The princes were growing up restless, cozying up to ministers, and the ministers were quietly picking sides.
The Bennett House tried to stay clean of all that and only support the emperor.
Back when the emperor and my father first met, they bonded—so I was born and immediately given the title Countess of Anning, with a small parcel of land attached.
A thing most daughters of officials could only dream of.
Too bad, in my last life I lost my mind, fell for Prince Alexander’s handsome face, and insisted on marrying him no matter what.
I ignored that my father refused to take sides and that I couldn’t outplay a schemer like Alexander.
I was forced into the marriage. Of course I wasn’t cherished, I spent my days jealous of Hazel Bennett, and I did a string of terrible things.
In the end I betrayed my country for selfish reasons, nearly provoking a disaster—and it destroyed the Bennett House.
I watched the man who had always doted on me, my father, in tattered clothes, kneel at the execution scaffold while bewildered commoners hurled rotten vegetables at him. I went mad.
I charged the scaffold to grab the executioner’s blade and, in the struggle, accidentally stabbed myself.
When I woke up, I was fourteen again.
2.
At that exact moment, Prince Alexander was in the palace pressing the emperor to call off our engagement.
Of course the old me wouldn’t let it go.
I bawled, I caused a scene, I threatened anything I could—my father, being a helplessly doting man, went before the emperor and did the same routine in my place.
The emperor had a headache and told Prince Alexander to go back and prepare for the wedding.
But now—
"Daughter—" my father coaxed. "I told you, that prince is not the one for you. Look… let’s not marry him, okay?"
The Chief Minister practically sprinted to my room the moment he heard, a man nearing forty, scholarly and full of a mature charm—when he smiled that way, which he didn’t do often.
Yesterday he didn’t understand why I’d burst into tears as soon as I woke—clutching him and distraught—and it had hurt him so badly he could hardly breathe.
Outwardly strict and solemn, he was gentle and terrified of breaking me with his care. His wife had died early; he’d been both mother and father, worshiping me to the point of spoiling.
Seeing me in tears again made him physically ill; he asked in agony.
I felt a pang, set down the steaming cup of milk, and said, "Dad, you look like a creep from the street when you smile. It’s scary."
The Chief Minister’s face fell—not because I’d teased him, but because I’d had the heart to joke. By his read on me, I should have barreled into him, clinging and wailing. That I didn’t meant something was off.
"Did you hear me, daughter?" he asked carefully.
I nodded and smiled. "Yes. If Prince Alexander wants to break it off, fine—let him."
He hovered his hand to my forehead, murmured, "No fever," and I thought of him at the scaffold, of how he’d knelt with those same hands. My mouth tightened. "Honestly, I think Prince Alexander is kind of ugly. Let him go."
My father blinked.
Prince Alexander was supposed to be the nation’s greatest beauty.
3.
In an elegant chamber, a man in a long lotus-embroidered robe of blue and silver sat up straight at his desk, practicing calligraphy.
The strokes were precise but carried an irreverent edge that cut straight to the bone.
From a gilded dragon incense burner, rosewood smoke curled up, bathing the room in calm.
"My lord, Miss Bennett has agreed to annul the engagement," a subordinate reported.
The man froze mid-stroke; the characters were perfect. He looked up—narrow-eyed, high-bridged nose, thin lips. His air was at once passionate and aloof, but impeccably composed. That contradiction made him irresistible.
"Interesting," he said, setting down the brush. He tilted his chin and asked the man below, casually, "So it was Miss Bennett who came to her senses? What did she say?"
Prince Alexander looked surprised. Ever since their first meeting she’d clung to him for five years; she’d become a shadow in his life. For her to suddenly let go was astonishing.
The palace guard hesitated and then reported, "Miss Bennett said… she said Your Highness is ugly."
He omitted the word "quite."
Prince Alexander: "…"
4.
News spread like wildfire—Countess Claire Bennett had willingly broken her engagement to Prince Alexander, rocking the high society of Newford.
She instantly became the cautionary tale for noble daughters.
Cautionary or not, curiosity ruled. Invitations to flower-viewings and banquets flooded the Bennett House like a rising tide.
I sprawled on the soft couch, warming hands by the brazier and eating cold sweet cake. I planned to refuse them all, but then Lady Rosaline Pierce herself posted an invitation.
We all knew they wanted to see me make a fool of myself, but family face mattered—future sister-in-law formalities couldn’t be ignored.
The event was tomorrow.
I was cozy and didn’t want to go, but I lacked the right jewelry for the new gown—sigh.
5.
After a while, Molly and Nora hauled my half-limp self up to dress and do my hair.
I wore a crimson silk gown with embroidered plum blossoms in gold thread and a plain red cloak edged with white fox fur—warm and pretty.
