Mu Xueshi had intended to declare his identity loudly—but faltered under the Third Prince’s gaze. His trousers still hung loose, belt crooked at his waist, face smeared with ink-like mud.
“If I told you I am not the person you think I am,” he ventured, “what would you do?”
The Third Prince’s pupils darkened. “Look around you,” he said slowly. “Your fate is already written in this scenery.”
Mu Xueshi spun theatrically, seeing only exquisite gardens and tranquil beauty.
“I humbly ask Third Prince to enlighten me,” he said, bowing at a precise forty-five degrees.
The Third Prince regarded him coolly. “Just now, servants filled every corner of this courtyard. Now not one remains. Do you know why?”
“I… do not.”
A cold snort.
“When you ran from the chamber, you entered their sight. Anyone who lays eyes on you must die.”
The words took a moment to settle.
Then Mu Xueshi’s face drained of color beneath the smeared mud. He remembered vaguely seeing figures at the door—yet by the time he relieved himself, only the Third Prince had remained.
A chill crept up his spine.
He staggered forward. “Why must those who see me die?”
The Third Prince hesitated. He had expected concern for his own fate—not this question.
Studying Mu Xueshi’s clear, almost foolishly honest eyes, he lifted his chin gently, thumb brushing his cheek.
“Because this face,” he murmured, “may be seen only by me. One more pair of eyes is one too many. Any who steal a glance will have their eyes pierced by my blade.”
Mu Xueshi barely registered the intimacy of the gesture. Shock struck him instead. He collapsed onto the ground, face pale despite the grime.
The Third Prince showed no pity.
“You are Mu Xueshi, are you not?”
Mu Xueshi nodded numbly.
So this was his name. Beautiful—yet attached to a disgraced body, burdened with crime, bringing death upon others.
He realized then that it was not malice, but ignorance of this world’s taboos, that had cost innocent lives.
And for the first time since awakening—his earlier cheer vanished completely.
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