This is just the written story if you want the quality better you can always just watch it on youtube. I would highly recommend the version -if the dekusquad reads wattpad stories-.

I was watching a Y/N slander video, and that's when I came up with the idea to write this book. The original was made by rae_thereader, but she had removed it from her profile; however this book will continue to stay up on my profile, because I think it's a good way for people to find my other stories.

Rachel needs her revenge like she needs oxygen. Her family was hunted and killed for knowing too much, but now she has to fight back to protect the ones she loves from enduring the same fate her parents did. Until, of course, she starts falling for the man she should hate... Carson has secrets. His family is the reason the girl he loves should stay far away from him, but her safety is all that matters to him. After finding out Rachel's motives, he needs to be one step ahead to protect her, and betraying his family seems to be the only rational decision. Together, the two learn about each other's pasts and strike a deal between them to fight off the true enemy. But is the truth too heavy to handle or will the secrets someone keeps hidden destroy any hope of an alliance and a chance at a happy ending?

Some roots remember the dead. Some memories never stay buried. Every silence carries a memory. In the veiled court of Wèi Jiāng, the King's silence spreads like winter. Whispers echo through corridors lined in silk and shadow, while crows circle overhead - watching, waiting. Every root remembers the dead. Crown Prince Jūn Hóngyì, bound by duty and drowning in isolation, wears his title like a weight. At his side, Jiǎ Xìnróng - son of a traitor, sword at the ready, loyalty worn like a second skin - stands between the Prince and the knives hidden in smiles. Far from the palace, in a quiet village too small for maps, two young men tend to the world's forgotten corners. Wú Zhènyǔ, the restless healer. Yán Zhōngshí, the soldier who never speaks of war. They live simply. Carefully. As if anything louder might wake something. Every crow knows what we buried. But beneath the ground, something does stir. The dead begin to rise. And a memory - long starved-opens its eyes.