Ning Shiting followed Prince Qing, Gu Feiyin, for ten years—breaking off an engagement, abandoning his bright immortal path, and trading his blade for life in the manor. In his youth, unnamed and unfavored, he met his end with a cup of poisoned wine. Reborn at seventeen, he let go of his obsessions, seeking only a letter of divorce. Life in the manor was lonely, shared only with the crippled young heir under the same roof, remaining indifferent to each other. Knowing that in the future, Gu Tingshuang would storm the palace, kill his father, and become a tyrant—and knowing the boy had lost his mother young, weathering hardships—he offered patient guidance and gentle companionship, hoping to temper his rage with peace. Yet one summer day, as he lounged in the courtyard with closed eyes, he overheard servants urging the heir to choose a consort. From a shadowed corner of the study, the brooding, cold youth in a wheelchair sneered, "Who needs a consort? I only want the one in this courtyard." "His divorce letter—I’ll write it." "His remarriage—I’ll decree it." Reborn, he never expected to become the tyrant’s white moonlight, a cinnabar stain etched into a frigid heart. * At ten, Gu Tingshuang lost his mother, his spiritual roots shattered, confined to a wheelchair. At fourteen, his father welcomed his "benefactor" into the manor—their bridal chamber placed in his mother’s old room. That night, he stormed in with a blade, his voice dark with fury: *Get out.* The young man lifted his veil to meet his gaze. Eyes clear, serene like still water. For the next decade, he became the sole fixation of his heart. Cultivating for him, stepping into the world for him, wielding his blade to sever fate’s threads. Because he was the last light piercing his life. *Before you, ten years of frost.* *After you, spring rains gentle.*