Return to Before the Villain’s Corruption

When Qiu Shi awoke, the moon had just set, leaving behind a faint grayish-blue shadow in the sky, casting a desolate and somber light.
By the rosewood daybed, the lattice window was half-open. Dewdrops clung to the slender edges of banana leaves, rolling soundlessly to the ground at the slightest breeze. On the fruit trees a dozen steps away, the number of unripe fruits seemed to have increased since the day before.
Outside the door, a young attendant stood holding a lantern, his voice frantic with urgency. Blocked by a few maidservants at the entrance, his words came out strained: "Aunt Ming Yue… I beg Aunt to inform the young lady."
The boy’s voice carried a note of helpless despair, unlike the cold, cutting tone from her dream.
Qiu Shi sat up, wrapped in her quilt, her long hair cascading over her white sleeping robes—soft, sleek, and dark as silk, with a faint, lingering fragrance.
"Outrageous! How dare you intrude upon the young lady's quarters?" Ming Yue's voice was heavy with reprimand, though she tempered her tone, mindful of discretion. "The Madam has decreed that the young lady is unwell and must rest undisturbed these days. No one is permitted to disturb her."
Qiu Shi’s fingers, pressed against her forehead, paused as she vaguely recalled quarreling with her mother the evening before. Now, she was under house arrest.
Suddenly, a loud *thud* came from beyond the closed door—the sound of knees hitting the ground—followed by the repeated thumping of a forehead against the floor.
"Please, young lady, save my master!"
The person outside refused to leave, clinging to this plea like a drowning man to a lifeline.
Qiu Shi exhaled softly. Amidst those heavy, muffled sounds, her fingers flexed slightly before she pressed uncomfortably at her throat. "Ming Yue, let him in."
A brief silence followed outside before Ming Yue sighed in resignation. "As you wish."
The room was scented with a sweet, floral fragrance. By the dressing table, an open jewelry box spilled over with precious bracelets and gemstones.
Beyond the screen stood an enormous hollowed-out rosewood cabinet, adorned with priceless jade ornaments and exquisitely carved wooden artifacts.
Even the reclining couch beneath the window was studded with dazzling jewels from end to end, impossible to overlook.
The attendant kneeling at Qiu Shi’s feet was Qing Feng, a servant who attended Cheng Yi.
"Greetings, young lady."
Qing Feng pressed his forehead to the floor, his voice urgent. "I beg you to save my master."
Qiu Shi’s slender fingers massaged her throbbing temples. Her voice was hoarse from the lingering nightmare. "What happened?"
Under Ming Yue and the others' suddenly darkened gazes, Qing Feng took a deep breath and spoke. "After you left yesterday, the Madam ordered Dongheng Courtyard sealed off and dismissed the physicians. My master burns with fever, his wounds have reopened, and he still hasn’t awakened. I had no choice but to disturb you."
Word for word, just as in her dream.
Qiu Shi tapped the edge of the daybed and fell silent for what felt like half an incense stick’s time.
Ming Yue, standing to the side, couldn’t hide her surprise.
Had this been yesterday, Qing Feng wouldn’t have needed to utter a word before Qiu Shi would have rushed headlong to Cheng Yi’s side. But now, even after Qing Feng pleaded multiple times outside and repeated his plea indoors, she still took her time, eyes closed in thought.
Ming Yue quickly composed herself and waved a hand dismissively. "How dare you slander the Madam? Who do you think you are? Flying Fish Guards, take him away!"
Qing Feng struggled, but his loyalty held firm—he pleaded not for himself, only for his master’s salvation.
"Enough."
Qiu Shi’s bare feet touched the floor as the thin woolen blanket slipped from her shoulders. She stepped before Qing Feng, studying him briefly before coolly commanding, "Ming Yue, summon the physicians."
When she moved to leave, Ming Yue lowered her head and fretted, "Young lady, the Madam has forbidden you from stepping outside."
By now, the sky was lightening. The dark clouds at the horizon stretched like cotton candy, their hues shifting as one layer faded and another took its place.
Qiu Shi’s brows knit together. "Once this matter is settled, I will go and beg Mother’s forgiveness."
Ming Yue finally exhaled in relief. At least yesterday’s conversation had some effect—otherwise, the young lady would likely have declared, *"What are a few Flying Fish Guards to stop me?"*
Half a month ago, Qiu Shi had rescued Cheng Yi and placed him in a courtyard not far from Baitang Courtyard.
She visited him daily, and in just ten short days, rumors had spiraled beyond control.
The sky was not yet fully bright as Ming Yue and Xuan Yun walked ahead, lanterns in hand, leading the way south.
As she walked, Qiu Shi reflected.
That dream—so vivid it could not be ignored—had foretold both her noble origins and her tragic end.
The turning point of her fate began the moment she saved Cheng Yi.
For him, she would quarrel with her mother, break ties with her elder brother, sever her childhood betrothal, and even pack a small bundle to follow Cheng Yi, leaving her family behind.
That was the dream’s beginning.
Later, Cheng Yi would ascend as the Lord of Heavenly Power, but what awaited her was not marital harmony—it was an imperial decree.
Her cultivation would be stripped away, and she would be imprisoned in a tiny courtyard by the Great Rift of the Demon Clan.
That was the dream’s end.
