Thump, thump, thump.

Lillian Hart was awakened by the slow, heavy sound of approaching footsteps and opened her eyes.

Saying that she opened her eyes was perhaps not entirely accurate. After all, she was now only a wisp of a remnant soul, forced to cling to her own hairpin, unable to leave, unable even to move, lying there helplessly in silence.

Lillian Hart quietly opened her eyes.

Before her was still the dim secret chamber, its marble walls cold and orderly. The four corners of the room were piled high with ice, meant to keep her corpse from decaying.

Inside the secret chamber, time is unknowable.

How long has she been dead?

Three months, half a year, or a full year?

Lillian Hart didn’t know either.

The entire secret chamber seemed to be perpetually shrouded in a cold, misty haze.

Passing through that veil of chill fog, Lillian Hart “looked” toward the sound of approaching footsteps and saw a faint, indistinct figure.

The silhouette was tall and slender, carrying an air of nobility and quiet elegance despite its blurred outline.

He had grown a little thinner again.

Realizing this, Lillian Hart’s heart sank, and she let out a soft sigh.

After all, she was nothing more than a hairpin. No one could hear any movement she made, so she did not bother to conceal her sigh at all.

Alexander Vale could not hear a single sound.

In the darkness, he slowly descended step by step, then raised his hand to light the oil lamp in the beast-shaped sconce on the wall.

There were eight such beast-shaped lamps in the secret chamber. Each time, Alexander Vale would only light the one farthest from her.

Sometimes he did not light any at all. He would simply walk forward in the dark and sit beside her coffin, motionless as he gazed at her. His eyes were desolate and parched—colder even than she, who was already dead.

Today, Alexander Vale was willing to light a lamp, and this brought a slight sense of comfort to Lillian Hart’s heart.

Light and warmth could always make people feel at ease; she believed Alexander Vale needed that.

The lamp oil burned brightly, illuminating the dark secret chamber and gradually revealing Alexander Vale’s features.

His long brows were sharp as swords, his phoenix-like eyes shone brilliantly, his nose was high and straight, and the curve of his jaw was gentle yet undeniably handsome—so exquisitely refined that even a single glimpse of his profile was enough to leave one utterly captivated.

Although she had seen it many times before, Lillian Hart still fell into a brief daze. Then she realized that Alexander Vale had lit the second lamp while moving.

There was something slightly different about Alexander Vale today.

Lillian Hart blinked in puzzlement, watching as he turned around.

As Alexander Vale turned, Lillian Hart was finally able to see his face fully from the front.

The moment she did, her heart trembled softly.

It was said that the Prince Jing of Great Yin possessed extraordinary looks, yet even more famous than his striking appearance was his cold-blooded, ruthless nature—he killed as casually as one might cut down grass.

But Lillian Hart had rarely witnessed Alexander Vale’s brutality. Whenever he appeared before her, he was always impeccably clean, carrying with him the faint fragrance of freshly bathed skin and burning incense.

However, Alexander Vale at this moment was entirely different. He was still dressed in his court robes embroidered with four-clawed golden dragons woven through black and crimson fabric. A brown tea stain marked the edge of his sleeve. On his pale forehead was a wound—cut by some sharp object—fresh red blood trickling down from it.

Blood slid past his sharp, sword-like brows and long lashes, trailing down his cheek before being wiped away by his fingers.

The streak of blood, combined with his pale complexion and Alexander Vale’s cold gaze, made him look momentarily bewitching—more like the terrifying god of slaughter from the rumors.

Lillian Hart was not afraid. On the contrary, she felt a flicker of worry and couldn’t help but ask,

“What’s wrong with you?

Did something happen?”

Alexander Vale did not hear her voice. With a cold expression, he walked toward her.

Lillian Hart noticed that his left leg was somewhat stiff. It made his posture slightly uneven, almost a limp, yet he still kept his back straight.

No wonder he had been walking so slowly today.

Worried, Lillian Hart asked, ‘Has your condition worsened again?’

She still received no reply.

This man never knows how to take care of his own body.

Lillian Hart resented him, looking at Alexander Vale standing motionless beside the coffin, his head lowered as he gazed at her.

Lillian Hart knew what she looked like at this moment.

She lay inside an enormous coffin made of priceless golden nanmu wood, dressed in a brilliant red bridal gown. No matter how young and beautiful she once had been, no matter how ice had been used to preserve her, nothing could conceal the decay spreading across her face.

She must look dreadful.

However, Alexander Vale seemed not to notice her discomposure. He only gazed at her silently and intently, his eyes appearing to hold burdens so heavy that even the passing of countless years could not carry them away, making Lillian Hart’s heartache at the sight.

“Your Highness?”

Lillian Hart called out again in concern, but it was useless.

Alexander Vale remained silent as he looked at Lillian Hart for a long time. Then, suddenly, he slowly raised his hand, inch by inch reaching toward Lillian Hart.

His own blood- stained finger gently touched Lillian Hart's lips, then applied a little pressure.

The first time Alexander Vale touched her was when he pulled her corpse from the icy stream.

He was covered in blood, like a demon crawling out of the underworld, carelessly tossing aside two blood-soaked heads—one of which was even his own sister's—almost terrifying Lillian Hart, who was clinging to a hairpin.

Then, disregarding the biting cold of the winter stream, he stumbled into the water, giving her an embrace steeped in the stench of blood and ice.

At that time, Lillian Hart didn't know him very well, and was shocked by his series of outrageous actions, constantly calling him a madman.

That madman collected her corpse, set up a funeral hall, forced her enemies to kneel before her coffin one by one, watched them weep bitterly, and then coldly stabbed them with a knife.

In reality, Lillian Hart didn't have that many enemies; it's just that Alexander Vale would ruthlessly eliminate anyone even slightly involved.

Inside the funeral hall, blood flowed like a river, causing Lillan Hart to gradually become numb from sheer terror.