The smell of stale dust and cheap rose-scented cleaner was the first thing Anya Lin registered. It was a suffocating, synthetic bouquet, utterly foreign and sickeningly modern.
I am dead.
That was the last memory of The Silent Oracle. The chilling kiss of the poison-laced jade blade, wielded by the very man she had raised as a son, the disciple she had taught to rule. The betrayal had not been the sharp agony of the knife, but the cold, calculating look in his eyes—eyes that held no regret, only ambition. She, the Oracle, the master of medicine, the strategist who commanded armies and manipulated royal courts, had been undone by her own heart. She had fallen, and her empire had been swallowed by the shadows she had sworn to fight.
But the darkness... it did not claim me.
Anya's eyes snapped open. The thick, dusty lenses of cheap spectacles framed a world that was too bright, too loud, and entirely unfamiliar. She was lying on a thin, uncomfortable bed in a room that screamed "unwanted guest." The walls were a peeling beige, the furniture was mismatched junk, and a digital clock on a nightstand blinked an aggressive, red 3:17 AM.
Her body was light, weak, and underdeveloped. It was nothing like the powerful, disciplined vessel she had commanded for a century in her past life.
Anya pushed herself up, her limbs clumsy. She immediately recognized the signs of severe malnourishment, chronic lack of exercise, and a debilitating mental cloudiness—the very traits that defined the body of Anya Lin, the twenty-two-year-old illegitimate daughter of the prestigious Lin Pharmaceutical family.
The new host's memories flooded her mind: years of being ignored, ridiculed as "slow-witted" and "talentless," and shuffled into the dusty, unused wing of the Lin Mansion. The final memory was sharpest: her father, the Patriarch Lin, delivering the ultimatum.
"You will marry him, Anya. This marriage to Kaius Thorne will save our family's reputation, and for once, you will be useful. Do not, under any circumstances, disgrace the Lin name. He is a genius. You are nothing."
The wedding was today. In a few hours.
A cold, terrifying fury, honed over decades of political warfare, solidified in the Oracle's heart. They think they can use me as a shield? A disposable pawn for their pitiful pharmaceutical empire?
The shame of the host body's previous owner melted away, replaced by the Silent Oracle's steel resolve. She was no longer the timid Anya Lin. She was a Phoenix reborn, and the world had just given her a spectacular second chance and a colossal debt to repay.
She walked to the window, the movement smooth and decisive despite the body's weakness. She didn't see the city lights; she saw a vast, modern empire ripe for conquest.
Kaius Thorne. The Cold CEO. The man who despises the Lin family. The man who believes he is marrying a fool.
A faint noise at the door interrupted her thoughts. A soft tap, followed by the clack of a key.
"Anya? Are you awake, you useless girl?"
It was Julian Lin, her cousin and chief tormentor, accompanied by his sister, Elena Lin. They were the picture of Lin perfection: immaculate clothing, sharp features, and cold, self-satisfied smiles.
Julian stepped in, tossing a garment bag onto the bed. "Your dress. Our mother felt sorry for you and had it cleaned. Try not to stain it before noon, or we'll have to throw you out before the wedding even starts."
Elena, leaning against the door frame, sniffed dismissively. "You look pathetic, Anya. Even after a good night's sleep. Remember your part, cousin. Smile, say nothing, and don't look Kaius Thorne in the eye. He already hates this family. Don't give him a reason to annul the contract before we get the ceremonial deposit."
The former Oracle looked at them, her glasses slightly askew. Anya Lin would have stammered, dropped her head, and accepted the humiliation. The Oracle merely observed, processing the weakness, the greed, and the stunning lack of strategy in their eyes.
Their contempt is a gift. The less they expect, the faster they will fall.
"The deposit," Anya's new voice was low and surprisingly steady, its flatness amplifying the effect of her words. "Is it contingent on the wedding proceeding, or the contract being signed?"
Julian froze. He had expected a whimper, not a question of business law. Elena snorted. "What difference does it make, idiot? You sign, the money transfers, and you get to live in a mansion. Don't strain your brain."
"It makes a great difference," Anya continued, pushing off the wall. She moved closer, forcing Julian to take a half-step back. "If the deposit is contingent on the marriage proceeding, then any small flaw—a stain on the dress, a stumble down the aisle—can be weaponized by the Thorne family to annul the contract and still claim the Lin family's assets. A pre-signed contract, however, binds him to the terms before the wedding, regardless of the bride's performance. Which is it, Julian?"
