Meilin's POV
The sword is cold against my neck.
I don't cry anymore. What's the point? This is the fifth time I've knelt in this courtyard, waiting for death. The fifth time the man I love has ordered my execution.
"Any last words, traitor?" the executioner asks.
I want to laugh. Traitor. That's what they called me this time. Last lifetime, I was a poisoner. The lifetime before that, a spy. It's always something different, but the ending is always the same—me, on my knees, about to die.
And him, not even watching.
Through the window of the imperial study, I can see Emperor Yan Jizhao. My husband. My mate. The man the Moon Goddess chose for me. He's signing papers like it's just another day. His hand moves steadily across the page—probably approving trade agreements or war strategies. Definitely not thinking about the wife he's killing.
Does he even remember my name?
I've asked myself that question five times now. Five lifetimes. Five deaths.
The first time I died, I was nineteen. I'd loved him desperately for two years, ever since our wedding night when he never came to our room. I kept hoping he'd notice me, love me back. Then Consort Shen accused me of pushing her down the stairs. It was a lie, but he believed her. He always believes her. I died confused, heartbroken, sure there'd been some mistake.
I woke up on my wedding night again. Seventeen years old, in that horrible heavy dress, waiting for a husband who wouldn't come.
At first, I thought the gods gave me a second chance. I thought, "This time, I'll make him love me. I'll be prettier, smarter, more useful." I tried so hard. I learned poetry to impress him. I studied politics to help him. I made myself perfect.
He still had me killed at twenty. Poisoned that time. They said I tried to kill his son—Consort Shen's baby. Another lie.
Third life, I died at eighteen. I fell from a tower during a winter storm. Was I pushed? Did I jump? I don't even remember anymore. I just remember the cold, and how he didn't come to my funeral.
Fourth life, I lasted until twenty-two. A disease swept through the palace. Everyone else got medicine. I didn't. I died slowly, alone in my rooms, and he never visited once.
And now, this fifth life, I'm twenty-one again. They say I'm a traitor working with enemy kingdoms. They say I sold military secrets.
I didn't, of course. Lord Wei made sure the evidence looked real. Consort Shen testified against me with tears in her eyes. And my husband—my husband signed the execution order without even reading it fully. His advisor told me he was in the middle of a war meeting when they brought it to him. He just... signed it. Like I was nothing.
Like I've always been nothing to him.
"I said, any last words?" The executioner sounds impatient.
I look at the window one more time. The Emperor is laughing now, talking to General Xiao about something. His face is relaxed, almost happy. He has no idea his wife is about to die fifty feet away. Or maybe he does know and just doesn't care.
That's what hurts most. Not the betrayals, not the false accusations, not even the deaths.
It's that he never cared enough to hurt.
You can't break someone's heart if you never held it in the first place.
"Yes," I say quietly. "I have last words."
The executioner nods. The crowd leans in. Probably expecting me to beg for mercy like I did in my first life, or declare my innocence like I did in my second life, or curse everyone like I did in my third life.
But I'm tired. So, so tired.
I lived five lifetimes loving a man who couldn't be bothered to look at me. I begged, I cried, I tried to be perfect, I tried to be useful. Nothing worked. Nothing ever works.
The Moon Goddess paired us, but maybe she made a mistake. Or maybe this is my punishment for something I did in a past life I can't remember.
Either way, I'm done.
I turn away from the window—away from him—and face the executioner straight on.
"In my next life," I say clearly, my voice steady for the first time in five lifetimes, "I will not love you."
The words feel like freedom.
The executioner raises his sword. The crowd murmurs. Someone gasps. I close my eyes.
The blade falls.
There's a flash of pain, then nothing.
Then—
Light.
Bright, burning light behind my eyelids.
My eyes fly open.
I'm not dead.
I'm lying down, staring at a ceiling I know too well. Red silk canopy. Gold embroidery. The smell of jasmine incense.
No. No, no, no.
I sit up so fast my head spins. My hands fly to my neck—smooth, uncut. I look down at my body—whole, alive, young.
I know this room. I know this bed. I know this nightmare.
On the table beside me, there's a bronze mirror. I grab it with shaking hands and stare at my reflection.
Seventeen years old.
I'm wearing the wedding dress. The heavy, suffocating, red and gold wedding dress I've worn five times before.
The door opens. A servant bows. "Your Majesty, the Emperor has been delayed with state business. He asks that you wait for him."
No.
Not again.
Not a sixth time.
I open my mouth to scream, but what comes out instead is a laugh—high, broken, and half-mad.
Because I just realized something.
When I said "In my next life, I will not love you," I thought I was dying for the last time.
I was wrong.
The curse isn't letting me go.
And somewhere in this palace, Emperor Yan Jizhao is starting his day, completely unaware that his wife has died five times already.
He doesn't remember any of it.
But I remember everything.
And this time—this sixth, impossible time—something is different.
I can feel it.
The air tastes wrong. The light looks strange. And in the mirror, just for a second, I swear I see something I've never seen before.
My reflection smiles at me.
But my mouth isn't moving.