Prologue: Reminiscence of Bygone Years

Night Kingdom Palace, Ice Crystal Hall

“Your Majesty, I must report that the Fifth Princess will never recover to become a normal person again.” The most renowned imperial physician in the palace, Hu Guangshen, spoke quietly, gazing at the Fifth Princess, Ye Qianling, who lay silently asleep on the bed. He suppressed the surge of sympathy and sorrow threatening to spill from his chest, and sighed softly.

Clad in imperial robes, the supreme ruler of the Night Kingdom—revered by countless subjects—had finally driven his most ‘beloved’ daughter to madness.

Emperor Guangde, sovereign of the Ye Dynasty, was both wise and valiant, a master of both pen and sword. In his youth, he led victorious campaigns south and north, earning illustrious achievements. As the legitimate eldest son, he ascended the throne as a matter of course. Under his reign, the Ye Dynasty flourished, becoming one of the two most powerful states on the continent, its territories ever expanding.

Guangde had five children, all born to the Empress. In a world where polygamy was the norm, Ye Xicheng, as emperor, broke with tradition and for many years kept only the Empress by his side. Only seven years ago did Lady Lu, daughter of Imperial Tutor Lu, enter the palace as a concubine.

Guangde looked upon his daughter lying on the bed, so gaunt she was little more than skin and bone. For a fleeting moment, the emperor, usually stoic and reserved, betrayed a hint of sorrow, quickly masked by calm. He remained silent for a long while, so much so that even Hu, his lifelong friend and imperial physician, dared not interrupt.

Hu Guangshen, who had known Guangde for years, and who was also the tutor of his fourth son, Ye Qiange, understood well the emperor’s pain.

“Why has it become so dire?” After a long silence, Guangde finally spoke, gently touching the girl’s pallid, lifeless face. “I know Ling’er has suffered greatly these years. Her mother’s and brother’s troubles were all laid upon her. From fifteen to now—seven years—she has changed entirely. Yet no matter how deeply wounded, she always recovered swiftly, pretending to care about nothing. Often, I forget she is barely past twenty, still a child.”

He studied the girl closely. Her sickly face was almost grotesque—once the kingdom’s greatest beauty and warrior goddess, now reduced to an invalid who could not move from her bed. His gaze flickered to her exposed arm, marked by countless old scars of varying shades—some so deep the color suggested they had nearly reached the bone. How painful it must have been. If her slender arm bore such horrific wounds, what horrors lay hidden beneath her clothing? For a girl to endure such injuries—how unbearable it must be.

Hu, listening, recalled past events and looked at the Fifth Princess, who resembled a lifeless plant. Unable to contain himself, he spoke out, heedless of consequences: “Your Majesty, the Fifth Princess is a living soul. Time and again you’ve tormented her, leaving her barely alive, and even when she was on the brink, you forced her, bleeding, to go to war. My apprentice, who accompanied the army, told me he often saw her blood dripping from sleeves and pant legs. During strategic meetings, she would stab her own palm with a needle to stay alert, fearing she might weaken the troops’ resolve. When all was quiet, she repeatedly lost consciousness, and we feared she would not endure. Yet when she awoke, she comforted my apprentice: ‘It’s all right. As long as I still have a life, I am fortunate.’”

At these words, Guangde’s face turned ashen, nearly lifeless. Hu, though loath to hurt him further, could not stop himself: “Seven years ago, the Fifth Princess was so lovely, carefree, and unrestrained. Many ministers petitioned, saying you spoiled her too much—even I could scarcely watch. Yet despite your favor, she was never arrogant. She was so gifted—scholarly and martial—joined the army at thirteen, never defeated. Once, with reckless courage, she won a crucial battle; you reprimanded her, made her face the wall for three days, fearing she might act rashly.”

Guangde seemed lost in memories of happier times, when Ye Qianling was joyful and cherished by parents, brothers, and sisters. But after that incident, her radiant smile vanished forever.