Julian blinked, his polished composure cracking. "W-what? Why are you talking about contracts? Mother and Father handled the legal details. Just do as you're told!"
He didn't know. He was a pawn, too.
Anya gave an imperceptible, silent smile. "Very well. I only wished to know how useful I am required to be."
"You are required to be silent," Elena hissed, pulling Julian away. "Get ready, scapegoat. Your chariot awaits."
They left, locking the door with a loud, contemptuous click.
The New Weaponry
Anya turned back to the room, the lingering disgust fueling her resolve. She went to the window, sliding her hand along the grimy sash.
This body is weak, but it is not without potential.
She closed her eyes, delving into the host's memory: years of self-loathing, nervous tic habits, and the physical manifestations of a crippling inferiority complex. All that was gone. Replaced by the Oracle's vast, disciplined mind.
She ran a quick, internal scan, a technique refined over a century of medical practice. Diagnosis: Mana (or Qi, as she knew it) channels were blocked, not by any disease, but by psychosomatic suppression—the host's severe self-doubt had effectively shut down the body's innate energy flow.
A self-cripple. Pathetic. But curable.
Curing the body would take time, and she needed power now. The Oracle always had a contingency. In this world, power was not martial arts; it was knowledge and wealth.
She walked over to the nightstand, picking up a cheap, discarded smartphone—the host's only possession besides the clothes on her back.
My past life gave me mastery of ancient medicine, calligraphy, political strategy... and the absolute command of coded communication.
She needed to establish the "Phoenix" identity immediately. This required a secure network, untraceable currency, and a target. Thorne Group, the massive tech conglomerate, was a perfect, arrogant target.
Anya sat on the edge of the bed. Her fingers, despite their weakness, moved with the precision of a master artisan. She bypassed the phone's simple security in seconds. Finding a hidden network was easy—Julian's security system was basic, relying on cheap, mass-market protocols.
She didn't hack for money; she hacked for information and leverage. Her mind raced through the Throne Group's public profile, searching for vulnerabilities. Within twenty minutes, she found a critical flaw in their newly launched proprietary AI defense system—a glaring, obvious backdoor that only a political strategist, not a coder, would recognize. It wasn't a bug; it was an installed weakness, likely a sign of internal betrayal.
A gift from fate.
She didn't exploit it. She sent an anonymous, encrypted, untraceable message to a black-market broker known only as The Broker, demanding an immediate contact with the highest-ranking officer of Thorne Group's security division. The message was simple, yet terrifyingly precise:
> "Your new AI firewall is a lie. You have 72 hours before the backdoor is activated. Consult with Phoenix for remediation. Payment: one untraceable account, five million USD."
>
She wiped the phone's memory clean and placed it back on the nightstand. The five million was not for greed; it was seed money for her new life. Now, the Thorne Group was indebted to a ghost.
Preparing the Scapegoat
The wedding dress lay on the bed: a simple, white, outdated gown that smelled faintly of mothballs. It perfectly fit the persona of the unwanted bride.
Anya looked at her reflection in the chipped dresser mirror. Thick black-rimmed glasses hid the sharp, calculating gleam of the Oracle's eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a severe, unflattering bun. Her posture, though now corrected by internal discipline, still conveyed nervousness.
They want a timid fool. I will give them the perfect fool.
She took a moment to analyze the room for any hidden listening devices—a habit drilled into her from her life as an Empress. She found three: a cheap recorder hidden in the vent, and two tiny cameras disguised in the clock and the smoke detector.
The Lin family fears me more than they fear their benefactor.
The cameras confirmed that her every action was being monitored. Anya subtly adjusted her glasses to accentuate the nervous tic that the former host was famous for. She picked up the wedding dress, letting a genuine sigh of relief escape her lips—a sound of a girl grateful for even this meager opportunity. She held the dress against her, pretending to admire the sad fabric, all for the cameras.
When the clock hit 7:00 AM, a frantic knocking came at the door. It was the Lin Patriarch's assistant.
"Miss Anya, you are needed downstairs! Now!"
The Gilded Hall
The main hall of the Lin Mansion was buzzing with hushed, judgmental whispers. The air was thick with tension and the scent of expensive perfume. This wasn't a celebration; it was a desperate business transaction.
