Everyone in the capital knew that State Preceptor Xie Chenyuan was a living King of Hell: cold-blooded, heartless, and indifferent to women.
Except when it came to Su Qingwan, the legitimate daughter of the Marquis of Zhen Guo's household.
He had broken a zither string for her, and severed her enemy's hand for her, too.
But no one knew that the blood-jade clasp she had worn on her wrist for ten years was something he had dug out with his own hands from the blaze that burned the Marquis of Zhenbei's residence for three days and nights.
Ten years ago, all 137 people in the Marquis of Zhenbei's household perished in a single night.
Ten years later, he wielded immense power at court, yet kept her confined within a small world of his own, teaching her to play the zither and to play chess.
On this chessboard, she was a piece, and he was the general.
At a palace banquet, he snapped her string to draw out the jackals lurking behind her. When the marquis's residence was surrounded, he put a blade to her father and brothers' throats with his own hands, only to turn around and slaughter the treacherous officials in the hall.
She hated him to the bone: for using her, for deceiving her.
But he wound the bloodstained string around his finger and leaned close to her ear, laughing softly, his voice hoarse.
“Wan'er, only I can wash the blood from these hands of yours. And only I can kill the ghosts haunting this city.”
Only when the truth finally came to light did she understand:
The fire ten years ago was one he had crawled back from hell to kindle for her alone.