In a single moment, everything changed—her mother departed forever, siblings distanced themselves, and her father’s torment became relentless. Over time, she transformed completely—always silent, expressionless, even when fainting from pain, her face never showed fear, as if her soul was drained, her heart withered, and nothing could ever return.

Hu hesitated, then decided he must speak: “Three years ago, Lady Lu inadvertently mentioned the Sixth Prince. The Fifth Princess had just returned from the battlefield, triumphant. You neither praised nor congratulated, but instead kicked her five meters across the floor. Already pale, she broke out in cold sweat from the blow, curled up on the ground. Her frail body suffered three broken ribs, her clothes soaked in blood. Her internal injuries had not healed, and the pain drenched her clothes in sweat—yet she uttered not a sound. In your rage, you ordered her to kneel outside the Qian Palace in torrential rain for three days and nights, leaving her with lasting ailments. It was a miracle her legs recovered at all.”

Hu shuddered at the memory, still haunted by it. “When you called her to rise, she had already lost consciousness for an unknown length of time. The Imperial Hospital never expected her to recover. I whispered in her ear, ‘Wake up, His Majesty forgives you.’ She woke, dazed, searching for you, asking if her father was present, barely registering the words of forgiveness. But I will never forget her gaze—the light she’d lost for years. Before I could answer, you arrived, accusing her of causing her brother’s death and questioning why she still lived. The joy on her face hadn’t even faded before you crushed her again. She became numb, a wooden figure, never again showing happiness. She apologized, again and again, as you forced her to slap herself. Her nature would never let her go easy; after that, she grew ever more silent, speaking only to you and her sisters, never uttering another word. A month later, you sent her to war again. Her legs barely straightened; with anesthetic injections, she managed to walk. When I treated her wounds, she asked if she should win, if she should return, if her father truly wished she would never come back. I lied, telling her only by returning could reconciliation be achieved.”

Hu’s voice broke, tears streaming down his face. He glanced at the emperor, who sat in silence, his expression transformed by grief, and watched as Guangde, with hands hardened by years of battle, gently touched the princess’s wasted face. Upon hearing Hu’s next words, Guangde could no longer hold back—tears flowed freely.

“Your Majesty, she took my words to heart. Such a favored child, she utterly exhausted herself.”

The room was deathly silent—one could almost hear hearts beating.

Time passed—so long it could not be measured, and outside, dusk had begun to fall.

That such a heroic emperor could weep, and for a daughter he had hated and wounded so deeply—how astonishing.

“What is the story behind the steel pins in her head?” Guangde, regaining some composure, recalled something and asked Hu, whose sadness had not yet abated. The emperor’s deep helplessness and pain made him seem suddenly old.

Hu, reminded of the incident, was instantly furious, but forced himself to speak, his anger barely contained and quickly turning to rage: “Two years ago, a child who resembled the Sixth Prince came to the palace—the youngest son of the Lu family, your brother-in-law. Upon seeing him, you could not help but embrace him. After the Lu family left, you went straight to Ice Crystal Hall, dragged the sleeping Fifth Princess from her bed, and unleashed a storm of kicks. She dared not resist, enduring the violent beating until it ended. Her nightclothes were stained with shoe prints and blood. She struggled to kneel, clung to your leg, and asked what had happened—but you could not sense her concern for you, even in such agony. Her ribs, barely healed, were broken again. The maids said she lay gasping on the floor, blood dripping from her lips, still anxious about you, asking Eunuch An what had happened. Even then, you forced her to kneel and crawl a hundred times around the Empress’s residence, her knees nearly ruined. You spared no method in tormenting her.”

Hu’s tone was sharp, as if avenging this pure girl who had endured so much at barely twenty, forced to repay a single misstep with her entire life.

“It so happened that around then, the Yan Kingdom quarreled with us, and you ordered the Fifth Princess, terribly injured, to go to war again. The anesthetic injections no longer worked—she could not stand. She searched the archives and found this method. Everyone opposed it, for its severe side effects: once would damage the body, twice would cloud the mind, thrice would leave her a vegetable, bereft of reason, or worse, dead. Yet with no other way, she drove the steel pins into her head…”