Kaius Thorne stood by the fireplace, a towering figure of cold power, dressed in a custom-tailored dark suit. His face was a mask of utter indifference, bordering on disgust. The moment Anya entered, the whispers intensified.
"There she is... the illegitimate one."
"So plain. Why did Kaius agree to this?"
"To punish the Lins, of course. She's a message."
Kaius Thorne's eyes swept over her, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. He saw a girl in a dated dress, with a clumsy gait and glasses that obscured her entire expression. She looked exactly like the reports described: unremarkable, negligible, and tedious.
The price of saving the Lin name. I will endure it for the Thorne Group.
He didn't bother to nod.
Patriarch Lin rushed forward, beaming with false bonhomie, and grabbed Anya's arm, his fingers digging into her skin.
"Kaius! My boy! Isn't she lovely? A bit... nervous, you know. But loyal! She's been so grateful for the opportunity to save her family."
Anya managed a slight, trembling smile, perfectly selling the part of the overwhelmed pawn. Her eyes remained locked on the floor.
Kaius's lips thinned. "Patriarch Lin. Let's dispense with the theatrics. The solicitor is here. I want the marriage certificate signed and the non-disclosure agreements executed before the ceremony. The faster this business is concluded, the better."
Julian and Elena exchanged triumphant glances. Their plan was working perfectly.
The solicitor, a small, nervous man, laid the final documents on a mahogany table. The two most important documents were the Marriage Certificate and the Thorne-Lin Pre-Nuptial Agreement (PNA).
"Mr. Thorne, Miss Lin," the solicitor squeaked. "Please sign here. This agreement establishes the financial terms and clauses of the union."
Kaius signed his name with a powerful, decisive flourish. He then pushed the pen and the documents toward Anya.
The Oracle looked down at the PNA. Her eyes, hidden behind the lenses, devoured the complex legal jargon in seconds. The PNA was brutal. It stripped Anya of any claim to Thorne assets and even stipulated that, in the event of a divorce, she would be liable for any perceived 'public embarrassment' caused by the Lin family.
It was a contract designed to ensure the total servitude of the Lin family via its scapegoat.
Anya picked up the pen. Her hand shook slightly—a brilliant touch of acting. She moved the pen not to the signature line, but to the document's header.
"I... I am just a little... confused," Anya whispered, her voice barely audible. The performance was flawless.
Kaius sighed, annoyed. "Just sign it, Miss Lin. It's standard procedure."
"Yes, but..." Anya timidly pointed the pen at a specific clause on the third page, a clause that restricted her from taking on employment that would compete with the Thorne Group. "...This clause. It states I cannot engage in competitive employment. But I have no employment to begin with. Does this mean I am forbidden from accepting work at all, even a domestic position? I... I want to be useful."
The entire room froze. Julian's eyes bulged. Elena's smile vanished. No one expected the "slow" girl to read the contract, let alone question a clause.
Kaius stared at her. His cold demeanor wavered, replaced by a flicker of irritation mixed with a very faint, almost imperceptible curiosity. He walked around the table, leaning in close enough for her to smell the subtle, expensive scent of his cologne.
"Miss Lin," he said, his voice dangerously low. "The contract is clear. Just sign it."
Anya, with a convincing nervous tremor, pushed the pen away and pointed to the sentence again. "It needs a clarification. If I cannot work, then I will have no income. My allowance is stipulated to be minimal. I cannot be useful to anyone if I am completely dependent."
The Oracle was not arguing for money. She was arguing for loopholes.
Kaius realized she hadn't signed yet. If she refused now, the contract—and the ceremonial deposit—was dead. He had to keep the deal moving.
With a barely contained sigh of frustration, he snatched the pen and scribbled a small, dismissive notation next to the clause, initialing it with a sharp, 'KT.'
Clarification: Non-competitive employment at the CEO's discretion is permissible.
He tossed the pen back to her. "There. Sign. Now."
He had just given the Silent Oracle the one thing she needed: official permission to operate under his domain.
Anya's trembling stopped. The faintest, most victorious smile finally touched her lips—a smile so quick, so subtle, that only the keenest eye could have caught it. She lowered her head and, with a swift, steady stroke, signed her name: Anya Lin.
The stage was set. The contract was signed. The scapegoat bride had just acquired her first and most powerful weapon. The war for the Thorne empire had officially begun.