My hair was simply worn down with a single pomegranate pin; tiny ruby beads framed my face and made it look smaller.
Pleased, I nodded at the mirror and left with Molly and Lizzy.
In my past life Alexander and Hazel strolled the markets often; I’d been jealous and sulky, never enjoying myself.
This time I planned to walk to Waverly Jewelers and admire the street.
Right out the door, we ran into a scene at the corner: a cad groping a poor girl who’d supposedly sold herself to bury her father.
"Hey there, sweetheart—come on, lemme have a look—" the man leered.
"Sir, please don’t touch me!" the girl said, voice low but pleading—slightly hoarse and fragile, like a feather against the heart. It made my scalp tingle… Wait—no way—that’s Hazel Bennett???
Why was she selling herself to bury her father?
6.
The man I recognized: Samuel Durant, eldest son of Marquess Durant.
A charming rake with a reckless streak, actually a goofball.
He was known for collecting beautiful things—did he want to "collect" Hazel?
He’d started manhandling her. "You’re selling yourself to bury your father, right? I’ll buy you. Take my money and come with me. I’ll dress you up pretty every day!"
Hazel struggled. Her lips were bitten raw, pale face and huge deer eyes rimmed in tears—heart-meltingly pretty.
Ugh—no. I didn’t find her pretty. I felt guilty remembering how, in my last life, I had hurt her so many times… maybe that guilt made me soft.
Enough. I strode forward and kicked Samuel Durant away. He’d once been my father’s apprentice for two years; I wasn’t afraid of him.
"You’re a pervert," I snapped. "Any decent girl would never go with you!"
Samuel looked stunned and angry—but then, seeing me, the little brat took a step forward and then stepped back as if facing a new enemy.
"Why are you everywhere, Claire Bennett? Spying on people again? Ugh. Always tattling!"
I squinted. He probably remembered the time my father complained about him—he’d been badly beaten and was laid up for days. He and his lackeys slunk off.
"What a piece of trash," I muttered.
Hazel watched the fleeing Durant, then looked at me and the coins in her hand. She hesitated, then dropped to her knees.
"Miss, thank you for buying my freedom. From now on, I belong to you."
I blurted, "Those coins weren’t mine!"
Hazel’s face was grave. "A bad man gave them, you drove him off—so it’s like you gave them."
That… actually made sense?
7.
Me—Claire Bennett, heir of the Bennett House, Countess of Anning—reborn for barely two days, and my former rival had just become my free maid, to report for duty tomorrow.
Her florid, articulate speech disarmed me; I watched her go and stood there thinking.
In my last life, Hazel had been the daughter of the Minister of Revenue—how could she have been sold to pay for a burial?
Was this a false rebirth? Or had she always been sold and met Prince Alexander while selling herself?
In my past life, I’d been happily at home embroidering a bridal veil and wouldn’t have seen any of this—so maybe Prince Alexander had been nearby.
I glanced around—nobody. I turned and looked up. On the balcony of an inn, Prince Alexander sat drinking. His narrow eyes were calmly fixed on me.
Great. Karma moves fast.
No—he was too far away to see clearly. Maybe he wasn’t looking at me at all.
I clapped a hand over my face and ran without looking back.
Molly and Lizzy chased after me, shrieking, "Miss—!!!"
The whole street must have heard. How mortifying—to shove aside my father’s apprentice’s crush in front of my father and then make that crush into my servant.
I panicked. Why did I even leave the house?
Prince Alexander watched my flustered retreat and the corner of his mouth lifted.
Her panicked, messy flail was cuter than the posed, genteel act she usually put on.
8.
I gasped my way into Waverly Jewelers and checked behind—good, nobody had followed.
Silly—why would the prince chase me? I made myself feel better and then scolded my past self for being such an idiot: all the poisons and schemes—what had I been thinking? Maybe they’d already suspected me. Before I committed treason, Alexander had been oddly kind to me.
Whatever. This time I’d keep my distance.
Waverly was Newford’s biggest jewelry shop, backed by the north’s largest merchant consortium. Their goods were exquisite and expensive—just the cheapest ring inside would be a status-worthy wedding trinket. No wonder nobles loved it.
Molly and Lizzy and I climbed to the third floor. Luckily it was cold out and the place was nearly empty; running into acquaintances would be a pain.
"Look who it is—the Countess of Anning!" someone said.
My body went rigid. On the fourth floor, a woman in a bright rose dress descended, one foot after the other. A limited-edition golden phoenix hairpin with a cat’s-eye gemstone flashed like a knife.
Her maid clutched her gently, careful not to touch the bracelets and jeweled guards on her fingers.
Lady Rosaline Pierce, of course.
