Everything was supposed to go perfectly.In her mind, the lines were already written—the plot, the ending, the happy-ever-after.
Yuan Fei sat before the bronze mirror of the inner palace, her face pale, her hair unbound. Behind her, the silk curtains swayed with the midnight wind.
"This isn't how it was written…" she whispered. "I was meant to save the prince. To rule as the kind Empress. To be loved."
Her reflection laughed back at her.
"But you're not the author, are you?"
The sound cracked something inside her. The mirror rippled like disturbed water, showing flickers of another world—pages, ink, a glowing screen, her old body hunched over a novel she once adored.
"I'm the heroine," she insisted, trembling. "I'm Yuan Fei, not that… that office girl who died on the train—"
But the mirror didn't listen. It showed her scenes that weren't in the story: Zhang TianZi's growing obsession, his descent into dark arts, the moment he tied her wrists with golden talismans and whispered, "If she's dead, I'll make her again."
She remembered the pain. The chanting. The flames.The smell of her own blood.Her unborn child's final flutter.
"No…" Yuan Fei clawed at her hair. "That part was never in the novel! I didn't write that! I—"
The palace trembled. Outside, the moon turned crimson. The courtiers screamed as spiritual pressure burst through the halls. The false world she'd clung to began to tear apart like old paper.
Yuan Fei stumbled to her feet. Her body glowed with the marks of reincarnation—fractured, bleeding runes that pulsed with instability.
"Fine!" she cried into the burning night. "If this world won't follow my story, I'll rewrite it myself!"
She raised her hand. The mirror shattered. Reality cracked with it.And Yuan Fei vanished into the rift—her laughter echoing like a broken melody.
The Writer's Pagoda
Far from the chaos, the air turned heavy.Master Zen's brush halted mid-stroke. The ink dried instantly.
"Another soul has broken through the barrier," he said.
Lu Han looked up, alarmed. "A reincarnator?"
"No. A fragmented author. She believes the world is her fiction."Zen's voice darkened. "And each time she alters it, the weave of destiny unravels."
The scrolls along the walls began to curl and blacken as though burned by unseen fire. Characters disappeared from the records—names erased from existence.
Then one name flared instead of fading: Xi Youran.
The Summoning
Xi Youran jolted awake in her chamber, drenched in cold sweat. Her Qi stormed wildly, flickering between gold and crimson. The air itself hummed with panic.
The sky outside her window pulsed—cracks of light running through it like shattered glass.
"What… is happening?" she whispered.
Then, the seal on her wrist—the mark left by the Phoenix Synthesis—blazed bright. A voice, calm yet distant, echoed in her mind.
"Child of twin cycles… come."
The world blurred.When she opened her eyes again, she stood in an endless hall of scrolls, each suspended midair, glowing softly with life's script.
At the far end sat Master Zen, brush in hand, ink of starlight.Beside him, Lu Han bowed deeply.
"So," the old man said, looking up at her. "The returner who defied time itself has finally stepped into the writer's domain."
Xi Youran took a cautious step forward. "Why did you summon me?"
Zen's gaze was heavy. "Because the story is collapsing. The one who believes she is its author—Yuan Fei—has broken her own script. And only you, who have lived both lives, can end it without erasing the world itself."
The hall shook again. Pages tore themselves free, burning midair. Somewhere beyond, Yuan Fei's scream split through the veil.
Xi Youran clenched her fists. "Then tell me what I must do."
Zen dipped his brush in golden ink and drew a single rune that floated toward her chest, embedding itself above her heart.
"Face her… within the fracture she created. But remember: once you enter her world, her rules apply. You may never return unchanged."
The golden light enveloped her.Her eyes closed.And with a single breath, she stepped into the shattered dream.