qingyue's face. She grabbed Qingci's wrist, her nails digging into the flesh. "If you dare breathe a word of what you saw…"
"I won't," Qingci said, calmly pulling her arm free. "But from this day forward, my mother will have the finest medicines and the most attentive care."
It was the first time she had ever dared to bargain with her legitimate sister.
Qingyue's eyes narrowed as she studied the quiet, unassuming girl before her. For the first time, she noticed something in those usually downcast eyes—a depth, a shadow she couldn't comprehend.
"Done," Qingyue sneered. "But remember this: once you are married, whether you live or die is no longer the concern of the Shen family."
Watching her sister's retreating back, Shen Qingci gently rubbed the red marks on her wrist.
She knew that from the moment she agreed, her life had irrevocably changed. She would either perish silently in the Ninth Prince's desolate mansion, or… she would carve a path of her own.
Three days later, the wedding was a rushed, threadbare affair.
There were no celebratory drums, no hall filled with guests. Only a small, four-bearer sedan chair that carried her away from the side gate of the Shen Estate under the cloak of silence.
Inside the swaying sedan, Shen Qingci sat ramrod straight, her fingers clenched around a smooth, warm jade pendant. Her mother had pressed it into her hand, a secret gift, an heirloom from her grandmother.
"Qingci, no matter what lies ahead, you must live." Her mother's tearful words echoed in her ears.
The sedan came to an abrupt halt, followed by a commotion outside.
"What is it?" she asked the accompanying maidservant.
The maid's voice trembled. "Miss, there's… there's a body in the street."
A chill went through Qingci. She carefully lifted a corner of the curtain.
On the rain-slicked cobblestones, the corpse of a woman in fine clothes lay sprawled. A gruesome gash marred her neck, her blood a stark crimson against the gray stone.
What truly made Qingci's heart freeze was the woman's face. It was hauntingly similar to a portrait Shen Qingyue had shown her three days ago—the face of the Ninth Prince's second fiancée, the daughter of the Minister of Rites, who had died suddenly six months before.
"Go around," one of the guards ordered, his voice tight with a tension he couldn't quite conceal.
As the sedan moved on, a cold dread crept up Qingci's spine.
Was this truly an accident? Or was it a warning?
The Ninth Prince's residence was located on the most desolate street in the western part of the capital. The red lacquer on the main gates was peeling, and the brass knockers were tarnished. The entrance was eerily deserted.
There was no groom to welcome her, no matron of honor to guide her. Only two stone-faced old maids led her through endless, silent corridors.
The bridal chamber was stark. Aside from the requisite red candles and characters for 'joy,' there was nothing festive about it. The air was heavy with the faint, cloying smell of medicine, underscored by a metallic hint of blood.
Shen Qingci sat alone on the edge of the bed, listening to the slow, deliberate drip of the water clock.
It was well past midnight when she finally heard the sound of wheels rolling across the floor outside.
Her heart seized.
The door opened, and a man in a wheelchair entered. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows, accentuating the sharp, aristocratic lines of his profile. His face was breathtakingly handsome but as pale as marble, devoid of warmth. His eyes, deep-set and dark, were like frozen pools, their coldness a palpable thing.
This was the Ninth Prince, Xiao Yu.
His gaze fell upon her, assessing her as one might an inanimate object.
"The daughter of the Shen family?" His voice was a low, rough rasp, tinged with a chilling indifference.
"Yes," Shen Qingci replied, rising to curtsy, her movements flawlessly graceful.
Xiao Yu wheeled himself closer. He reached out, his frigid fingers tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Do you know how the first three died?"
His touch was like ice, sending a shiver through her.
"I do not."
A slow, cruel smile spread across his lips. "The first hanged herself on her wedding night. The second drowned. The third…"
His fingers slid from her chin to her throat, resting lightly on the delicate skin.
"I strangled her myself."
The air turned to glass. She could feel the latent power in his hand; with the slightest pressure, he could end her life.
But she did not flinch. Instead, she held his gaze. "If Your Highness intended to kill me, you would not have bothered with this conversation."
A flicker of surprise crossed his features, quickly replaced by an even deeper coldness. "You are clever."
"One must be, to survive in desperate circumstances," she answered softly.
He withdrew his hand and turned the wheelchair away from her. "Prepare for bed. And remember, do not try any of your clever tricks in my presence."
The red candles burned down to embers. In the darkness, Shen Qingci lay on the outermost edge of the bed, a vast, unspoken distance separating her from the man beside her.
She could hear his steady breathing and smell the faint scent of herbs that clung to him, a scent mingled with something else—something dangerous and undefined.
She did not sleep.
Just before dawn, a faint noise from outside the window broke the silence, the sound of footsteps deliberately softened.
Moments later, a strange, sweet fragrance drifted into the room.
An incense to induce sleep?
Her senses on high alert, she glanced at Xiao Yu. He remained perfectly still, seemingly lost in slumber.
Quietly, she slipped the jade pendant from beneath her pillow, its familiar warmth a small comfort. The stone, whatever its properties, seemed to clear her head, cutting through the encroaching drowsiness.
Then came the whisper-soft sound of paper being pierced.
A silver needle, glinting in the pre-dawn gloom, shot silently through the window—
aimed directly at Xiao Yu's throat.
In a split second, with no time for thought, Shen Qingci reacted. She grabbed the heavy brocade quilt and thrust it forward.
With a soft *thud*, the needle buried itself in the thick fabric.
In that same instant, the "sleeping" prince's eyes snapped open. A flash of cold steel flew from his sleeve, and a muffled groan came from outside the window.
It was over in a heartbeat.
By the time Shen Qingci's mind caught up, Xiao Yu was sitting up, his eyes shining with a startling intensity in the darkness.
"You saved me," he stated, his voice devoid of emotion.
"It was… merely instinct."
He was silent for a moment, then let out a low, humorless chuckle. "It seems my new consort is far more interesting than I anticipated."
A guard's hushed voice reported from outside. "Your Highness, the assassin has taken his own life with poison."
"Dispose of the body," Xiao Yu commanded, his tone as casual as if ordering tea.
He lay back down, but then moved closer, his warm breath brushing against her neck as he whispered, "Tell me, what is the true purpose of the Shen family sending you here?"
A chill ran down her spine. As she was about to answer, he spoke again, his voice even lower.
"Or… are you not Shen Qingyue at all?"
The first light of dawn filtered through the window, illuminating the profound, terrifying coldness in his eyes.
Shen Qingci clutched the jade pendant, its gentle warmth her only anchor in this treacherous new reality.
She knew, with absolute certainty, that every step she took from now on would be on the thinnest of ice.
And this supposedly crippled, brutal prince was infinitely more dangerous than she could ever have imagined.
"Who I am is of no importance," she replied, her voice steady as she met his gaze. "What is important is that Your Highness and I are now tied to the same fate."
A flicker of genuine surprise, quickly masked by amusement, crossed his face.
"Very well," he said, his long fingers tracing the tear in her sleeve where the assassin's needle had grazed the fabric. "Then let us see how long a clever little insect like you can survive in these murky waters."
Just then, the sound of urgent footsteps echoed in the corridor, and the steward's voice, strained with panic, called out:
"Your Highness, an urgent summons from the palace! The Crown Prince was attacked last night—his condition is critical!"
Shen Qingci felt the air around Xiao Yu shift, a sudden, sharp intensity. A strange, unreadable light glinted in his deep eyes.
He leaned in close, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he whispered, his voice for her ears alone:
"And so the play begins."