The moon hung high like a polished silver coin, gleaming coldly over the capital. But in the alleyways behind the golden mansions, where the light never reached, something else stirred—quiet feet in silent boots, shadows darting like phantoms.
The Xue residence was still. Lanterns had been dimmed, and only the guards outside the estate's main gate remained alert.
Inside, Xue Lian sat at her desk, quill in hand, eyes tracing over an old document. It was faded, a list of names, mostly minor officials and merchants—but some were circled. Marked with ink so fine, it bled into the parchment. Clues. Trails from her former life.
Five years ago, she'd stumbled onto something far greater than her own family's betrayal.
And this time, she wouldn't ignore the stench.
Her eyes flicked to the window.
"Hongyu," she called softly.
The maid entered, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Miss?"
"Did anyone deliver anything strange today? A scroll, a parcel, even a flower?"
Hongyu shook her head. "No, Miss. Only the usual gossip—about your performance at the banquet. Some say you'll be betrothed to Lord Shen within a month."
Xue Lian laughed quietly, dark amusement curling in her throat. "Then the court has forgotten how he handles women. He doesn't marry them. He buries them in rumors until they vanish."
Still, her hand paused over the names.
Someone had stirred.
She could feel it in the air—the shift of attention, the tension of eyes on her back.
She was no longer moving in the dark alone.
Someone else was hunting, too.
---
Elsewhere that night…
In a hidden room at the Crown Prince's temporary residence, Shen Jingyuan stood before a wall lined with documents, portraits, and sealed reports. He was reviewing a scroll—an archived disciplinary note from three years prior, about a certain Xue Lian: disobedient, emotionally unstable, unworthy of a diplomatic marriage.
"This was how they painted her," he murmured, tapping the scroll.
His manservant, Ruqi, cleared his throat. "She was supposedly caught weeping in the inner gardens, trying to throw herself into the lotus pond during the Moon Festival."
Shen Jingyuan raised an eyebrow. "And now she quotes ancient folklore with the poise of a seasoned orator? That's quite a transformation."
Ruqi hesitated. "Should I investigate more deeply, my lord?"
A pause.
"No," Shen Jingyuan said finally, though his voice was low with thought. "Not yet. People reveal more when you let them believe you're watching someone else."
Still, he walked to the portrait hanging beside her file—painted two years ago, a pale-faced girl with eyes that looked empty.
"She looks like someone who gave up," he muttered.
Then remembered the smile she'd worn at the banquet—measured, deliberate, almost mocking.
"Not anymore."
---
Back at the Xue estate
Xue Lian moved silently through her private study, opening a hidden panel behind her screen. She removed a thin scroll wrapped in oilcloth—a map. One she'd stolen in her last life and hidden before her death. A web of influence charted beneath the capital: secret meeting points, officials who were bribed, even the location of a now-abandoned estate where someone known only as Master Wu once operated.
They'd called it a trade network.
But it was a nest of spies.
She whispered, "Still playing your games, aren't you?"
Just then, a faint sound—a footstep outside her window.
Too light to be a guard. Too careful to be Hongyu.
She blew out her candle.
The room plunged into darkness.
She waited.
Another soft scrape against the ledge.
Xue Lian slid a thin dagger from under her robe, one she started keeping with her since she came back and moved beside the window—silent as a wraith.
When the shadow slipped into the room, she struck.
But the intruder evaded her with surprising speed.
An unexpected voice gasped in shock, "ahhh."
She blinked in shock.
It wasn't a masked assassin. It was… a child?
A street urchin no older than ten, filthy and terrified, looking like a beggar, holding a crumpled note in his hand.
"I-I was told to deliver this," he stammered. "They said if I didn't… they'd cut out my tongue."
She yanked the note from him, heart already pounding. It was unmarked—no name, no seal. But the handwriting was painfully familiar.
You should've drowned when you had the chance.
The next time you look over your shoulder, I'll be there.
Xue Lian's fingers curled into fists.
"Xue Yan…" she whispered.
Her half-sister's handwriting. Delicate and venomous as ever.
In her past life, she hadn't realized how far Xue Yan's hatred went. Even until her death she never understood why she hated her that much and how much she'd been involved in the events that led to her downfall.
Now she knew.
Now she doesn't even care about Xue Yan's hatred. Xue Yan owes her a life and she's definitely going to collect it back.
And now, Xue Yan had just made the first move.