Chapter 3

The Loong clan, a renowned noble family, lived up to its reputation. Even a wedding for a mere princess was held with grandiose splendor. Exotic beasts and rare creatures came to witness the ceremony, and countless treasures were presented as gifts, a testament to the immense respect afforded to the event. Jane, dressed in a bright red wedding gown, held Eric Powell’s hand as the couple appeared under the watchful and expectant eyes of the crowd. Her face glowed with happiness, overjoyed to finally achieve the position she had long coveted. As she passed by me, her smile turned mischievous. Tilting her head slightly, she silently mouthed two words: “Loser.” Yes, I was a loser. But she was about to step into hell. Who was truly the pitiable one here? Her smile, however, didn’t last long. Eric Powell handed her a glass of wine and said, “Drink this, and you’ll officially be the princess.” Jane eagerly took the glass, ready to down it in one gulp, but the sharp smell stopped her. Alarmed, she instinctively threw the glass away. “Why is this realgar wine?” she exclaimed. Realgar, the bane of the Snake clan, was lethal even to those who had cultivated their powers for thousands of years. A single sip wouldn’t kill, but it would leave one bedridden for months, suffering a fate worse than death. In my past life, I had faced the same moment. Refusal had never crossed my mind—I knew my life was insignificant compared to the honor of the Loong clan. Rejecting Eric Powell in front of so many guests would have sealed my miserable fate. So, with gritted teeth, I drank it. My head swam in a haze for the rest of the ceremony, but he never cared. To him, I was nothing more than a lowly plaything. Who cares about the feelings of a toy? Jane, however, didn’t grasp the gravity of the situation. Pouting, she threw herself into Eric Powell’s arms, whining, “I don’t want to drink this!” She failed to notice the darkness clouding his face. Still, for the sake of appearances, he forced a smile and coaxed her gently: “Be good. This is a tradition of the Loong clan. You can’t throw a tantrum in front of so many people.” By now, any sensible person would have backed down. But Jane, oblivious to the danger, continued her defiance: “I don’t care about your stupid traditions! We in the Snake clan hate realgar more than anything! I never want to see it again!” Her words enraged the Loong clan. To them, realgar wine was a symbol of good fortune. Jane’s disdain was tantamount to a public insult. The murmurs of discontent spread among the guests. Disparaging remarks about Jane’s lack of decorum and even criticisms of Eric Powell’s judgment reached his ears. His patience snapped. His voice, laced with anger, cut through the crowd: “When I tell you to drink, you drink. Do you have a death wish?” Jane froze, stunned by his sudden outburst. Trembling, she hastily grabbed the glass and drained its contents. But it was too late. The mood of the crowd had already soured. After the ceremony, Eric Powell left in a huff, his sleeves billowing as he stormed away, not sparing her a second glance. Jane stood there, bewildered. Just yesterday, they had been so tender and affectionate—how could things fall apart over a glass of realgar wine? I chuckled coldly. How naive she was. Nothing mattered more to the Loong clan than their pride. A princess was merely a decorative tool, a vessel for bearing heirs. She really thought she had become a phoenix perched high in the branches. This was just the beginning—her days of suffering were far from over.