Time lost all meaning in this deathly quiet environment.
Lan didn't know how long she had remained curled up, only that the stiff chill in her body and the gnawing emptiness in her stomach grew clearer and clearer, like the cruelest instruments of torture, constantly reminding her—this wasn't a dream, not a hallucination, and certainly not some afterlife.
The rustling of mice in the corner, the creaking of the attic floorboards in the wind, the faint sounds filtering in from afar—indistinct shouts in a thick accent, perhaps the bellowing of livestock... All of it felt intensely real, desperately real.
She, Lan, had truly, in some absurd way, come back to life.
This realization settled like a colossal stone upon her heart, bringing not the relief of survival, but a deeper darkness and sense of absurdity.
Why her?! Why her, specifically?!
What had she done wrong, to be pushed into an icy river by the ones she loved and trusted most, her body lost forever? And by what right, after dying with such towering hatred, was she stuffed into this lowly, filthy shell, barely better than an ant, forced to eke out a miserable existence in a completely alien, appallingly wretched world?!
How thinly fate regarded her! How unjust!
As her consciousness gradually stabilized, the details of her past betrayal—details she had once willfully ignored but were now agonizingly clear—washed over her fragile nerves like a relentless tide.
Lucian… She remembered his once-tender gaze, the vows of eternal love, the "advice" seemingly given for her benefit—looking back now, wasn't every word paving the way for him to seize her family's assets? Wasn't every step pushing her towards the abyss?
Samantha… Behind her perpetually appropriate, understanding smile, what kind of venomous heart resided? Those seemingly unintentional instigations, those consolations offered "for her own good"—all calculations, in hindsight! The secrets they shared ultimately became knives handed to Lucian!
And she herself, the once proud, confident Lan, yet so foolishly blind when it came to love and kinship—how had she fallen step by step into their meticulously woven trap? She clearly had her doubts, clearly sensed something was wrong, yet time and again allowed herself to be deceived by their false fronts!
Each memory was like a blunt knife sawing repeatedly at her heart, grinding that sense of "unwillingness" and "hatred" deeper, making it more visceral, more intense!
"Urgh—Ah!"
Just then, a sudden, violent pain seized her head, as if countless steel needles were churning wildly inside! Fragments of chaotic, unfamiliar images and sounds forcibly intruded upon her consciousness!
...A fierce, twisted man's face, spitting curses...
...In the freezing snow, a pair of small hands, red raw with cold, still struggling to chop firewood...
...Black bread, hard as stone, yet wolfed down ravenously...
...The stinging pain of a whip lashing across a back, accompanied by vicious curses: "Useless baggage! Lazy bones!"...
...And some vague place names, titles... "Kingdom of Ostern"... "Lord Baron"... "Steward Gregor"... and a name that recurred again and again...
"Elara..."
"Elara!"
Boom! Something seemed to explode in her mind!
Lan finally grasped the crucial information!
This body's name was Elara! The daughter of a serf! Living in this place called the Kingdom of Ostern, in the era... of the Middle Ages! That barbaric, backward era where human life was treated like grass!
"Serf..."
Lan chewed on the word, a chill shooting from the soles of her feet straight to the top of her head. She vaguely recalled the definition from history books—no personal freedom, bound to the land and the lord, equivalent to talking livestock, could be bought, sold, beaten, even killed at will!
In her past life, she was the heiress of the Lan family, standing at the pinnacle of the pyramid, possessing wealth and status unimaginable to ordinary people, even if betrayed in the end.
And now, she had become Elara, a serf struggling at the very bottom of society, devoid even of basic human rights!
A favored daughter of heaven, now dust beneath feet!
This earth-shattering disparity brought a profound sense of humiliation and fierce anger against fate that almost shattered her sanity!
Who was she? The Lan who died in the icy river, or the Elara living in this attic?
The faint sound of hooves outside, the distant, melodious yet cold chiming of church bells, the coarse clothing people wore in her fragmented memories, the crude tools they used, the deeply ingrained hierarchy... all details relentlessly confirmed the cruel reality.
She, Lan, was dead.
The one alive now was a serf girl named Elara, in the medieval Kingdom of Ostern.
The blood debt from her past life remained unpaid; the crisis of survival in this life was already upon her.
The massive influx of information and the brutal realization drained her of all strength, leaving her limp on the straw heap, finding it difficult even to lift a finger.
But this time, her eyes were no longer entirely vacant or despairing. In the depths of that deathly stillness, the hatred from her past, the humiliation of the present, and that bone-deep sense of "unwillingness," intertwined, clashed, twisted, and finally... ignited a tiny, yet eerily mesmerizing, black flame.
She, Elara, would absolutely not resign herself to this fate!