A heart-shaped face framed by soft blonde hair.
Bright green eyes, glowing with joy.
She wore a pale blue Elizabethan gown—tight bodice, lace-trimmed neckline, puffed sleeves tapering to her wrists. The wide satin skirt swirled around her as she ran barefoot down the hall and threw herself into a soldier's arms.
"Brother! What did you get me?" she laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck.
His smile faltered.
Slowly, he leaned toward the old man beside him.
"Tonight," he murmured, "you shall have her."
The girl ran down the corridor, laughing.
Unaware.
Unprepared.
Hands seized her.
She screamed. Kicked. Fought.
They tied her down.
The door creaked open.
A man stepped inside.
A monster.
No—worse.
A man.
She twisted against the ropes, panic clawing up her throat.
"Please—no—stop—"
Her voice broke into a scream.
###
Rong Xi jolted awake.
Cold sweat soaked her skin. Her chest heaved as she clutched her arms around herself, shaking.
Twenty-two lives.
Each one returning in fragments.
Each one lived.
Each one suffered.
She had felt everything.
Tears slid down her cheeks.
The betrayal still burned like a fresh wound.
She could still see her brother's face.
His eyes.
The moment he chose silver over blood.
Why?
Why did you sell me?
Her body refused to stay still.
She dropped to the floor and began moving.
Leg lifts.
Crunches.
Bicycle kicks.
Anything.
Faster.
Harder.
Until the muscles burned and sweat drowned the fear.
Because sleep meant another nightmare.
Another life.
Another betrayal.
And in every one of them…the same soul stood across from me.
She couldn't endure that again.
She had to leave this world.
Tomorrow she would search again.
Artifacts.
Relics.
Anything rumored to hold power.
If mystics couldn't send her home—
then something else would.
She wiped the sweat from her face and stared into the darkness.
One thought circled through her mind.
Over.
And over.
And over again.
Somewhere in this world…
there had to be a way out.
###
The Yan family owned Sleepy Inn.
They owned many inns across the realm, but this one was the largest in Qiyang. Reserving the entire second floor had taken only a single message from the Yan household.
Rui paced his chamber.
The polished wood floor creaked beneath each step.
His hand moved almost unconsciously.
Sketching.
Again.
Ink brushed across paper in quick, confident strokes.
When he finally looked down, Rong Xi's eyes stared back at him.
Fierce.
Unyielding.
More sheets lay scattered across the table.
Portrait after portrait.
One caught the quiet sorrow he had glimpsed outside the manor gate.
Another captured the spark of defiance in her gaze.
A third held the faint curve of her smile.
Rui frowned.
He had not meant to draw her this many times.
Who is Rong Xi?
The reports had described her clearly.
A minister's daughter.
Sheltered.
Obedient.
Raised on Confucian virtue and proper restraint.
A predictable wife.
A peaceful future.
But the girl he had seen in the street had been none of those things.
She moved like someone accustomed to freedom.
Spoke like someone who feared nothing.
And when she looked at the world, there had been something burning behind her eyes.
Fire.
Rui studied the latest portrait.
Those eyes stared back at him.
Alive.
Defiant.
That fire…
Could it be extinguished?
Did he even want it to be?
The scrolls stacked on his desk demanded attention.
Reports.
Orders.
Matters of the King.
Yet Rui's hand moved again.
Ink touched paper.
Another line.
Another curve.
Another pair of eyes staring back at him.
He stopped only when he realized something.
Every face he had drawn tonight—
was hers.