The heart monitor ticked steadily beside her.
Dr. Wang watched her eyes adjust to the light and asked her again. "Do you remember your name?"
"Elena… Elena Zhang." Her voice came out steady. "How long was I asleep?"
He paused just a beat and then said. "A little over one year."
Her fingers tightened faintly against the blanket. "I see."
The doctors moved around her bed, checking charts, shining lights into her eyes, pressing and tapping. Her eyes followed their movements quietly. Yesterday's panic didn't return. The truth had already settled into her bones.
That girl in the white dress had died. The girl playing the piano has died.
This life remained.
She stared at the ceiling while the machines hummed. No guards at the door. No footsteps stationed outside. No schedule bothered her head. Just complete silence. A cage with the door left open and not closed.
"When can I leave?" she asked, after swallowing her saliva.
Dr. Wang smiled faintly. "Not so fast, Miss Zhang. Your muscles need rehab. You'll need therapy before you can walk properly."
She nodded. Waiting was fine. Because waiting means peace without doing anything else to do.
After a while, a sharp scent cut through the clean hospital air. It was perfume, quite heavy and sweet. A little too much if one has to point out.
The door swung open.
High heels clicked across the floor as if they owned it.
A woman in a red dress swept in, diamonds flashing under the lights. Her arms flew wide as if the room were a stage.
"Oh my poor baby! You're finally awake! Mother has been so, so worried!"
A lace handkerchief dabbed at perfectly dry eyes.
Elena breathed through her mouth and said nothing.
Memories stirred about this middle-aged woman.
A woman who never stayed home.
A woman who smiled for cameras and men.
A woman who taught her how to pose before she taught her how to cook.
Showbiz before school.
Spotlights before bedtime.
Money arguments behind closed doors.
Men came and went. Gifts stayed. Warmth never did.
Her father's face surfaced next. A distant father who doesn't know how to express his love but takes care of her behind the scenes.
Between them, she learned how to perform.
So she sang louder. Dressed bolder. Partied even harder.
The world cheered her for that.
But she kept feeling empty for her entire life.
Back to the present, the woman in red kept talking, words spilling like syrup. Elena didn't pay any attention to her words that were just full of BS and no sincerity in it.
Elena stared at the ceiling again, sighing inwardly as she thought about the person she transmigrated into.
Slowly, she lifted her hand and pressed two fingers lightly against her temples. The room felt too bright, too loud, even with the soft hum of machines and the muted footsteps outside. A dull ache pulsed behind her eyes, not pain exactly, more like pressure.
A reminder that this body had been asleep for a year. A reminder that this life didn't belong to the woman who had died while playing piano music, to the gunfire.
She let out a slow breath.
This body came with history. With debts that weren't written on paper. With relationships tangled tight enough to suffocate.
If she wanted the freedom she had spent her first life dreaming about, she would have to untangle all of it, one knot at a time.
The thought should have weighed her down.
Instead, it sparked something restless and bright in her chest. For the first time, the mess belonged to her.
"Honeeeey, what's wrong? Is your head hurting?"
The voice hit her, bringing her back to her senses.
Penelope spun toward the doctors, heels clicking in sharp bursts against the floor. "Why are you all just standing there? Are you even real doctors? She's in pain. Do something now! If anything happens to my daughter, I'll call the hospital director myself! Do you even know who I am? My ex-husband is the CEO of Zhang Industries!"
The room tightened at her threats. A few nurses stiffened. One of the younger residents glanced anxiously at Dr. Wang.
"Mother." Elena turned her face slightly on the pillow. Her voice came out soft but steady. "I'm fine. They're helping me."
Penelope froze for half a heartbeat, clearly unprepared for calm resistance. Then she sniffed loudly and swept back to Elena's side, lips trembling dramatically once again. "See? Even now, you're still defending them. My poor baby, always too kind."
Elena watched her through half-lidded eyes.
This woman was her mother in this world. That fact sat in her chest like a borrowed weight. The memories inside this body called this woman "Mom," carried years of resentment, embarrassment, and hunger that had never quite turned into love.
Dr. Wang then gave her a look of quiet gratitude and wrapped up the examination with his team. Charts were clipped. Soft instructions were exchanged with residents.
Soon, as the room emptied, leaving only the two of them and the steady pulse of the monitor, Penelope/Song Xiao dropped into the chair beside the bed with theatrical exhaustion, crossing her long legs as if settling onto a throne.
"You must summon your father," she declared, filled with her dramatic voice again, as if she were deeply hurt by her daughter's state. "One full year in a coma! A whole year without shopping, without spas, without facials! Do you know how tragic that is? You can ask him for anything now. Anything. How about a private jet plane, for example? Don't worry, when you don't use it, Mother will put it to good use. And a yacht! Oh! We can throw parties at sea. Champagne, sunsets, and handsome men. Wouldn't that be divine?"
Her eyes sparkled with visions that had nothing to do with the daughter lying pale in the bed.
Elena turned her gaze to the window and quietly spoke. "He already knows my condition. He's the one paying my bills. Whether he visits or not is his choice. I just want to recover and leave."
Penelope blinked. "Leave? You're going back to the Zhang Family?" A smile curved her lips. "Good. It's about time you reminded them you're still their heiress."
"I have my own place."
Penelope's face twisted instantly at that reply. "That shoebox? A disgrace! The heiress of a billionaire living in that tiny dump while his other children sit in palaces! It's all that damn money man's fault! Always 'budget this' and 'approval that.' You can't even touch your own money freely. And your father lets him control everything! Meanwhile, his other brats live like royalty while you work yourself to death on stage. Where's the justice! My poor daughter!"
Elena listened in silence.
"Tiny dump," Penelope had called it.
The memory surfaced on its own. Two entire floors of glass and steel, a panoramic view of the city lights, marble counters cold beneath bare feet at night. A place too big for one person and too empty for comfort. Not small. But just lonely.
The deal had been impossibly good. The manager had negotiated it. The father had likely smoothed the rest in silence.
However, neither of them ever took credit.
Penelope was still talking. About money. About men. About unfairness. About herself.
Elena studied her face. Perfect makeup. Carefully sculpted beauty. A woman who had spent her whole life chasing mirrors and applause, and generous hands. Shallow, yes. Cruel, sometimes. But not cruel enough to poison or kill. Not the kind of villain who plotted in shadows. Just a woman who loved herself more than anyone else.
The original Elena had despised that.
This Elena did not.
They were alike. Too alike. Two magnets with the same charge. Always pushing away.
But the soul inside this body now was different.
Neutral.
Still.
Patient.
And if someone pushed too hard…
Elena's gaze sharpened briefly, a cold flicker passing through her calm expression before it vanished again like a blade slipping back into its sheath.