Fu Yi had often wondered why his temperament bore so little resemblance to either the Princess Consort or the Prince of Ping. He couldn't reconcile himself with many of their choices, yet because they were his parents, he had forced himself to look away.

The Princess Consort had chided him more than once for being too mild, for lacking the ruthlessness and decisiveness she deemed necessary. He had borne her reprimands in silence, even begun to question himself—was he truly as indecisive and unfit for great things as she claimed?

No wonder she had so easily treated his marriage as a bargaining chip. No wonder she had loathed Bai Qingqing, picking her apart at every turn, forbidding him to love her—because she had always been scheming for her own daughter.

A dark fury rose in Fu Yi’s heart. For the sake of power, she had used him to solidify her standing. For the sake of her daughter, she had driven Bai Qingqing to her death with malice and calculation. Why should she be allowed to walk away unscathed?

If that was the case—then he would be her retribution.

The look in Fu Yi’s eyes made Bai Qingqing uneasy. “Calm down,” she said softly. “Don’t act out of rage. I know you’re in pain, but I don’t want to see you become someone who lets anger drive his choices. If you do, you’ll only become exactly the man the Princess Consort always wanted you to be.”

His body jerked as if struck. A swirl of dangerous thoughts began to retreat, scattered by the sound of her voice.

Clarity returned to his eyes, like a soul that had finally found its way home.

He was grateful—grateful that he’d come to see Bai Qingqing today. Had he not, he might have wandered lost for who knew how long. Or worse—he might have let fury consume him, becoming the very thing he despised.

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A deep ache settled in his chest. This was the woman he had loved in his past life—and he had failed to protect her.

“Qingqing,” he said hoarsely, “I’ve wronged you…”

A flicker of puzzlement passed through her eyes, but she smiled. “You’ve already said that.”

“No… it’s different this time. I mean it. I truly… am sorry.”

Only now did Fu Yi truly understand the kind of woman he had failed—and the weight of the unforgivable guilt he bore.

He lingered at Qingxin Pavilion for a long time, his turbulent heart gradually finding calm. The scent in the air, blended by Qingqing’s own hands, seemed to hold a quiet magic that soothed the soul.

“May I… come see you again in the future?”

There was a hint of timidity and longing in his eyes. Bai Qingqing was the most special person in his world. He knew he had hurt her deeply, perhaps beyond forgiveness, but even if he could only catch a glimpse of her once in a while—just seeing her—he would be content.

Such a humbled Fu Yi was a version Bai Qingqing had never seen before. In her memory, he had always been noble and refined, cool and distant like a clear stream. She closed her eyes briefly. The Princess Consort of Ping had truly sinned.

“If there’s anything you wish to say to me, you may come to Qingxin Pavilion.”

Fu Yi’s eyes visibly brightened, and the color returned to his face. Bai Qingqing walked him to the door and watched him go, letting out a long sigh.

When she first learned the truth of his parentage, she had only felt disdain for the Princess Consort’s cruelty. But thinking it through now, the one who had suffered most unjustly… was probably Fu Yi himself. If she were in his place, the sky might well have collapsed.

She shook her head and returned to the private room. But the moment she stepped inside, she froze. Her eyes scanned the room in disbelief, then darted outside and back again, dumbfounded. “How did you even get in here? Is there a hidden door in Qingxin Pavilion I don’t know about?”

Ning Yan was seated exactly where she had sat earlier, his breathtakingly handsome face devoid of expression.

Bai Qingqing had long grown used to his sudden appearances. She walked over and was just about to sit across from him when he suddenly lifted his gaze, sharp as a blade. The force of it startled her into blinking, flustered. “I… can’t sit?”

Ning Yan kicked another chair toward her. “The man’s gone, and you still can’t bear to part with him? You really have to sit in the chair he just used?”