Cloud Country, north of the Daning Dynasty. It is jointly managed by the Three Holy Clans - Beizhan, Mono, and Xifeng. The lord of the cloud kingdom is chosen by the will of the goddess.

The so-called will of the goddess refers to the three holy relics in the clouds - Linglong Pei, glass lamp, and Yinluo sword. The person who points at the same time the light of the three holy relics is the heir of the lord of the country. And every lord of the country, without exception, is from the Three Holy Clans. To put it bluntly, the Holy Clan is the nobility of the clouds, above the common people.

Yu Qianling is the daughter of this lord. Two years ago, he married Mo Zixiang, the fifth prince of the Daning Dynasty.

Half a year ago, Daning started a war with the clouds. Yu Qianling, as a cloud person, suddenly changed from the respect of the princess to everyone who can be bullied. Later, inside the clouds, the Northern War colluded with Xifeng to surrender Daning, the lord of the country was killed, and Mono was exterminated.

For half a year, Yu Qianling was subjected to inhuman abuse and was scarred.

Qiao Yuewei picked up the leather whip and threw it Yu Qianling. The whip had barbs, and the skin was open where it struck. She looked smug and smiled victorious.

A burst of coldness flashed in Mo Zixiang's eyes, and he grabbed a handful of salt expressionlessly and sprinkled it on Yu Qianling's wound.

With a scream, Yu Qianling opened his eyes. She sat up violently, covered in cold sweat and a look of fear on her face.

It was a somewhat dimly lit room. The bedding is new, but the rest of the furniture is old. A man in black sat on a chair with a lot of paint off and was looking at Yu Qianling. On the table next to it, there is a lamp with a strange shape. The thin foot of the lamp is carved with the body of the phoenix. It's pitch black, but it emits a faint blue light.

The man was expressionless, and a pair of eyes were looking at her.

Yu Qianling took a breath of cool air, and the situation in front of her looked very strange. Am I dead? This is the Netherworld?

The man smiled slightly, and his voice was low: "It's the seventh day, this king counts, you should also wake up, Princess Xiang." ”

"This is the Netherworld?" Yu Qianling looked at the suspicious man vigilantly, she felt that this person's lamp was a little familiar.

The man stood up and walked up to Yu Qianling. The black hair is tied up with a black hairband, and a warm Hetian jade is inlaid on it. Under the sword eyebrows, his black eyes were bottomless. High nose bridge, thin lips. He has fair skin, well-defined facial features, and a handsome appearance. Dressed in black, it looks like a good fabric, and the auspicious clouds on the placket and cuffs are embroidered with gold thread. A cup of mutton fat jade unicorn on the waist. He is slender and talented.

Yu Qianling bit her lip, a little painful. She's not dead, and she's not dreaming. She thought quickly, and her mind flashed one by one.

The man looked at Yu Qianling's vigilant appearance, sighed lightly, and smiled helplessly: "It seems that the imperial sister-in-law only has the fifth brother in her eyes." But the fifth brother didn't treat each other sincerely. ”

Hearing this, Yu Qianling's heart sank. Mo Zixiang, her husband, her god, a man who threw her away and poured salt on her wounds.

Like a knife stabbed into her chest, Yu Qianling felt a heart-rending pain, and she burst into tears.

From the moment Yu Qianling married into the Xiangwang Mansion, she was gentle and virtuous, generous and decent, and she focused on Mo Zixiang in everything. treats the side concubines and beauties and even the concubines, she treats each other with courtesy and sincerity. She never scolds her subordinates. But what did her sincerity get back?

The two countries are at war, and she is imprisoned in a dungeon by Mo Zixiang. Qiao Yuewei's humiliation, and the cold eyes of others. No one would say a word for her.

"Is it useful to cry, don't you want revenge? You've already died once, and there's nothing to be sad about. Another voice rang out, cold, without temperature.