The snow had begun to fall again, thin flakes dancing under the dying glow of the lanterns as Shen Yuhan walked down the long, winding corridor that led back to her courtyard.
Her every step left a trail of wet footprints, and yet her spine remained straight as a blade, her head held high.
The bitter chill clung to her soaked clothes, but she didn't shiver. Compared to the ice-cold waters of the sea she'd drowned in—or the betrayal that had sent her into that abyss—this cold was nothing.
In her previous life, Shen Yuhan had faced bullets, knives, and poisons. She had pulled herself out of hell with her bare hands. Did they really think a scheming stepsister and a room full of self-righteous fools would break her?
She raised her eyes to the grey sky.
This world was a story.
And she would become its editor.
Just before she reached her courtyard, a figure rushed toward her.
"Eldest Miss!" A small maidservant, trembling, came forward holding a fur cloak. "Miss, please… let me help you change, you'll catch a fever like this—"
"What's your name?" Shen Yuhan asked suddenly, pausing in her step.
The maid blinked in surprise. "M-Ming'er, Miss…"
Ming'er. Right. The original Shen Yuhan's most loyal servant, who had once taken a knife for her and died silently in the background of the story, with not even a full sentence to her name.
Shen Yuhan looked at the small girl. Her hands were raw from the cold, her thin frame barely enough to hold the weight of the cloak.
"From now on," she said, voice low, "stay close to me. If I live, you live."
Ming'er's eyes widened. "Miss?"
"Go prepare hot water," Shen Yuhan said, striding past her into the courtyard. "And tell the kitchen I want ginger soup. Strong."
"Yes! Right away!" Ming'er bowed low and scurried off.
Back in her room, Shen Yuhan stripped off the soaked clothes and changed into clean, warm robes. The ginger soup arrived steaming, and she downed it in one go, setting the bowl aside.
Only then did she sit down before the bronze mirror on the vanity table.
The face that stared back at her was delicate and pale, still showing the remnants of cold and exhaustion. The body she now inhabited was frailer than her original one, soft from years of pampering.
But the eyes in the mirror?
Those were hers.
Sharp. Cold. Watchful.
This world thought it had cast her as a side character. A villainess to be pitied and then discarded.
But Shen Yuhan had no intention of dying again. Not here. Not for anyone's entertainment.
She would not play the villain. And she would not beg for scraps of sympathy.
She would flip the board and become the hand that moved the pieces.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Miss," Ming'er called softly, "there's word… Master Shen is summoning you to the front hall again."
"Already?" Shen Yuhan muttered.
Ming'er hesitated. "Young Master Lin and Young Master Qi… they're still there. And so is Second Miss."
Of course they were.
Shen Yuhan slowly rose to her feet, wrapping the fur cloak around her shoulders. She tied her hair up into a high bun and pinned it neatly with a single jade hairpin.
Then she looked in the mirror again, her lips curling faintly.
Let the second act begin.
---
The Shen family's front hall was grand in appearance but tense in atmosphere.
Red lanterns hung from the eaves outside, their tassels swaying gently in the wind. Inside, a brazier crackled in the corner, but it couldn't thaw the chill lingering in the air.
As Shen Yuhan entered, her gaze swept across the room in a single glance.
At the head of the hall sat Shen Ruhai, the head of the Shen family, his face dark and unreadable. Dressed in deep blue robes lined with gold embroidery, his bearing was still that of a noble official—but the veins bulging at his temple betrayed his mood.
To his right stood a man in pale robes, elegant and upright—Lin Zixuan, the son of the Minister of Justice, and Shen Yuhan's childhood fiancé.
And beside him, a second youth with a fan in his hand and amusement in his eyes—Qi Xianzhao, famed playboy, the youngest son of a powerful merchant family. He looked like he was here more for the drama than any sense of justice.
And then… Shen Yulan.
She stood there, draped in a thick cloak of fox fur, her lips pale, her hair wet and tangled just enough to appear pitiable. Her eyes, swollen from crying, were fixed on Shen Yuhan with hurt and disbelief, like a gentle little rabbit wronged by a hunter.
Shen Yuhan nearly rolled her eyes.
Instead, she smiled.
It was faint and cool, just enough to confuse them.
"You summoned me, Father?"
Shen Ruhai slammed his palm on the armrest. "Shen Yuhan, do you still have the audacity to pretend nothing happened? Yulan nearly drowned in the pond, and she—"
"Nearly drowned?" Shen Yuhan cut in, voice mild. "But didn't she jump in after me?"
The room went silent.
Even Qi Xianzhao raised his brows with interest. Lin Zixuan's eyes narrowed.
"Yuhan, this is not the time for jokes," Shen Ruhai growled. "The servants say they saw you pushing your sister—"
"Ah, those same servants who conveniently disappeared after the incident?" Shen Yuhan replied. "Forgive me, Father, but if I had truly wanted to harm my dear stepsister, would I really have chosen a pond in broad daylight in the middle of the estate?"
Shen Ruhai stiffened. Clearly, he hadn't expected her to be so calm. So composed.
"Then are you saying your sister is lying?"
Shen Yuhan's lips curved. "Why would she lie? Didn't she already say I hated her? That I resented her and her mother for taking what was once mine? That I wished her dead?"
Her voice was soft. Musing.
Shen Yulan bit her lip and lowered her gaze, tears trembling on her lashes.
"Father," Shen Yuhan continued, turning to look at him directly. "If I were truly that jealous and cruel… then perhaps the problem doesn't lie in this one incident. Perhaps the problem lies in my upbringing. After all, which child doesn't reflect their parents?"
That one line caused Shen Ruhai's brows to twitch violently.
Qi Xianzhao let out a low whistle, fanning himself. "This is getting lively."
Lin Zixuan, however, frowned. "Shen Yuhan. Your sister is weak in health. The cold could have killed her. You went too far."
"Then I should thank her for surviving," Shen Yuhan replied blandly. "As should you, Zixuan."
He stiffened at the use of his name without honorific.
Shen Ruhai, face dark, pointed toward the kneeling mat before him. "Kneel. Now."
Shen Yuhan looked at him for a long moment.
In her past life, she had knelt before authority. Before lies. Before betrayal.
Now?
She knelt.
But slowly. Deliberately. Without shame.
"Father," she said, voice clear. "Since I've wronged my sister, I'll accept the punishment. But I hope that from now on, everyone in this family is held to the same standards."
She turned her head slightly. "After all, who knows when the next time someone falls into a pond might be?"
A veiled threat.
A silent promise.
The room fell into stunned silence once more.
And in the shadows behind Shen Ruhai's chair, an old steward narrowed his eyes, fingers twitching slightly—as if already making plans.