The scent of blood was thick in the air. Crimson dripped down the pristine marble steps like ink on snow.
Lin Qiyue knelt, hands bound, head bowed. Her once-glorious robes were torn and soaked in red. The same courtiers who once groveled at her feet now whispered like vultures above a corpse.
On the throne sat the man she had loved.
Emperor Zhou Wenli.
His jade eyes—once gentle, now cold as winter steel—looked at her as if she were nothing more than a dying dog.
"You plotted treason," he said coldly, the words like a dagger to the heart.
Qiyue lifted her head slowly. Her lips curved into a bitter smile. "I gave you this empire. I bled for you."
His expression didn't change. "You gave me headaches. I gave you mercy."
Laughter rang out from somewhere in the hall. The Empress Dowager, veiled in white mourning robes, sipped tea calmly as if watching a stage play.
"Your Majesty is too kind," she murmured.
Qiyue felt the final thread of her life slipping.
A young soldier approached, trembling. He looked barely older than sixteen. The executioner. He held the sword in his hands as if it were made of glass.
"I—I am sorry, Your Grace," he whispered.
"Don't be," Qiyue said. Her voice was calm. Steady. "I only ask that you make it clean."
He nodded, face pale.
She turned her gaze back to Zhou Wenli.
"You loved me once," she said softly. "You kissed me in moonlight and promised me the stars."
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"I remember your hands in mine," she continued. "The way you trembled when I said yes. I gave you everything. My body. My heart. My loyalty."
A long silence.
"I never asked for your crown," she whispered.
The blade gleamed as it rose.
Her heartbeat slowed.
Her final breath came like a whisper of wind.
"I will come back," she vowed. "And when I do, I will burn your heaven to ash."
The sword fell.
But death was not the end.
---
She expected oblivion.
Instead, she awoke.
Light.
A soft breeze stirred the curtains. The heavy perfume of plum blossoms lingered in the air.
Lin Qiyue gasped, her body jerking upright. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her skin felt damp with sweat.
Her hands trembled as she brought them to her face. They were smaller. Softer. Untouched by the burdens of ruling or the blood of betrayal.
"This... can't be," she whispered.
She looked around the chamber. It was familiar—painfully so. The worn silk bedding, the cracked vase in the corner, the lingering scent of dampness from the leaky roof. This was the Eastern Wind Palace.
It had been her prison.
She scrambled to the bronze mirror and stared.
A youthful face looked back at her. Pale cheeks, thin lips, and wide eyes filled with disbelief. There were no lines from stress. No hardened glint of experience. Only confusion.
But she remembered.
Everything.
Zhou Wenli's betrayal. The taste of poison. The cold bite of the executioner's sword. The sound of mocking laughter as her blood pooled on the palace floor.
"I died," she said aloud. "I died. And now... I'm back."
A chill ran down her spine. Her heart stuttered. Was it a dream? A trick of her dying mind?
But it felt real.
The rough fabric beneath her fingers. The ache in her bones. The stale scent of incense.
No, this wasn't death. It was life.
"The heavens gave me another chance," she said slowly, the words sinking in like ink on parchment. "And I will not waste it."
She drew in a slow breath and let it out. Her fear calmed. Her heart grew still.
She had returned.
And this time, she would not die a fool.
She would be the knife hidden in silk.
The poison in the wine.
The shadow behind the throne.
Lin Qiyue had been reborn.
And the empire would tremble for it.