In the backyard of the medical clinic, the parasol tree leaves rustled in the wind. A cold glint of silver flashed from Ning Qingyu’s fingertips as the needle pierced precisely into the acupoint of the wooden mannequin before her. The three-inch-long silver needle sank two-tenths of an inch into the wood—without the slightest error.

“Young miss, your needlework is becoming ever more refined,” said the old servant Fu Bo, standing under the veranda with a tea tray in hand, his face full of satisfaction.

Ning Qingyu smiled slightly. Her fingers gave the needle a gentle twist, and it began to tremble subtly within the wooden figure, emitting a faint hum. Anyone skilled in the healing arts would have been astonished—this was clearly the Ning family’s secret technique: Resonating Needle Art, something said to require at least twenty years of cultivation to master.

Yet Ning Qingyu was only eighteen years old.

“Father said that when the Resonating Needle is mastered to perfection, it can bridge life and death.” She withdrew the needle and took the handkerchief Fu Bo handed her to wipe her fingers. “I’m still far from that level.”

Before her words had faded, a sudden clamor erupted from the front courtyard—shouts, the crash of shattered porcelain, cries and scolding all mingled together. Ning Qingyu’s expression changed instantly. She lifted her skirt and rushed toward the front courtyard.

Inside the main hall of Jishi Hall, five or six men dressed as constables were smashing medicine cabinets. The century-old plaque reading “Healing the World with Compassion” had been torn down, the herbs scattered across the floor. The resident doctors and apprentices had been forced to the ground, some bloodied.

“Stop!” Ning Qingyu shouted sternly. “Why are you destroying my family’s clinic, officers?”

The lead constable sneered, “Ning Zhiyuan used medicine to kill the Prime Minister’s son and has already been imprisoned. By order of the magistrate, we are sealing off Jishi Hall. No one involved is allowed to leave the capital!”

Ning Qingyu was struck like lightning. Her father… killed someone? Impossible!

“There must be some mistake! My father has practiced medicine for thirty years, he would never—”

“Miss!” Fu Bo suddenly tugged at her from behind and lowered his voice. “This old servant just heard that someone from the Prime Minister’s estate came this morning saying the young master died suddenly after taking our medicine. But that formula… I clearly remember—it was the calming decoction Master personally handed over to their steward!”

Ning Qingyu felt a chill run through her body. How could a calming decoction kill someone? Unless…

“I must go see my father.” She turned and rushed toward the inner rooms to fetch money for bribes. Just as she stepped over the threshold, a sharp pain exploded in the back of her head.

Through the haze, she saw Fu Bo’s terrified face—and a bloodstained club in the hand of a masked man. He wasn’t dressed like a constable…

Darkness swallowed her.

When she awoke, her head throbbed in agony. Ning Qingyu found herself lying in the woodshed, where outside she heard Fu Bo crying.

“…The young miss suffered a head injury—she’s not right in the head anymore… Please, officer, have mercy…”

She instinctively tried to rise, but then heard another cold voice:

“The Prime Minister shows mercy—he will not pursue the Ning family’s women. But Jishi Hall is to remain closed forever. Ning Zhiyuan has confessed and taken his own life. You may collect his body for burial.”

Her father… was dead?

Ning Qingyu bit down hard on her lip, the taste of blood filling her mouth. She mustn’t make a sound, mustn’t move. That masked man had clearly intended to silence her forever. If not for Fu Bo hiding her in time…

A single tear rolled down her cheek. Curled behind the firewood, her eyes turned hollow. This was the first time she pretended to be mad—but it would not be the last.

Three months later, at the estate of the Marquis of Zhenbei.

“Their birth charts match, and she can ward off calamity through joyous union,” said an elderly fortune-teller, pointing at the divination chart. “Though the girl’s mind is damaged, her fate is extremely noble. She may help the young lord survive this crisis.”

Madam Xiao, the Dowager Marchioness, looked at the chart, then down at the portrait in her hand—the girl in the painting had delicate features but a vacant, lifeless gaze.

“The Ning girl… that’s the daughter of the medical hall? Didn’t her father just kill someone and commit suicide?”

“It is precisely because her family was destroyed that her fate has become even more precious,” the fortune-teller said in a hushed voice. “The low counters the high; sorrow counters joy. This is a method to defy fate and change destiny.”

Madam Xiao closed her eyes. Her most beloved grandson, Xiao Yu, had been poisoned at the border and was now comatose. Even the imperial doctors had told them to prepare for the worst. This ritual marriage for joy… was their last hope.

“Make the arrangements. Three days from now, the Ning girl will be married into our household.”

In the shadows, a young woman in green clutched a handkerchief tightly, a flash of hatred in her eyes.

When the bridal sedan entered the Xiao estate through the side gate, a red veil covered Ning Qingyu’s head—but her eyes beneath were as clear as a spring. For the past three months, she had feigned madness to escape further assassination attempts. In secret, she had been investigating the truth behind her father’s unjust death.

When the Xiao family came to propose marriage, she immediately realized—this was her chance.

The Marquis of Zhenbei’s household… was one of the prominent families her father had once frequently delivered medicine to.

In the wedding hall, standing in place of the comatose groom was a large rooster. Through the slit in her red bridal veil, Ning Qingyu saw the mocking and pitying gazes of the assembled guests.

“A fool paired with a living corpse—what a perfect match,” someone snickered quietly.

Ning Qingyu’s lips curved upward into a dull, silly smile. But hidden inside her sleeve, her hand gripped a silver needle tightly.

On the wedding night, the bridal chamber glowed with the light of red candles. Ning Qingyu sat quietly at the edge of the bed, gazing at the unconscious Xiao Yu.

Though pale, the man’s features were strikingly handsome. His sword-like brows reached his temples, and even with his eyes closed, he exuded a cold, lethal aura. The Borderlands War God’s reputation, it seemed, was well earned.

After confirming no one else was present, Ning Qingyu swiftly took his pulse. Moments later, her pupils contracted sharply.

“Coldheart Powder?”

This rare and deadly poison from the Western Regions was colorless and tasteless. Once ingested, it would slowly freeze the heart meridians, leading to death. Most terrifyingly, it required small, daily doses over the course of months to take effect—a meticulously planned assassination.

Ning Qingyu pulled three silver needles from her hair, ready to begin treatment, when footsteps suddenly sounded outside the door. She instantly resumed her blank expression and hid the needles back in her sleeve.

The door opened, and a young woman in green entered, followed by a maid.

“Hello, Cousin-in-law,” the girl said sweetly, though her gaze was cold. “I’m Lin Wanyi, Cousin Yu’s cousin. I just came to see… the new bride.”

Ning Qingyu gave a foolish grin, toying with the hem of her wedding robe. She even let saliva drip purposefully onto the dress.

Lin Wanyi recoiled in disgust. “Truly a halfwit.” She walked over to the bed and gently caressed Xiao Yu’s face with affection. “It’s fine. Once Cousin is gone, I’ll take good care of the Xiao family. As for you…” She glanced at Ning Qingyu. “There are plenty of places in the asylum for people like you.”

Once Lin Wanyi left, Ning Qingyu wiped away the saliva, her eyes as sharp as blades. She quickly began inserting needles into Xiao Yu to protect his heart meridian.

“Lord Xiao,” she whispered as she worked, “you and I have both been wronged. If you want to live, hold on until I can make the antidote.”

In the candlelight, Xiao Yu’s finger twitched—just barely.