Ye Can’s grip was strong, and Liang Yu’s wrist immediately turned red from the yank. Liang Yu winced in pain. “Ow, ow, ow—easy on the strength! Isn’t there a bathroom right over there? Haven’t you gone all day?”
Liang Yu pointed in the direction of the bathroom.
Ye Can was a dedicated professional; rest hadn’t even crossed her mind amid the work rush. She released Liang Yu’s wrist and hurried toward the bathroom.
As she walked, Ye Can called back to Liang Yu behind her, “Meng Zhiqiu is a great person—totally worth stanning.” This was Ye Can’s roundabout way of thanking her.
Once in the bathroom, Ye Can splashed clean water over her face to wash away the grime. She stood before the mirror, gazing at the water droplets clinging to her skin, on the verge of dripping, and began admiring herself with smug delight.
She leaned closer to the mirror, trying to make out the tiny reflection of herself in her pupils. But as she stared, a wave of profound absurdity washed over her in a daze.
She took in the incongruous eunuch robes on her body, the young, naive, and utterly foolish face staring back. She recoiled in fright.
When did I end up with such a stupid-looking face?
Ye Can lowered her head and tugged at the fabric over her chest, scrutinizing herself from top to bottom.
What am I even doing? Struggling in this fake world for what?
Everything is fake. Everything is meaningless. So why am I so happy?
Ye Can looked up again, studying her reflection once more, a flicker of confusion in her expression.
Perhaps she’d been dead too long. In that instant, she couldn’t even recall her former appearance.
Ye Can stared at her foolish, childish reflection, clutching the front of her clothes, brow furrowed as she racked her brain for what she used to look like.
For once, Ye Can put some real effort into it, dredging through her vast memories until she finally unearthed her original self.
No doubt about it—she had been a king. Or rather, a foolish one.
How could someone as incompetent as me ever be king? It took her a good while to piece together these scattered details.
In her memories, her father had been a bumbling incompetent. The talk of the court revolved around either the brood of sickly children he sired or the time he pranked his ministers with a path of smooth pebbles—only to slip on them himself and meet his end.
After Father, the King of Yan, died, Eldest Brother took the throne. That brother was lecherous and dim-witted; he spent his reign joyriding chariots across foreign lands until he plummeted to his death from one.
After Eldest Brother’s demise, Second Brother ascended. He was no better—a bloodthirsty tyrant who herded common folk into the mountains for sport hunts. He also fancied beautiful performers.
Flatterers seized power through this vice, rising to ministerial rank. Once entrenched, that power-hungry minister poisoned Second Brother and propped up his young heir.
But the queen dowager wielded great influence and vied for control. In their clash, the minister triumphed, and Second Brother’s child was stabbed dead on the throne.
Suddenly, the minister dominated the court, unchallenged. Yet even at the height of his power, he dared not usurp the throne as King of Yan.
He needed a puppet, so he chose Ye Can—the rumored mad young lady of the house.
But though Ye Can was mad, she wasn’t stupid.
Loyal retainers plotted to spirit her from the Royal Capital and crown her beyond the city walls. Ye Can refused. She had no allies, but she wielded a sword that killed.
On the day of her coronation and the heavenly sacrifice, Ye Can donned royal robes, a long sword at her waist, and ascended the altar with measured steps. The minister officiated; once the rites concluded, he proclaimed her Queen of Yan.
Ye Can gripped her sword hilt and smiled at him. “What can a monarch of a nation do?”
The minister clasped her hand and declared to the assembled officials below: “The queen wields her sword to slay all who rebel against the throne.”
Ye Can found his words most reasonable. She drew her blade in a flash, catching him off guard, and severed his head with one stroke.
Before the spurting blood could splatter her, Ye Can leaped aside, sword in one hand, slapping her chest with the other in shock. “Whoa, that was close—almost got messy.”
Everyone froze at the sudden turn. The eunuchs waiting by the altar finally let out a belated shriek.
Then the minister’s cronies surged toward the altar to execute this now-useless queen.
Ye Can wanted death, but not at their hands.
She nudged the minister’s head with her foot, kicking it tumbling down the altar steps, trailing a long smear of blood.
Leaning on her long sword, Ye Can called out to the chaos below: “Does this man have any remaining lackeys? Those who heed my words—kill them all.”
She was the Queen of Yan, the Deity’s chosen voice in the mortal world. In this era where royal authority reigned supreme, only the gravest traitors would dare ascend the altar to slay their sovereign.
Rebels charged up with swords drawn, only for Ye Can to cut them down.
After that, none dared face the queen’s blade.
That day, Ye Can stood in her bloodstained royal robes, trampling the bodies of traitors, sword propped as she gazed down imperiously at the nobles and officials slaughtering one another below.
From that moment, she became the aloof tyrant who cared nothing for the lives of her subjects.
She was a madwoman, like the bloodied sword in her hand—destroying all that lived and breathed.
No sane kingdom would wish for such a queen. Yet like her brutal Second Brother, Ye Can stabilized her rule after purging the corrupt.
That winter after her ascension, the realm submitted from all quarters. The ministers brought their families to pay festive homage.
Ye Can received them amid ice and snow, and in that biting-cold tent at the Northern Mountain Palace, she encountered her first true bewilderment.
Her blood ran hot; she craved icy winds in winter. Her retainers, to her tastes, held the banquet at the Northern Mountain Palace.
That night, the tent flap flew open, howling gales pouring in. Ye Can lounged crookedly on her throne, narrowing her slit-like eyes to gauge the reactions of these ministers and their ladies.
As queen, every guest brought their women to audience. Thus, Ye Can beheld many beauties amid the seats.
But each beauty bowed her head in fear, none daring to meet the queen’s gaze.
