The library was forbidden after dark.
Not because it held secrets.
But because it remembered them.
It stood at the edge of the estate — a low, stone building with no windows, its roof sagging like a tired spine. The Lin family called it a "historical archive."
In truth, it was a tomb for dangerous knowledge.
I went there at midnight.
Not because I was brave.
Because I was hungry.
The lock was iron, rusted at the edges.
I didn't pick it.
I burned it.
One drop of Moth's Tear Poison on the mechanism —
a hiss, a wisp of smoke, and the lock crumbled like old bone.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and memory.
Rows of scrolls. Cracked tablets. Books bound in leather so dark it looked like dried blood.
I lit a single candle.
No lanterns. No noise.
If I was caught, I would vanish before dawn.
Poison leaves no corpse — only questions.
I ran my fingers along the spines.
Most were mundane — tax records, genealogies, cultivation manuals too basic to be useful.
Then I found it.
Tucked behind a false wall, sealed in a box of black jade.
No title.
Just a single symbol carved into the cover:
🜂 — the mark of the Forgotten Flame.
I opened it.
The pages were not paper.
Not parchment.
Skin.
Human skin, tanned and stitched, inked in a hand I knew too well.
My hand.
But I'd never written this book.
The title, in elegant, deadly script:
The Treatise on Silent Death
By the First Poison Queen, Mei Lianhua
I froze.
Mei Lianhua.
A name erased from history.
A woman who, 300 years ago, was said to have poisoned an entire imperial bloodline — one drop at a time.
Who vanished after burning the Azure Archives.
Whose name was forbidden under pain of death.
And now, her book.
In my hands.
I flipped to the first page.
And my breath stopped.
Because beneath the title, in fresh ink — as if written yesterday — was a note:
*"You remember this life.
But you do not remember mine.
Good.
That means they haven't found you yet.
Do not trust the blind prince.
Do not eat the white moon melon.
And when the crows stop singing,
run.
— M.L."*
I stared.
Then laughed — low, quiet, like a blade being drawn.
She wasn't just a predecessor.
She was warning me.
And she was still alive — or her message was.
I turned the page.
The first formula was one I'd used in my past life: Veil of the Unseen Breath — a poison that mimics death for up to three days.
But in the margin, in the same fresh ink, another note:
"You will need this when your brother 'dies' next month.
Do not mourn.
He is not the one who dies.
You are."
My blood turned cold.
Next month?
My brother?
Me?
I flipped faster.
Page after page of formulas, strategies, names —
Elder Mo.
The Lin Patriarch.
Su Lian's true parentage.
Prince Wei's secret pact with the Demon Sect.
And then, near the end:
"The Azure Sect does not hunt poisons.
They hunt her.
The Bloodline of the Poison Queen.
And you are not the first to return.
You are the seventh.
The others died before they remembered.
Do not be the eighth."
I closed the book.
My hands didn't shake.
But my soul did.
Because now I knew:
This wasn't just my revenge.
It was a cycle.
Seven women.
Seven rebirths.
Seven times erased.
And I was the only one who had woken up early.
I slipped the book into my sleeve.
As I turned to leave, the candle flickered.
And for a second —
in the shadow of the shelf—
I saw a figure.
Tall.
Cloaked.
One hand raised, as if reaching for the book.
Then the flame died.
And the shadow was gone.
But the scent remained.
Jasmine and iron.
The same scent as the ink on the page.
Someone had been here before me.
Someone who knew.
Author Note:
They say history repeats.
But what if it's not history?
What if it's a trap —
and we're the ones who keep walking into it?
— Gopalakrishna