Shen Mei blinked.
Light streamed through the window, soft and warm against her face. She blinked again, confusion washing over her in waves.
Wasn't she dead?
She sat up slowly, her body feeling strange—too light, too warm. The last thing she remembered was cold. The bone-deep cold of the marble floor, the colder emptiness in her sister's eyes, the kiss that had sealed her fate.
But now…
She looked around, her expression blank as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. This was her room. The same cramped space she'd lived in at the mountain estate. The same cracked walls, the same threadbare curtains, the same lonely corner where she'd spent so many forgotten years.
This didn't make sense.
Shen Mei pushed herself out of bed, her legs unsteady. A robe lay draped over a nearby chair, and she grabbed it, pulling it on as she walked around the room. Her movements were mechanical, her mind still trying to catch up.
She was supposed to be dead. She'd felt it—the darkness closing in, the final breath leaving her lungs. Death didn't come with second chances. Death didn't send you back to your old room.
Her gaze fell to her hands as she tied the robe closed.
And she froze.
These weren't her hands.
Or rather—they were, but not the hands she remembered. Her fingers were slender and smooth, the skin healthy and whole. No withering. No translucent pallor. No visible veins creeping beneath the surface like roots of decay.
She turned her hands over, staring at them as if they belonged to someone else.
The withering had started after she'd lost the Immortal Function. Her cultivation had been tied to that divine blessing, and when it vanished, her body had begun to fail. She'd hated her hands after that—hated how they looked, how they felt, how they marked her as broken. Hated the way people would glance at them and quickly look away, their faces mixing contempt with pity.
But these hands…
A sudden gust of wind blew through the room, cutting through her thoughts. The cold air bit at her skin, and she shivered, pulling the robe tighter around herself.
She turned toward the window. Outside, snow was falling. Thick, heavy flakes drifted down from a gray sky, blanketing everything in white. The mountains stretched out beyond, their peaks lost in the clouds.
Right. Winter. She was at the Zhao Clan's mountain estate—though calling it an estate was generous. Mansion would be an insult to actual mansions. This place was barely more than a dilapidated shed, abandoned and forgotten on the edge of clan territory.
And worst of all, there was no fireplace.
Shen Mei's breath misted in the air as she stood there, watching the snow fall. Maybe this was heaven's mercy. Maybe the gods were letting her see her past one last time before moving on to whatever came after death. A final moment of reflection before oblivion.
Her eyes caught on something resting on the small table near the window—a hand mirror. She remembered it. Ya Er had helped her buy it from a traveling merchant years ago, back when Shen Mei had still cared about such things.
She walked over and picked it up, her fingers trembling slightly.
When she looked at her reflection, her breath caught in her throat.
A young woman stared back at her. Black hair framed a delicate face, and dark eyes—deep and clear—met her gaze. She was beautiful, in a quiet way. Not the kind of beauty that launched wars or toppled kingdoms. Not like Shan Lan's golden radiance. But still beautiful.
In the mirror, her hair was still black. Her eyes were still black. Unremarkable colors in a world where the blessed often bore marks of their divine favor—silver eyes, crimson hair, golden skin.
When she walked through crowds, she blended in. Invisible. Ordinary.
And to the prestigious Zhao Clan, one of the Eight Great Clans of the continent, that was unforgivable. The sin of daring to look like a common person while carrying their blood.
But that wasn't what made Shen Mei's hands shake as she held the mirror.
It was her face.
This was her face from years ago. Before the marriage. Before the withering. Before everything had gone wrong.
She looked around the room again, her mind racing. Was heaven playing a trick on her? Some cruel joke before the final end?
She set the mirror down and pinched her arm, hard.
Pain bloomed instantly, sharp and real. Tears welled up in her eyes.
The pain meant this wasn't a dream.
She stood there, frozen in disbelief, her mind struggling to accept what seemed impossible.
A knock at the door shattered the silence.
"Lady Shen Mei?"
