After Faking My Death, the Powerful Minister Went Mad

Blurb:

A gentle black-lotus heroine x an emotionally steady, tender hero

Li Yingtang becomes the wicked supporting female character in a political intrigue novel, fated to meet a tragic end.

She does not panic. She simply closes the script of fate with a gentle hand, a faint, warm smile spreading across her eyes.

If the Heavenly Dao wants her to be a stepping stone, then she will choose someone herself to rewrite this ending.

On the night of the first snow, she walks down a long street wrapped in a white fox-fur cloak. Her steps are light, but she stops before a young man.

His clothes are worn. When he looks up at her, his eyes hold no plea, only a clear, deep black, like a blank sheet of paper yet to be marked.

"Are you cold?" She takes off her cloak and drapes it gently over his shoulders, her voice as soft as spring water brushing willow branches. "Come home with me."

The boy freezes, gazing at her warm, gentle features, then answers quietly, "...My name is Xie Qingyue."

A name that had never once appeared in the countless words of the original novel.

Her smile deepens. That's the one.

The first lesson she teaches him is how to choose what to give up.

"If you want to protect something, you must first learn to let something else go." She pours tea with effortless grace and slides a cup toward him. "But there are things that, once let go, can never be picked up again."

Xie Qingyue watches the tea leaves drift in the cup, then looks up at her tranquil profile.

The first account book she teaches him to read is the warmth and coldness of human hearts.

"King Ye cares about his reputation, so we'll give him a good name. He covets profit, so we'll let him have the gains." Her fingertip taps a spot in the ledger, her eyes curving with a smile. "Once someone is standing high up, pulling away the ladder hurts the most."

She teaches with patience, and he learns quickly. Within a year, he can already help her play half the game. Yet complicated emotions fill the young man's eyes whenever he looks at her.

"Miss." One rainy dusk, he stands beneath the covered walkway, watching her prune the flowers. "If I become more useful than King Ye, will you always need me?"

The shears close softly, and a withered plum blossom falls to the ground.

She raises her eyes, still wearing that gentle, warm smile. "Qingyue, you are the person I chose to break this deadlock, the hope I planted in this hopeless game."

She pauses, her voice growing softer. "But more than anything, I want you to become a player in your own right, not anyone's pawn."

He is silent for a long time, then slowly breaks into the faintest of smiles. "I understand."

She had calculated everything: King Ye's counterattack, the moment to escape, and just how large the fire had to be to make the name "Li Yingtang" disappear for good.

She had even calculated that he would suffer, that he would rage, and that he would demand justice for her.

But she had not calculated how fearsome the boy she raised with her own hands would become over ten years.

Even less had she expected their reunion to come so suddenly.

Jiangnan, in the third month of spring, lies veiled in mist and rain.

At a silk appraisal banquet hosted by Chu Tang, now the daughter of a merchant, she is speaking amiably with several shopkeepers when a clear voice suddenly sounds behind her:

"Was this shade of sky-blue dyed using the cold spring water from Xishan?"

Her fingertips pause. Slowly, she turns around.

Beyond the beaded curtain stands a figure in bamboo-green robes, tall and straight. Ten years have washed away the boy's youthful awkwardness, leaving him with an air of severity and scholarly refinement.

Yet when those eyes look at her, they brim with tenderness, hurt, and joy.

The moment their gazes meet, all sound around them disappears.

She had planned for every contingency and taken every precaution, convinced she had safely disappeared into the common world. Yet at this moment, fate gives her a gentle push, sending her crashing back into his sight.

Xie Qingyue walks through the crowd and stops three paces from her, neither too close nor too far.

"Forgive my rudeness." His voice is low and gentle, carrying an excitement he can barely conceal. "It's just that the look on your face a moment ago was exactly like that of an old friend of mine."

She gives a slight nod, her smile courteous and serene. "There are many people who look alike in this world. Perhaps you miss her too much, my lord."

"Perhaps." He smiles softly, testing her. "But that old friend once told me..."

He takes a step forward, his voice so quiet only the two of them can hear:

"She said the best disguise isn't putting on a mask. It's believing the illusion yourself."

Fine rain slants in through the window, dampening the carved lattice.

She falls silent for a moment, then suddenly smiles.

"Qingyue, it's been a long time."

Theme: A heroine who loves herself.