The stench of medicine hung thick in the air—bitter, suffocating.
Lan Yue lay on the cold bed, her body so frail that even breathing felt like theft of the last fragments of life. Another cough wracked her chest. Scarlet spattered her sleeve. Blood trickled from the corner of her lips.
The room was barren. No ornaments, no warmth—only bare walls and a cracked window that let in a draft. They had moved her here under the pretense of "avoiding infection," as if she were a plague to be hidden away. She knew the truth: they wanted her suffering out of sight, where no one important would be troubled by her slow decay.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the blanket. She couldn't lift it. Her body was no longer hers.
The door creaked. Soft footsteps approached.
"Elder Sister."
The voice was sweet as honey. Lan Yue forced her eyes open. Through the blur she saw Lan Xue—her father's darling, the daughter of the concubine who had stolen her mother's place long ago. Her half-sister's face was painted with concern as she carried a basin of warm water.
Lan Xue's eyes glistened with tears, as they always did when she wanted something. Lan Yue had seen this countless times. Whenever blame or punishment loomed over her sister, she would cry. She had wept before their father, before their grandmother, twisting matters so Yue bore the guilt. And every time, Yue had been the one struck, the one scolded.
This was no different.
Lan Xue sat beside her, leaning close until her breath brushed against Lan Yue's ear.
"Did you really think your husband loved you?" Her tone dripped with mockery. "He was mine long before you. You were only useful as a stepping stone. He married you for your father's sake. Nothing more. And now… you've served your purpose."
Lan Yue's chest tightened. Her lips trembled, but no words came.
Lan Xue's smile curved sharper. "Don't worry, Sister. I'll take good care of your son. He'll call me mother soon enough."
The words struck like a blade to the heart. Something inside Lan Yue broke.
Summoning the last scraps of her strength, she lunged forward. Her teeth sank into Lan Xue's delicate hand.
"Aaah!" Lan Xue shrieked, stumbling back.
The door burst open. A tall figure stormed in—her husband, Scholar Wei. The mask of gentleness he had always worn was gone. Fury twisted his face.
"What madness is this?!"
Two strides, and his hand cracked across Lan Yue's face.
The sound split the silence.
Her world shattered.
"Ungrateful woman! Wild and uncivilized!" he roared. "If not for the respect I owe your father, I would have cast you aside long ago."
Lan Yue's head snapped to the side. Iron flooded her mouth. Her eyes blurred with tears—pain, hatred, despair.
Scholar Wei pulled Lan Xue into his arms and glared at the dying woman. "Remember your place, Yue. Your son will be raised well—without your poisonous influence."
They left together, their footsteps fading.
Only silence remained.
Lan Yue lay motionless. Regret pressed down like a boulder—regret for her helpless mother, for her wasted love, for her son, growing in the hands of vipers.
Her hatred burned brighter than her weakening pulse. It seared itself into her soul.
It would not die with her.
"I… will not forgive… you…" she rasped. Tears of blood rolled down her cheeks.
Darkness swallowed her.
But even as death claimed her, her soul screamed a vow—
In the next life, she would return.
And she would have her revenge.
---
The silence after death should have been eternal.
It wasn't.
Her consciousness flickered like a candle in the wind. For a heartbeat there was nothing—no air, no pain, no sound. Only cold emptiness.
Then warmth. A hand closed firmly over her shoulder.
Her eyes snapped open.
No blood. No sickness. She stood upright, her body whole, her chest light. A white mourning dress clung to her frame.
This place—she knew it.
Incense thick in the air. Ancestral tablets lining the walls. Candles casting long shadows. Chants low and solemn.
The family's ancestral hall.
Her heart clenched.
"Be strong, Yue."
That voice. She would never forget it. She turned and saw him—her uncle.
He was the younger brother of her father, yet the contrast between them was striking. Where her father was thin, cold-eyed, and cruel, her uncle was tall, broad-shouldered, a military man with a steady gaze. He carried the weight of battle, not the deceit of politics.
He had been the only one who dared shield her mother when her father's affection faded—faded the moment her maternal family lost their standing and wealth. From then on, her mother had been treated with disdain, and Yue had followed her down into neglect and humiliation.
Now his weathered hand rested steady on her shoulder.
"You have to take care of the rites," he said softly. "Then you can grieve. You have time. Your aunt and I… we are here."
Her eyes stung. She had buried that voice deep in memory, but hearing it again was like sunlight piercing storm clouds.
And then the truth struck.
She knew this day.
She knew this hall.
Her legs nearly gave out.
This was her mother's funeral. The day her world began to collapse.
Was this punishment? To relive her worst agony?
No. It felt too real. The air pressed heavy. The warmth of her uncle's hand was solid.
She had returned.
Her lips trembled, but no sound came. She nodded faintly, swallowing her storm of emotions.
Guests flowed in, heads bowed. But their sympathy was not for her or her mother. They gathered around her father.
There he stood, draped in black. His face carved with sorrow, his eyes brimming with false grief. To the world, he looked the perfect widower.
Lan Yue's fists tightened inside her sleeves.
She wanted to scream. To rip the mask from his face. To curse him for discarding her mother the moment her family fell.
But she bit her tongue until she tasted blood.
She had made that mistake once. Grief had exposed her, and the wolves devoured her.
Not this time.
This time, she would endure.
This time, she would learn.
And when the moment came—
She would make them all pay.