Xia Yiren's POV
The execution square smells like death and dried blood.
I kneel on cold stone, hands bound behind my back, while thousands of people scream for my death. My silk robes—once beautiful, now torn and filthy—drag in the dirt. The executioner stands above me, his massive blade catching the sunlight.
Please, I whisper through cracked lips. I didn't do it.
No one listens. They never listen.
Through the soul bond burning in my chest, I reach for him. For Yijun. For my husband, the Emperor, the man who once promised to love me forever. The bond connects our hearts, lets us feel each other's emotions like they're our own.
Please. You know me. You know I would never hurt anyone.
I feel him there, sitting on the imperial throne above the square. Cold. Distant. Like touching a wall of ice.
He won't even look at me.
Lady Xia Yiren, the magistrate announces, his voice echoing across the square. You have been found guilty of poisoning the Empress Dowager, conspiring with enemy nations, and treason against the Crimson Empire. The sentence is death.
I'm innocent! I scream, fighting against the guards holding me down. Someone framed me! The poison vials in my room weren't mine! The letters were fake!
But they don't care about truth. The evidence was too perfect. Poison hidden in my chambers. Letters with my seal promising military secrets to the Northern Kingdom. Servants who swore they saw me near the Empress Dowager's tea.
All lies. Beautiful, perfect lies.
I search the crowd desperately and freeze.
There—standing among the imperial consorts in her pale pink robes—Consort Ling Meihua watches me with a small, satisfied smile. The woman I thought was my friend. The woman I trusted with my secrets, my fears, my heart.
She did this.
The realization hits like a physical blow. Every kind word was poison. Every gentle touch was a knife waiting to strike. She befriended me, learned everything about me, then destroyed me piece by piece.
And I was too stupid, too trusting, too naive to see it.
Through the bond, I push all my desperation at Yijun. Look at me. Please, just look at me. You'll see the truth.
For one heartbeat, I feel something flicker in him. Doubt? Regret? But then it's gone, crushed under cold duty.
The executioner grabs my hair, forcing my head down toward the execution block. Tears stream down my face. I'm twenty-eight years old and about to die for crimes I didn't commit.
Yijun, I sob his name one last time. I love you. I've always loved you. Please believe me.
The bond pulses once—a flash of pain so sharp it steals my breath. His pain or mine? I can't tell anymore.
Then nothing. Just ice.
He's shut me out completely.
The crowd's screaming fades to a dull roar. The executioner raises his blade. Sunlight glints off the metal, and I think stupidly that it's a beautiful day to die. Clear blue sky. Warm breeze. Birds singing somewhere beyond the walls.
I close my eyes.
I hate you, I think at Yijun through the bond. I hate you for not believing me. I hate you for abandoning me. I hate you for
The blade falls.
White-hot agony explodes through my neck. Everything goes red, then black. The bond shatters like glass, and the pain of losing it is worse than dying. It feels like my soul is being ripped in half.
Then... nothing.
I wake up gasping, choking on air that won't come.
My hands fly to my neck, searching for the wound, for blood, for proof that I'm dead. But there's nothing. Just smooth skin and my racing pulse.
I'm in a bed. A soft bed with silk sheets and embroidered blankets.
This isn't the execution square.
Slowly, shaking, I force my eyes open. Dawn light streams through familiar windows. I know these windows. I know these walls covered in painted flowers. I know this room.
This is my childhood bedroom.
But that's impossible. This room was packed away years ago when I entered the imperial palace at sixteen. I haven't seen it since
A door opens. My maid Chunhua bustles in carrying a breakfast tray, her round face bright with morning cheer. Good morning, Young Miss! You're awake early today.
I stare at her. Chunhua died five years ago from fever. I went to her funeral. I cried over her grave.
You're dead, I whisper.
She laughs, setting down the tray. What strange dreams you must have! Come, eat something. Your father wants to see you this morning.
My father. General Xia, who died in battle three years after I entered the palace. Who I watched waste away from grief after they told him I was executed as a traitor.
What is happening?
I stumble out of bed and catch sight of myself in the bronze mirror.
The face staring back isn't mine. It's mine, but... younger. So much younger. Round cheeks instead of sharp bones. Bright eyes instead of hollow ones. Smooth skin instead of the bruises and scars from torture.
This is my fourteen-year-old face.
My legs give out. I collapse beside the mirror, heart hammering so hard I think it might break my ribs.
I died. I know I died. I felt the blade, felt the bond shatter, felt everything end.
So why am I fourteen years old again, in my childhood home, with people who should be dead?
Unless...
The thought is so impossible, so insane, that I almost laugh. But what other explanation is there?
I've gone back in time.
Fourteen years into the past, to the exact moment before everything went wrong. Before the imperial selection. Before I met Yijun. Before I entered the palace and my life became a nightmare that ended with my head rolling across an execution square.
I have a second chance.