The night air greets me like a tide, warm and salted by the bay. Behind me, muffled violins and applause already patch over the scandal, turning it into something polite and forgettable. My heels strike the stone steps in time with my heartbeat—steady, deliberate. If I falter now, then all their whispers win.
Lanterns line the boardwalk, soft halos breaking the dark. The water glimmers below, restless, pulling the city lights into long, shivering ribbons. The smell of salt and faint oil drifts from fishing boats moored nearby. A gull wheels overhead, its cry harsh in the quiet, and for once, no one tries to hush it. I let the night fold around me, far kinder than the ballroom's glittering cage.
I draw a breath. Release it. My lungs ache, as if I've been holding my breath since I opened my eyes in this world.
Because the truth is—I wasn't always Shen Yue.
One blink, and I was gone from my own world. A late night, the thrum of city traffic, the blue glow of my laptop screen. I'd fallen asleep over a half-read novel, one of those stories where arrogant CEOs crushed rivals and green-tea heiresses schemed in WeChat groups. I remembered the words blurring, the tug of exhaustion—then nothing. Darkness.
When I woke, it was to a stranger's face in the mirror. Long black hair, emerald eyes. Shen Yue, the fake heiress from the Shen Family—cannon fodder destined to fall so the true heiress could shine. I knew exactly who she was. I'd been reading her story only hours before.
And I hadn't just inherited her body. I'd inherited her memories.
Years of them.
Standing at the edge of family portraits where she never quite fit. Practicing the piano until her fingers cramped, violin until her shoulders ached—because a real Shen daughter was supposed to be accomplished. Hours bent over etiquette manuals, memorizing how to smile, how to bow, how to hold a teacup, in hopes her mother would finally soften. Failed cooking lessons that ended in scoldings and smoke, though she kept trying. Running until her lungs burned on the track field, taking up every sport the school offered, desperate to impress her brothers. Straight A's in every subject, staying up late with textbooks that blurred into nothing, because excellence was the only choice she had to stay afloat in the lofty and cold Shen family.
And still, none of it was enough.
Her father's eyes remained cool and distant, always measuring, always finding her lacking. Her mother's words came sharp as needles, disappointment dressed up as advice. Even her laughter, on the rare days it came, felt borrowed—fragile and fleeting.
All of it, etched into me the moment I opened my eyes. Her humiliation, her hunger for success, her fleeting joys—stitched into my soul alongside my own past life.
So I know both. The quiet ache of a girl who just wanted to be loved, and the sharp clarity of someone who has seen this story play out on a glowing screen. I know what's coming. Who's meant to rise, and who's meant to fall.
And still, living it is different.
My fingers tighten around my clutch until the beads bite my palm. The words from tonight echo louder in the empty street than they did in the ballroom. Not the true daughter. No longer of the Shen family.
Her family's rejection doesn't surprise me—this body has never known anything else. But it still cuts, because the body remembers what the heart once wanted. Because the memories I carry aren't just mine.
I stop at the edge of the boardwalk, the sea breeze tugging loose strands of hair across my face. In my past life, I faced deadlines, lectures, the quiet satisfaction of solving equations no one cared about. Here, I face socialite claws, green-tea sisters, and tonight's neat execution of my status. Different worlds, different stakes—but the same thread of loneliness winds through both.
And yet… I'm still here.
I've survived every whispered jab, every pearl-clutched scandal, every false smile since transmigrating into this life. I've endured it with humor, with sarcasm, with stubborn pride. Upon waking here, I made a vow: the original Shen Yue would not be remembered as pitiful cannon fodder. She would live with her head held high, with or without the Shen family's approval.
She had worked so hard, too hard, for so little. It would be a waste to let all those calluses, all those bruised fingers and sleepless nights, vanish as if they had never happened. If the Shen family refused to honor them, then I would.
With renewed resolve, I let the rhythm of my heels carry me further down the boardwalk. The city hums—traffic in the distance, the occasional burst of laughter from a late-night diner, the metallic ring of a bicycle bell. Real, human sounds, nothing like the hollow applause behind me.
A food cart smokes on the corner, chestnuts roasting. The vendor eyes me warily, satin gown and emerald eyes out of place on his stretch of sidewalk.
The Lament I hummed in the ballroom stirs again, threading quietly through my thoughts. A melody no one else can hear, minor and steady—no longer mourning, but carrying me forward.
I don't know where I'm going until I see it.
A corner coffee shop, improbably still open at this hour, its yellow glow spilling into the night. A crooked bell hangs above the door, promising warmth. A place to sit that isn't gilded marble or cold stone.
For a moment, I hover outside. Going in means stopping. Means sitting with everything I've just walked away from.
I press a hand to the cool brass handle. My reflection wavers in the glass door—emerald eyes, tired, defiant. Shen Yue's face, and mine. Two lives layered into one body, both carrying me here.
The bell jingles softly as I push the door open. The scent of roasted beans and warm bread greets me, curling into the hollow in my chest.
The door swings closed behind me, declaring the finality of an old chapter—
and the beginning of a new one.
*************
A/N: Yeah, its the classic transmigrated into book troupe. Who cares? I for one have enjoyed quite a few of them. Anyways, I hope I portrayed that the female lead has merged in mind, body, and soul with the original Shen Yue. If it wasn't obvious...then I don't know, I tried.