Meilin's POV
I throw the mirror across the room.
It shatters against the wall, and for a moment, I feel better. Then I realize what I've done. In my first life, I treated everything in this room like treasure. Now I'm breaking things before the wedding night even starts.
Good.
My hands are shaking. I stare at them—young hands, smooth hands, hands that haven't been tied behind my back five times for execution. But I can still feel the rope burns. I can still feel every death.
"This can't be happening," I whisper. "Please, not again."
But I know the truth. The jasmine incense smells the same. The red candles flicker the same way. Outside, I can hear the celebration music—the same songs they played at all five weddings.
I'm seventeen again. It's my wedding night again.
And somewhere in this palace, Emperor Yan Jizhao is working, just like he always does.
He won't come to our room tonight. He never does. In my first life, I waited up all night, crying, thinking I'd done something wrong. By my third life, I'd stopped expecting him at all.
A knock on the door makes me jump.
"Your Majesty?" A servant's voice, nervous. "Are you well? We heard something break."
I take a breath. Force myself to sound calm. "I'm fine. I just... dropped something."
"Should we send for—"
"No." My voice comes out sharper than I meant. "I'm fine. Leave me alone."
Silence. Then footsteps walking away.
I sit on the edge of the bed, still wearing this stupid, heavy wedding dress. The hairpins are digging into my scalp. There must be twenty of them, all sharp, all reminding me that I'm supposed to be the perfect, beautiful, obedient Empress.
I've been the perfect Empress five times.
It never saved me.
My reflection in the broken mirror pieces catches my eye. At least now it's shattered like I feel inside. But that moment before—when it smiled without me—that was real. I know it was.
Something is different this time.
But what?
I stand up and walk to the window. The palace gardens stretch out below, lit by lanterns. Guards patrol the walls. Everything looks peaceful, normal.
Five times I've looked out this window on my wedding night. Five times I've hoped things would be different.
Not this time.
This time, I know exactly what's coming. The fake accusations. The betrayals. The executions. And through it all, him—cold, distant, caring more about his paperwork than his wife's life.
"In my next life, I will not love you," I said those words right before I died.
Well, here I am. My "next life."
Time to keep that promise.
I reach up and start pulling out the hairpins, one by one. Each one that falls feels like freedom. My hair tumbles down around my shoulders, messy and wild. In my first life, I would never have done this. The Empress must be perfect, they said. The Empress must be beautiful for her husband.
But my husband won't even look at me, so what's the point?
I find a simple sleeping robe in the wardrobe and change out of the wedding dress. It takes forever because there are a thousand buttons and ties, and my hands keep shaking. When I'm finally free of it, I leave it on the floor in a red puddle.
Let the servants talk.
I climb into bed—this massive bed meant for two people who will never share it—and pull the covers up. The silk feels cool against my skin. The pillows smell like jasmine.
I should be scared. I should be making plans, figuring out how to survive this sixth life.
But I'm just... tired.
So tired.
I close my eyes, and for a moment, I let myself hope that maybe this time, I won't wake up. Maybe the curse will finally let me rest.
Sleep comes fast, pulling me under like dark water.
And then I dream.
But it's not my dream.
I'm standing in a garden I don't recognize. The moon is full overhead, bigger than I've ever seen it. Silver light pours down like rain.
A man stands with his back to me. Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair. Something about him feels familiar.
"You came back," he says without turning around. His voice is deep, sad.
"Who are you?" I ask.
"You don't remember." He laughs, but it sounds broken. "Of course you don't remember. They made sure of that."
"Remember what? Who are you?"
Slowly, he turns around.
I gasp.
It's Emperor Yan Jizhao—but different. His eyes aren't cold. They're warm, looking at me like I'm something precious. Like I matter.
"I'm the man who loved you," he says softly. "Before they took it away."
"That's not possible. You never—"
"I did." He steps closer. "In the first timeline, before everything went wrong, I loved you more than my own life. We were happy, Meilin. We were so happy."
My heart pounds. "You're lying. You never loved me. Not in any life."
"Because they made me forget." His hand reaches toward me but stops just short of touching. "Someone cursed us. They erased what we had and replaced it with cold indifference. Five times you've died trying to reach a man who couldn't remember why he should care. Five times I've killed the woman I'm supposed to treasure."
Tears burn my eyes. "This is just a dream. A cruel dream."
"It's a memory," he says. "The curse is breaking. Soon, I'll remember everything—every life, every death, every moment I failed you. And when I do..."
His eyes meet mine, and they're filled with so much pain it hurts to look at.
"When I do, it will already be too late. You'll never forgive me. And I won't blame you."
The dream shatters like the mirror.
I wake up gasping, sweating, my heart racing.
The room is dark. The candles have burned out. Through the window, I can see the first light of dawn.
My wedding night is over.
The Emperor never came.
Just like I knew he wouldn't.
But that dream—
My door suddenly opens. I sit up fast, pulling the covers around me.
A man stands in the doorway, backlit by the hall lanterns. Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair.
Emperor Yan Jizhao.
He's staring at me with an expression I've never seen on his face before. His eyes are wide, almost shocked. His hands are shaking.
"You," he whispers. "I saw you. In my dream, you were..."
He stops. Blinks. His face goes cold again, that familiar ice sliding back into place.
But for just a second—just one second—I saw something else.
Recognition.
Horror.
Guilt.
"Your Majesty," I say carefully, keeping my voice flat. "Is something wrong?"
He stares at me for a long moment. His mouth opens like he wants to say something. Then closes. Then opens again.
Finally, he says, "Did you... did you dream of a garden? With moonlight?"
My blood turns to ice.
He dreamed it too.