In the palace, Ye Can had heard tales of Second Brother’s depravities and the servants’ judgments. Her own reputation eclipsed his—rivers of blood on coronation day, her name a terror that hushed crying children across Yan Kingdom.
Ye Can didn’t care. Her house had no shortage of infamy; perhaps in death, she could compete with her ancestors for the worst.
The more they feared her, the less she minded. Her expressionless face seemed the epitome of cold cruelty, drowning the banquet in dread.
The nearby musicians trembled, their playing fracturing into whimpers amid the rising winds.
The discordant sounds grated; Ye Can furrowed her brow.
The queen’s frown silenced the room like cicadas in winter chill. Then, amid the fear-choked feast, a woman’s soft voice rang out: “This humble commoner wishes to sing for Her Majesty.”
Ye Can glanced over—and beheld a Beauty.
The Beauty wore plain white robes cloaked in fox fur, her hair pinned with a golden clasp. Ye Can gazed at her pure features and thought, unbidden, of white tea blooming in chill spring.
In that instant, Ye Can’s world burst into full, riotous spring.
Her long fingers, draped over the throne arm, twitched faintly. She stared at the Beauty’s face for a long moment, then uttered one word: “Very well.”
The Beauty rose gracefully and approached the bianzhong before the musicians, picking up the mallet and striking lightly.
She sang: “In the lush Gantang, neither clip nor hew—where Shao Bo once rested…”
The musicians, who had meant to accompany her, blanched at Gantang and snapped a string.
The pluck echoed starkly in the chill north wind. The musician collapsed in terror, prostrating himself.
Not just him—at the song’s first note, the officials’ faces twisted. They fidgeted like ants on a hot pan.
All because of Gantang.
The poem mourned Shao Bo, Yan Kingdom’s ancestor. Since his passing, few Yan rulers had been wise; most were fools.
Even in her father the Old Yan King’s time, a minister had clapped and recited Gantang in court, mocking his incompetence. Enraged, the Old Yan King had him torn apart by five horses.
Her father had heard it, Eldest Brother, Second Brother—and now Ye Can.
Ye Can had never imagined her mocker would be such a captivating Beauty.
The Beauty’s voice blended with the bianzhong like tinkling springs, like spring breezes caressing the face. It soothed Ye Can into half-closed eyes.
Ye Can reclined against her throne, watching the graceful figure kneeling by the bells, and a sudden yearning bloomed in her heart.
That yearning was like a withered thorn in barren soil, exploding into savage growth at the first spring raindrop.
It was the first time Ye Can had craved anything so fiercely—and it bewildered her.
Before this, nothing in the world had seemed worth desiring.
Now, she thought watching this Beauty might make ending her wretched life worthwhile.
The song ended. The Beauty set down the mallet, returned to her seat, and knelt, awaiting the queen’s wrath.
Ye Can stared at the kneeling Beauty from afar, snatched the cloak from her throne, draped it over her shoulders, and padded barefoot toward her step by step.
Her soft footfalls boomed like thunder in the nobles’ minds. At last, the queen halted before the Beauty.
She knelt halfway, cupping the Beauty’s chin. The still-youthful queen narrowed her eyes and murmured softly, “You are so beautiful. Come to my palace.”
Not thunderous rage, not punishment—but an exquisite cage.
From that moment, a pure hue entered the young Mad Queen’s eyes.
With the years, that color would taint her gaze upon the chaotic world, rendering it ever more foolish, vulgar, fragile.
Ye Can realized this was the price of desire in the mortal realm. It blinds you, sullies the purity of your soul.
It breeds absurdity in the struggle to preserve self amid worldly ties, binding you inextricably to the world.
Ye Can understood: she could no longer be pure.
Standing before the mirror, she eyed her absurd, foolish self and tsked lightly. “You’re so stupid.”
She patted her water-speckled cheeks and sighed, “But stupidity’s fine. Most people are just as dumb.”
She had made her choice and didn’t hate this stupid version of herself in the mirror.
Ye Can harbored no regrets for growing into this foolish, ugly form—or for accepting the Deity’s deal.
She stayed in this world willingly, letting the Deity toy with her fate as a compliant puppet. All because she now had desires.
With that thought, Ye Can scooped another handful of water and splashed her face. She straightened, wiped the droplets from her dripping skin.
This foolish look, she thought, must be what ordinary people are supposed to have. Lin Zixi will think I’m a bit more normal like this.
“I wish to sing a song for the King.”
“Very well.”
“You are so beautiful. Why not enter the palace with this king?”
“You look so radiant today—this king won’t die so easily. Wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow, die together with this king.”
“Whatever Your Majesty says, it shall be.”
“You are free.”
“Aren’t you leaving?”
“I’m not leaving. I want to toast Your Majesty a cup of wine.”
“Why are you wearing white robes? You shouldn’t wear white—it doesn’t suit you.”
“Because Your Majesty is about to die.”
“If it’s possible… send this king a white tea blossom…” This king feels… this way, I won’t be afraid.
“In the next life, don’t meet on a winter night. It’s too cold.”
“What is your name?”
“Lin Zixi.”
“Lin Zixi, I remember you. I will repay you.”
“Why do you insist on following me?”
“Because I want to.”
“Ye Can, why are you so good to me?”
“I want nothing from you. Don’t worry—just accept it.”
“But I feel guilty accepting it.”
“Ye Can…”
“Ye Can…”
“Ye Can…”
Lin Zixi: Our encounter began with a conspiracy.
![Nian Nian [Rebirth]](https://i0.wp.com/dobytranslations.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/04/Nian-Nian-Rebirth.jpg?resize=151,215 "Nian Nian [Rebirth]")