The voice was familiar—painfully familiar. Shen Mei's head snapped toward the door as it opened, and a young woman stepped inside.
Ya Er.
Her maid. Her friend. The girl who'd died alone because Shen Mei had abandoned her.
Something broke inside Shen Mei's chest. She moved without thinking, crossing the room in quick steps and throwing her arms around Ya Er.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot against her cold skin.
Ya Er went rigid with shock. "My lady? What—what's wrong? Are you alright?"
Shen Mei couldn't answer. She just held on tighter, crying into Ya Er's shoulder. In her past life, she'd never been close to her maid. Had never appreciated her. When the Zhao Clan had summoned her back to the main estate, Shen Mei had left Ya Er behind without a second thought. She'd been too focused on pleasing her family, on proving her worth.
By the time she'd heard about Ya Er's death, years had already passed. She'd been Viscountess Zi by then, trapped in a cold marriage in a colder household. The news had been old, passed along by a servant who'd mentioned it in passing.
Shen Mei hadn't even been able to mourn properly.
But now Ya Er was here. Alive. Warm and solid and real.
After a long moment, Shen Mei stepped back, wiping at her eyes. Ya Er was staring at her with wide, frightened eyes.
"My lady, please—what year is this?"
The question tumbled out before Shen Mei could stop it.
Ya Er blinked. "What year? It's the tenth month of the eight hundred-and-seventh year after the Great War." Her brow furrowed with concern. "Why do you ask? Are you sure you feel fine? You look a bit pale. Did you forget your lunch again? Was it not to your liking?"
Eight hundred and seven.
Shen Mei felt her knees weaken. She turned away, walking to the window to steady herself.
The heavens had answered her prayer.
She'd been reborn. Sent back to the past, to before everything went wrong.
"My lady, can you please stop ignoring your own welfare?"
Ya Er's voice cut through her thoughts, taking on that familiar scolding tone. The young maid had been with Shen Mei since childhood, which meant she was less frightened of her mistress than most servants. She spoke her mind freely, often to Shen Mei's annoyance.
But now, hearing that voice again filled Shen Mei with something close to joy.
"You cannot rely on your family to take care of you," Ya Er continued, moving to straighten the bedding. "They have forgotten your birthday for a couple of years now. I know this sounds harsh, but the truth is that they have abandoned us in this shed. We should try to live our lives instead."
Shen Mei looked at the small table where her lunch sat, untouched and cold.
In Year 807, she was seventeen years old.
And Shan Lan, who had just turned eighteen a few weeks ago without receiving the Immortal Function, would soon make her way to this mountain shed.
Everything was about to begin again.
"Ya Er is right," Shen Mei said softly. "I should eat."
She sat down and picked up the bowl of cold rice. The food was simple, barely warm, but she ate it without complaint. In her past life, after losing the Immortal Function, her body had become cold—cold like a corpse, like a body without a soul. She'd looked like death itself, withering away slowly.
This cold food was nothing compared to that.
As she ate, she noticed Ya Er's eyes growing misty.
"Don't cry," Shen Mei said gently.
"I'm not crying," Ya Er sniffled, wiping at her face. "I'm just… I'm glad you're eating, my lady. You need to take better care of yourself."
Shen Mei set down her bowl and looked at her maid properly. Ya Er was young—only sixteen—with a round face and kind eyes. She'd always been there, always looked after Shen Mei, even when the Zhao Clan had forgotten her existence.
And Shen Mei had never shown her any appreciation.
She stood and helped Ya Er to her feet, flashing her a bright, reassuring smile.
"Dear Ya Er," she said warmly. "Will you teach me how to hunt?"
Ya Er's mouth fell open. "H-hunt? My lady, I—"
"You're right about everything," Shen Mei continued, her smile growing. "I cannot continue wallowing in self-pity. I will take charge of my life. And I will start by learning how to hunt."
Dream or no dream, this was a second chance. A chance to live without regrets.
And soon, she would be hunting something far more dangerous than game.
She would be hunting those who had wronged her.