---
A memory stirred deep in her mind, not from this life, but from the pages of the novel she had read before she transmigrated. The memory of a girl with quiet eyes and a stubborn, unyielding loyalty. Shen Yuhan hadn't just remembered her—she had known her.
Gu Ning.
Her only true friend.
In the novel, even when Shen Yuhan's name was dragged through the mud, when every door in the capital slammed shut in her face, Gu Ning had never wavered. The two had fought side by side, piecing together the schemes in the Shen household, exposing lies, gathering evidence—Gu Ning had been there for it all. A partner in crime. The only one who had stayed when the rest turned away.
And yet…
Even that fierce loyalty had not spared Gu Ning from tragedy.
Shen Yuhan's throat tightened at the memory—at how it had ended. Two years from now, Gu Ning's mother would die after being slow poisoned for many years. The killer? Her own fiancé, Lin Zhihao, and his scheming concubine-born lover, Gu Yin. Their betrayal had been meticulous—slow, quiet, masked in smiles and propriety. Gu Ning had tried to protect her mother, had even begged Shen Yuhan for help in the end, but by then, Shen Yuhan had already been cornered, desperate, betrayed by her own father and cast out.
In the final chapters of the novel, Gu Ning died alone—her mother gone, her betrothal broken, her name slandered, and her heart carved out by those she once trusted.
She had been the last light in Shen Yuhan's world.
And then… nothing.
Shen Yuhan's breath caught.
But this time—this time, she was here. She had a chance.
She would not let Gu Ning be another ghost in her story.
"Ah Zhu," Shen Yuhan said suddenly, setting down her teacup with quiet finality. "Prepare a letter. I want to send a message to Young Miss Gu."
Ah Zhu blinked. "Now, Miss?"
"Yes. Now." Shen Yuhan's voice had softened, but there was steel behind it. "Invite her for tea. Tell her… Osmanthus Courtyard awaits her."
Ah Zhu nodded and left without question.
Behind her, Ming'er beamed faintly, her eyes lighting with a kind of hope Shen Yuhan rarely allowed herself to feel.
And as the candle by the window flickered gently, Shen Yuhan looked out toward the night.
A small, wistful smile curved her lips.
Let's rewrite your fate too, Gu Ning.
---
The incense in Orchid Pavilion had burned to half its length, yet the air remained stagnant and thick with a bitter chill that no warmth could dispel.
Su Wanning sat stiffly by the low rosewood table, her fingers clenching the edge of her sleeve as she glanced toward her daughter. Shen Yulan knelt on the embroidered cushion like a wilting orchid, her pallor ghastly under the lantern light. Her hands trembled in her lap, and her lips moved as if reciting a silent prayer.
"Yulan," Su Wanning said at last, voice gentle but laced with an urgency she no longer bothered to hide, "listen to Mother. There are no ghosts in this household. There is no Ghost Bride. It was all Shen Yuhan's doing."
Her daughter didn't look up.
"She said it herself. That day when she mocked me, she practically admitted it." Su Wanning's nails dug into the wood. "That brat twisted our own rumor against us. She made us defend her in public—only so she could humiliate us behind closed doors. It was all a trap, Yulan. Crafted with that clever, filthy little mind of hers."
Shen Yulan finally raised her head. Her pupils had shrunk to pinpricks, as if something unseen lingered behind Su Wanning's shoulder. "No," she whispered. "It wasn't just her."
"Yulan."
"Mother, the incense in my room burned backward. Backward! The mirror fogged over when no one was breathing near it. Footprints appeared on wet stone—bare, bridal footprints—and they led nowhere." Her voice trembled. "Even the koi in the pond scattered when I walked by—as if something else was moving with me. Watching me."
Su Wanning's expression twisted, torn between fear and fury. "Parlor tricks. Illusions. She's manipulating you."
"Or," Shen Yulan said quietly, "she wants us to think she is. So we'll lower our guards. So when the Ghost Bride comes for real… we'll be alone."
The words hung in the air like frost, settling into every crevice of the ornate room. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Su Wanning closed her eyes. The thought had crossed her mind too—that the tale might have grown beyond Shen Yuhan's reach. That perhaps, in dredging up old, cursed names and forbidden stories, they had truly awakened something from beneath the earth. Something that bore a grudge not against Shen Yuhan… but against them.
"I won't let this household fall to ruin over some child's game—or some restless ghost." Her voice hardened. "Your father… if he hears even a whisper of Madam Lu's name being attached to you…"
Su Wanning trailed off, but the threat lingered like the echo of a guillotine's blade. Shen Zhirui's fury was not easily summoned—but once unleashed, it was the sort that left permanent scars. His hatred of Madam Lu's memory had become legend in their household. To even imply that her ghost might return…
They would be cast out. Stripped of everything.
"No one else must know," Su Wanning said. "Not your brothers. Not the servants. Especially not your father."
"Then what do we do?" Shen Yulan's voice cracked. "We can't stay here, not like this."
Her mother's eyes narrowed. "We'll bring someone in. Quietly. A monk. An exorcist. Someone who knows how to deal with this kind of thing. He'll tell us whether there's truly something in this place… or whether that vile girl has simply paid people to toy with our minds."
"And if it is her?"
Su Wanning gave a cold smile, her elegance curdling into venom. "Then she's already sealed her fate. She thinks she's clever, but she forgets—she's still in this house. Still under my roof. And she's made the mistake of making me her enemy."
Shen Yulan nodded slowly, her spine straightening as a flicker of resolve returned to her eyes. "If it's her… then I'll make sure she regrets ever stepping foot in Orchid Pavilion."
For a moment, their eyes met—mother and daughter, frightened and furious, haunted and hungry for vengeance.
Outside, a breeze rustled through the osmanthus trees. The night was quiet.
But somewhere deep within the walls of the estate, a distant sound echoed—a low knock, hollow and deliberate, as though a bride in red were announcing her arrival once more.
Neither woman dared move.