Hua Jing’s vision blurred.
A sharp, piercing pain shot through her skull, striking like a bolt of lightning. She staggered, her fingers grasping at the splintered wooden frame of the doorway.
What—?
Her breath hitched.
Another wave of pain slammed into her, and this time, she nearly collapsed.
"My lady!" Xia Lin’s voice was distant, frantic, but Hua Jing barely registered it.
Something else had taken hold of her.
Something powerful.
Something overwhelming.
Her pulse pounded in her ears as flashes of something—no, memories—crashed through her mind like an unstoppable flood.
A girl, curled in the corner of this very room, her small frame shaking.
Her hands were raw, bruised from hours of scrubbing floors, from dragging heavy buckets of water that had spilled and frozen over in the winter cold. Her thin robes barely shielded her from the biting wind that seeped through the cracks of the walls.
"Filthy child."
"A stain on the family name."
"You should have never been born."
A slap across the face.
The taste of iron on her tongue.
The sting of her stepmother’s jeweled rings cutting into her skin.
The laughter of Hua Ling, watching from the doorway, her arms crossed smugly.
"Why should I dirty my hands when mother will do it for me?"
"She deserves worse."
The real Hua Jing—this Hua Jing—had suffered.
She had endured.
Alone.
Unwanted.
A punching bag for their frustrations. A shadow in their home. A burden they wished had never existed.
Another memory—
A stormy night.
She was dragged through the rain, her wet hair clinging to her pale face as she was thrown onto the muddy ground outside the grand Hua manor gates.
Her stepmother’s voice was sharp, cutting through the downpour.
"If it weren’t for your father’s pity, I would have had you tossed into the streets long ago!"
Cold.
Hungry.
Trembling.
She had knelt there for hours.
She had wanted to scream.
To beg.
To cry.
But she had done none of those things.
Instead, she had simply endured.
Because that was all she could do.
Hua Jing’s breathing grew ragged as the images seared into her mind, each one carving its mark deeper into her soul.
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
This wasn’t her pain.
This wasn’t her suffering.
And yet—
Why did it feel like it was?
Why did it feel as though the weight of this Hua Jing’s agony had always been inside her, just waiting to resurface?
Her fingers curled into her palm, nails digging into her skin as a foreign rage bubbled within her.
No, not foreign.
It was hers.
It had always been hers.
Only now, she remembered.
Hua Jing slowly exhaled, her body trembling from the sheer force of the memories.
Yet—
The flood of memories didn’t stop.
As one wave crashed into her, another followed—each one more painful, more devastating than the last.
And then—
Jiang Lei.
A figure dressed in soft scholar robes, his presence a stark contrast to the cruelty she had endured in the Hua manor.
In her bleakest moments, when her body ached from the endless punishments inflicted upon her, when the cold seeped into her very bones, he had been there.
A warm voice.
A gentle smile.
The faint scent of ink and parchment clinging to him as he sat beside her, handing her a small pouch of medicinal herbs.
"You should take better care of yourself, Hua Jing."
A boy full of promises.
A boy full of hope.
She had clung to that hope.
She had believed in it.
She had believed in him.
And then—
Another flash.
Another moment.
The warmth in his eyes was gone.
The smile that had once comforted her was now laced with mockery.
Cold, distant, cruel.
"Did you ever think I would fall in love with an illegitimate child like you?"
Her stomach dropped.
The man she had trusted.
The man she had loved.
The man she had thought had cared for her—
"If you are lucky, maybe I can take you in as my mistress. But Hua Jing, why are you already thinking of climbing higher using me?"
A dagger straight to her heart.
She had wanted to scream.
To demand answers.
To ask him why.
But she hadn’t.
Because she had already known the truth.
She had been nothing but a stepping stone. A tool. A girl whose feelings had been amusing to him.
Hua Jing gasped.
The sheer weight of it all was suffocating.
Her knees threatened to give out, but she forced herself to stand.
Her breaths came in sharp, uneven bursts.
Her pulse thundered.
How could she have forgotten this?
How could she have ever let herself forget?
She clenched her fists so tightly that her nails bit into her palms, grounding herself in the present.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
None of it mattered.
Not the past.
Not the pain.
Not Jiang Lei.
Because this time—
This time, she wasn’t a helpless girl begging for scraps of kindness.
This time, she wasn’t alone.
This time—
She would ruin them all.
Her lips curled into a slow, wicked smile.
The past had finally caught up with her.
Now, it was time to make the present her own!
Hua Jing’s breaths came out in short, uneven wisps, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
The pounding in her head was unbearable, memories colliding violently inside her like a storm that refused to settle.
A voice.
Distant at first.
Familiar.
Growing louder.
"My lady! My lady!"
Xia Lin.
Hua Jing barely registered the frantic shaking at her shoulders, the sheer panic laced in Xia Lin’s tone.
She wanted to respond.
She wanted to reassure her.
But her body—
It wouldn’t move.
With a small, sad smile, she finally forced herself to straighten, peeling away from the wall.
Only for the world to tilt sharply beneath her feet.
The dizziness hit her like a crashing wave, and before she could even comprehend what was happening, her knees buckled.
Xia Lin’s sharp cry cut through the air—
"My lady!"
And then—
A gust of wind.
A blur of movement.
Before the floor could meet her, a firm, unyielding embrace caught her.
Warm.
Solid.
Familiar.
Hua Jing’s breath hitched.
Someone had entered the room.
And they were holding her tight.
Hua Jing gasped, "Ah!"