The candlelight flickered softly against the intricately carved panels of the Xue residence, casting golden shadows that danced like ghosts from another lifetime.
Xue Lian sat quietly before the bronze mirror, the scent of sandalwood clinging to her robes. Her gaze, dark and deep as midnight, studied the reflection that should have brought her peace.
Seventeen again.
Her skin was untouched by poison, her eyes unmarred by tears shed in vain. No longer was she the disgraced consort dragged through the snow, accused of treason and betrayal. The heavens had gifted her a second life—and this time, she would not waste it.
Her hands, still delicate, curled into fists on her lap.
They thought they had broken her. Her sister, Xue Yan, with her sweet words and venomous heart. Her once-beloved husband, the Emperor, who had believed every lie whispered into his ear. And Consort Wen—the one who'd smiled as Xue Lian's head had bowed beneath the executioner's blade.
Never again.
She rose from her stool and walked to the window, pulling aside the sheer curtain. Outside, the courtyard shimmered with a fresh layer of snow. It should have reminded her of death. Instead, it brought clarity. The snow did not mourn; it simply erased footprints. It was her turn now—to erase, to start anew, and to carve her path in fire and frost.
"My lady," came a soft voice behind her. Her maid, Hongyu, entered with practiced grace, holding a tray of warm water and a silken robe. "Madam says the imperial envoy will arrive in three days. She asks you to prepare your poems and needlework."
Xue Lian nodded gently, lips curving into a serene smile. "Of course. I shall not bring shame to the Xue household."
Hongyu brightened, clearly pleased by the demure response. "Miss is truly virtuous. Madam will be so pleased."
Virtuous? In her past life, that very virtue had been her cage. Now, it would become her mask.
"Tell Madam I'll begin rehearsing immediately," she said, rising with effortless elegance. "Also—have the poetry scrolls in the west wing cleaned. I will use only those from Grandfather's study."
Hongyu blinked. "But… no one uses the old study."
Precisely. That wing had been left untouched, the family too afraid of stirring bad omens after Grandfather's death. But Xue Lian remembered the ancient texts hidden there—poems, strategies, even palace protocol no longer taught. In her first life, she'd found them too late. This time, she'd start from the shadows.
The corridors of the Xue estate were dim with age, but Xue Lian walked them with purpose. Every servant she passed greeted her with warm confusion. She'd always been gentle, yes—but never this… sharp. Composed. Regal.
Let them wonder.
She pushed open the doors of the western study, sending up a plume of dust. The scent of ink and cedar was oddly comforting. Her fingers trailed across the faded scrolls until she found the one she needed.
"'On the Nature of Power,'" she murmured, brushing off the cover. It wasn't the kind of work young noble ladies were expected to read—but she was no longer a naïve girl.
She read until night bled into dawn.
When morning came, it was with the sound of laughter—light, silvery, and false.
Xue Yan had returned from the temple, her lips painted and her eyes glowing with the arrogance of someone unchallenged.
"Sister," she greeted sweetly as they passed in the front courtyard. "I heard you've taken an interest in Grandfather's study. How… scholarly."
Xue Lian offered a bow, her smile placid. "Elder Sister is always an example. I merely hope to follow in your refined footsteps."
Xue Yan's smile twitched.
In the past, she would have mocked Xue Lian's deference as weakness. But now… there was something behind those eyes. A clarity. A calm.
Too calm.
Still, she smirked. "I suppose you're preparing for the palace selection too? Let us both do our best. Although… not everyone is suited for such life."
A baited insult.
Xue Lian lowered her gaze and said, "You're right. Not everyone is. Only those who survive it once know the cost."
Xue Yan blinked. "What did you say?"
"Hmm?" Xue Lian tilted her head, serene as still water. "I simply meant… the palace is no place for fragile minds. I pray the heavens favor you."
She walked away before her sister could reply, the faint whisper of her robes leaving a trail of unease behind her.
That evening, Madam Xue summoned her daughters to review preparations for the selection.
The parlour was heavy with incense, pearls glittering in the chandelier overhead. A seamstress hovered nearby, measuring silks and adjusting embroidery on sample robes.
"Xue Yan," their mother said fondly, "your lotus-patterned gown will surely impress the imperial envoys. I've arranged for a master musician to tutor you in the qin as well."
Xue Yan beamed. "Mother is wise. I'll make the family proud."
"And you, Lian'er?" Madam Xue's tone softened into vague politeness. "Will you also try for selection?"
Xue Lian bowed. "If Mother permits, I shall do my utmost."
Madam Xue hesitated, clearly unsure. "You've always been a quiet child…"
Xue Yan laughed lightly. "But sweet and modest. Just the kind of girl to serve as a low-ranked attendant."
Xue Lian smiled. "Thank you for your kind praise, Sister. Of course, I have no ambition to stand out. I only hope not to embarrass our house."
Her humility was a dagger wrapped in silk. Madam Xue nodded approvingly, while Xue Yan's gaze sharpened.
Later that night, in the privacy of her room, Xue Lian dipped a brush into black ink and began writing a list in her journal.
---
People to ruin:
Xue Yan. Poisoned my life from the start. Must suffer.
Consort Wen. The serpent who twisted the Emperor's heart.
Imperial Physician Rong. Lied about the pregnancy to frame me.
Grand Chancellor Lu. Traitor who whispered to the Empress Dowager.
…and His Majesty. Eventually.
Each name was written with slow, careful strokes. Her heart no longer trembled with grief—only purpose.
Then,
beneath the list, she wrote:
In this life, I will rise with a smile.
And I will drag them down with grace.