The candle flames danced like restless souls on the wind, casting long shadows over the imperial study. The room smelled of calligraphy ink, fresh pinewood, and something colder—like fate.
Emperor Xuanlie did not sleep that night.
His robe of state had long been set aside, replaced by a dark, plain tunic as he stood at the edge of the scroll table, staring at nothing.
There were many burdens that haunted a ruler: wars, alliances, betrayal, death. But tonight, none of those lingered on his mind.
Only her.
Lady Yan.
The woman whose eyes shimmered like stars reflected in deep water. The one who had spoken to him as if she knew—not feared—him. She had carried a presence not of submission, but of quiet defiance. That alone should've angered him.
But it didn't.
Instead, it left him... unsettled.
She said he wore no crown in her dream. But he had never shared with anyone that lately, when he closed his eyes, he dreamed of a world far removed from these palace walls. In those visions, he was no Emperor. He was someone else entirely—an ordinary man in strange robes, walking streets lined with glowing signs and flying steel birds.
He had tried to dismiss it as overwork. Imagination. The side effect of too many years wearing the dragon crown.
But last night… the dream was different.
He was standing at the edge of a rooftop. Lights blurred below. Rain on his shoulders. And a girl—her—was beside him, tears streaming down her face as she whispered, "Why does it always hurt to breathe?"
He had reached for her hand. But before he could grasp it, the world dissolved.
He had awakened with her name on his tongue, though he had never known it before: Eira.
Across the palace, Lady Yan sat silently on a balcony overlooking the lotus pond. The moon hovered low in the sky, painting her hair in silver. She had sent the maids away under the excuse of needing rest, but sleep was far from her.
Kai Ren.
There was no mistake.
She had seen his face every day during her last semester of university, etched with the arrogance of someone who had everything. Top of his class. Son of a wealthy CEO. Cold and brilliant.
He had humiliated her publicly, and she had vowed to avoid him for the rest of her life.
But fate had other plans.
He was the Emperor here. And she was… someone important.
"Lady Yan," whispered a voice from behind the screen. It was one of the younger servants, Mei.
Eira turned. "Yes?"
"I shouldn't speak… but…" The girl stepped closer, eyes wide. "We all thought you were done for. Ever since the previous Head Consort accused you of poisoning her tea, the Emperor hadn't looked your way. But now… He summoned you. The entire Inner Court is in chaos."
Eira's brows furrowed. "I was accused of… poisoning?"
Mei nodded. "Lady Zhen accused you two moons ago. Everyone believed you'd be exiled. But then you fainted, and for a while, we thought… you'd die."
So that's what happened. Eira hadn't just woken up in a random body—she had taken the place of a woman condemned.
"What happened to Lady Zhen?"
"She was moved to the Cold Palace. But she still has family in the Ministry of War. Be careful. You… may not be safe."
Great, Eira thought. Dropped into an ancient world with palace politics, a murder plot, and my worst enemy in history ruling the empire.
She forced a smile. "Thank you, Mei. You're very brave for telling me."
Mei blushed, then bowed and left.
Eira turned back to the pond.
She couldn't run. Not here. There were no phones, no escape plans, no therapists to talk her through this trauma.
But there was something inside her now—a flicker of survival.
She had lived her modern life half-buried in sorrow. Maybe fate had given her this life to fight back.
But then again… how could she fight when the man who ruled this world didn't remember her, but haunted her nights with dream after dream?
That same night, Emperor Xuanlie rose from his chambers, dismissing all attendants. He walked silently through the sleeping halls, guided by instinct.
And without meaning to, he found himself before the Phoenix Palace.
He stood just beyond the silk-draped entrance, staring at the flickering lanterns.
Her light was still on.
He didn't knock. Didn't speak.
He simply stood there, heart thudding, until finally, her shadow crossed behind the curtain.
Their eyes met—his in the moonlight, hers behind silk.
Neither said a word.
And yet, something unspoken passed between them.
A memory.
A promise.
A wound that hadn't yet bled.