In the quiet private room of Qingxin Pavilion, a faint, elegant scent lingered in the air. Fu Yi sat there, completely devoid of life, his entire being shrouded in gray despair—Bai Qingqing had never seen him like this, not in either of her lifetimes.

She had a vague suspicion in her heart, but asked nothing, merely handed him a cup of tea.

Despite the sweltering summer heat, Fu Yi’s hands and feet were ice-cold. Even the warm tea couldn’t bring warmth back into him.

After a long while, he slowly lifted his head. The bloodshot lines in his eyes were almost frightening—he looked like he hadn’t slept for days.

“I never doubted my own parentage,” he began, voice hollow. “Though I did think it strange… how her care for me would come and go. I chalked it up to her temperament…”

A faint trace of bitter irony surfaced in his eyes. “Her strictness—I thought it was out of high expectations. Her distance—I blamed myself for not being thoughtful enough. I never said it out loud, but I envied the way she treated Lu Qingyun… gentle, warm. So she could be that kind.”

The world felt absurd, utterly cruel. His identity—a lie.

The woman he had called mother all his life… was not his mother at all. Then who was he? And what had all his filial piety amounted to?

“Drink some water first.”

Fu Yi looked up at her, dazed. “Did you… know all along?”

“I only suspected. Hearing you say it now, I’m not all that surprised. The Princess Consort’s treatment of you was always strange. It’s exactly what they mean when they say bystanders see most clearly.”

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She didn’t admit how much she’d known, only that she wasn’t certain. “But at least you’ve realized it now. It’s not too late, is it?”

Bai Qingqing toyed with the beads on her bracelet, fingering them one by one. “I’ve always wondered why I was allowed to live again. Maybe Heaven took pity on me—gave me a chance to make up for the regrets of my past life, to change my family’s fate. But then you appeared too.”

"You said you felt sorry for me, that you wanted to make it up to me—but what if there’s a more important reason?"

Fu Yi echoed her softly, as if trying to grasp the weight of her words: "A… more important reason…"

"I used to resent you a lot," Bai Qingqing said, her voice calm, "but sometimes, I pitied you too. Fu Yi, in that past life—did you ever live for yourself? You were the Princess Consort’s son, the Prince of Ping’s legitimate heir, the future head of the household. But did you ever live even a single day as just Fu Yi, for no one but yourself?"

"Aren’t you curious who your real parents are? What they looked like? Isn’t there anything you truly want to do—not for anyone else, just for yourself?"

Her pale fingertips brushed across the jade-like beads one by one. She meant what she said, but there was a thread of selfishness woven into her honesty.

She didn’t want to be a saint. She didn’t believe in returning kindness for cruelty. She remembered every scheme the Princess Consort had played against her.

Suddenly, Fu Yi’s pupils contracted. His face went ashen, his voice trembling. "She… her nature has always been ruthless. She doesn’t leave loose ends. My birth parents… I fear…"

Bai Qingqing froze. She hadn’t considered that. "Don’t panic. It might not be what you think. Maybe she had other plans—"

"No. I know her better than anyone. She’ll do whatever it takes to get what she wants. She’s always hoped I’d become someone just like her."

His expression shifted rapidly—where once he looked lost, like the sky had fallen, now anger blazed in his eyes. "You’re right. There are more important things I need to do. How could she so easily toy with others’ fates, and never face retribution for it in that lifetime?"

"How is that fair?"