More absurd and dramatic than any tale she’d ever read.
Yet as she recalled recent events, Qiu Shi’s delicate willow-leaf brows furrowed once more.
A dream like a blooming flower, a dream like falling leaves.
Even if she didn’t believe it, she was already walking the path foretold.
Now, her mother had confined her. And if the dream held true, word would spread of her defiance—summoning physicians for Cheng Yi in open disregard of her mother’s orders—prompting her elder brother to seek her out.
Qiu Shi was the youngest child, the only daughter, doted upon by her parents. Her elder brother had never once scolded her harshly. The sole serious conversation between them would see him breaking down every argument, only for her to remain unmoved—hurting him with words she didn’t even realize were cruel.
If this was real, Qiu Shi wondered if she had been bewitched or gone utterly mad.
=====
The two courtyards were not far apart—just around a bend and down a path.
The wooden-fenced yard was neither large nor small, with a front hall and a rear garden. At the tail end of spring, many of the flowers had wilted, giving way to tiny green fruits the size of thumbs, hidden among the lush foliage—here one, there one, easy to miss if not looked for.
Outside the courtyard stood a ring of Flying Fish Guards in crimson uniforms, each ramrod straight and eyes forward, impossible to ignore.
At the gate stood someone Qiu Shi recognized: Lu Jue, the young general who had just returned triumphant from leading troops at the Great Rift of the Demon Clan, his bearing proud and spirited.
"Young lady."
Lu Jue clasped his hands in salute, his tone neither submissive nor arrogant. "By the Young Master’s order, Dongheng Courtyard is henceforth exit-only. None may enter."
"The morning dew is heavy. For your health, young lady, you should return to your quarters and rest."
Lu Jue had always treated Qiu Shi with brotherly affection while working under her elder brother, but today, his tone carried an official stiffness, clearly prepared for her to explode into a furious confrontation.
Just then, the physician arrived.
The courtyard gate was small, and now over a dozen people crowded the space. Qiu Shi’s brows furrowed again—they hadn’t relaxed all night, not even in her dreams.
Lu Jue braced himself for a storm.
But—
“Lu Jue.”
Qiu Shi paused, then added softly, “Brother.”
The girl wore no makeup, her long black hair and snow-white gown reminiscent of a dewy flower bud at dawn. And with that single, unmistakably yielding “Brother,” the mask on Lu Jue’s face began to crack.
After a long silence, he sighed and pressed his fingers to his temple. “Qiu Qiu, this isn’t something to be reckless about. The Young Lord has given strict orders—not even a mosquito is allowed into Dongheng Courtyard.”
“I brought him back. I can’t let him die in this courtyard.”
Qiu Shi thought for a moment. “Leaving Baitang Courtyard without permission was already a mistake. I’ll take full responsibility and explain to Mother. As for the guards, they shouldn’t be punished. I’ll speak to my brother myself.”
Lu Jue had watched her grow up. He knew that once she spoke like this, she would not be deterred. Reluctantly, he stepped aside. He wanted to say more, but he also knew she had likely heard every warning already. With a resigned wave, he motioned to the guards. “Let them in.”
Qing Feng rushed into the room ahead of the physician, who followed with his medicine chest.
The closer they got to the western chamber, the stronger the scent of medicine grew.
The door remained open after Qing Feng and the physician entered. Qiu Shi stepped inside.
The room was elegantly furnished, not as lavish as her own quarters, but certainly not shabby. Though it had only been prepared a little over ten days ago, every item—from the iridescent glass vase on the cabinet to the twelve-panel partridge-and-landscape screen in the corner—was of the finest quality. Many of these rare and expensive trinkets had come straight from Qiu Shi’s own collection.
The physician carefully examined Cheng Yi’s pulse and inspected his wounds before rising from the bedside and bowing to Qiu Shi. “My lady, Young Master Cheng’s fever is due to recurring injuries. Once he takes the medicine I prescribe, his fever should break, and he will recover. The external wounds will heal easily, but the internal damage will require time and careful treatment.”
Qiu Shi nodded faintly. “You may leave.”
Once the physician and attendants had gone, the room, previously cramped, now felt empty. Qing Feng placed a cool, damp cloth on Cheng Yi’s forehead, expecting Qiu Shi to sit by the bedside as before.
But when she looked up, she saw Qiu Shi seated by the latticed window, fingers pressed to her temple, eyes half-lidded and distracted.
Cheng Yi drank the medicine, and his fever subsided, but he remained unconscious.
After sitting silently for nearly an hour, Qiu Shi rose when there was still no sign of him waking. She walked to the bed, and Qing Feng discreetly stepped aside, revealing Cheng Yi’s pale, gaunt face.
Some people were born with a gentle grace. Even awake, his eyes seemed perpetually softened with warmth, and even in slumber, his entire demeanor remained pure—like untouched snow.
Cheng Yi was such a person.
Qiu Shi had once wondered how the Black Dragon Clan, known for their ruthless pillaging and slaughter, could produce someone so untainted.
As dawn broke, hurried footsteps approached from outside. Ming Yue’s voice, deliberately hushed, came through the door: “My lady, the Young Lord is coming!”
Qiu Shi’s eyes snapped open. In the morning light streaming through the window, her fingers curled reflexively into her sleeves, a strange sense of inevitability washing over her.