I bowed, forced a smile. She glanced me up and down and said, “So the engagement’s really called off? You’ve grown some backbone, huh.”
I put on a solemn face. “I’ve come to my senses. You can’t force a melon to ripen.”
Lady Rosaline Pierce looked me over—the petite, rosy-cheeked girl half my height—and laughed. “What are you doing pretending to be proper?”
She glanced behind me and added, “If even Prince Alexander isn’t sweet anymore, who in all Northern Newford could be sweeter—”
I didn’t catch the shift in her tone. I thought for a second and said, “You know, I suddenly realized I prefer my older brother’s type. He looks so delicate—fragile health and all.”
I kept a straight face as I babbled nonsense, ignoring the ugly truth that Alexander defeated his own older brother at thirteen.
Rosaline burst out laughing, tears nearly in her eyes. In an instant the delicate flower image she’d been projecting cracked.
I took two steps back in disgust. “Watch your image. If someone thinks you’ve lost your mind, I’m not covering for you.”
Molly poked me, but I ignored her and brushed my arm off.
Rosaline couldn’t stop laughing, and didn’t answer. Her maid, ever discreet, helped her back up to the fourth floor.
As she climbed, she kept laughing, “Ha ha ha—”
I was furious. Seriously, this idiot is going to be my sister-in-law?
How am I supposed to live???
9.
“I’m the one who’s sick, okay?”
A familiar voice behind me—pleasant, but with an odd undertone of threat—cut through the room.
My knees went weak; I almost dropped to them.
Fine. Turns out the idiot was me.
I stared at the long staircase to the fourth floor and swallowed hard. That staircase wasn’t a staircase—it was an escape route.
I bolted. I’d barely taken a step when someone grabbed the back of my neck, tipped me up, and pulled me face-to-face with a pair of narrow, intense eyes.
“Heh… heh heh… what a coincidence, P-Prince Alexander.”
My short stature suddenly felt unbearable. The man in front of me was a head taller; I wanted to cry.
First someone stole a woman from me, then said mean things about me behind my back and got caught—I suddenly didn’t want to be reborn anymore.
Maybe dying wouldn’t be so bad—better than dying of embarrassment.
“You called off our engagement, and you’re spreading rumors about me? Trying to ruin my chances at marriage? Hmm?”
He said those quail-frightening words in the gentlest tone imaginable. I was about to protest that he’d heard wrong when I remembered—
“It was you who called off the engagement! Not me!”
Alexander looked at my slightly chubby, flushed face—my big round eyes glaring in a petulant way, shiny and puppy-like, my pink lips pouting. He knew I was furious. He smiled softer still and said, “But His Majesty said you called it off—”
I sputtered nonsense.
Okay, my father must’ve told the emperor to say that to protect my reputation, even though my reputation was already ruined.
I wriggled out from under his hand at the back of my neck. “Whatever the case, it’s settled. Your Highness, show some respect. From now on, each to their own—marriage and happiness for all.”
Alexander’s eyes darkened. He still smiled, but from five years of tangling with him, I knew he was angry.
Why, though? So strange.
The mood to browse hairpins evaporated. I grabbed the first one I liked and paid, storming out with a mix of hurt, indignation, and fury swelling inside me.
It’s weird. He’s the one who doesn’t want me, he’s the one who doesn’t like me—so why act like he’s into me? Gross.
10.
I stormed back to the Bennett House, dreading another round of questioning from the other young ladies at Lord Rosaline’s the next day.
Alexander’s face replayed over and over in my head. Why was he angry? I was the one who was mad!
From the first time I met him at nine to fifteen, and through my previous life where I married him and died in the fourth year, he always smiled soft and gentle but never took initiative.
He made me think I had a chance.
So I chased him relentlessly, and he never refused.
Even when the emperor arranged the marriage, he didn’t object. Then at my coming-of-age I had a change of heart—what was that about?
Jerk.
He married someone else six months after we married—Hazel Bennett!
He didn’t stop me when I did wrong for him; he didn’t tell me the truth. Did he purposefully arrange contact with traitors to push me aside?
I imagined Alexander as the worst kind of person. Crying, I fell asleep.
Curtains shifted and a silhouette slipped into the room. He stared at the small woman on the bed, touched the tear-matted pillow and the faint redness around her eyes.
“Stupid,” he murmured. “So stupid and blind.”
11.
“Huh?”
I woke up expecting my eyes to be swollen like walnuts. Miracle—I looked fine. Perfect. Molly had done my hair in a delicate, airy style that fit me well.
Lizzy picked my outfit: a plum-colored dress with a trailing hem and plum blossom makeup—gentle, a little flirtatious.
I stuck in the hairpin I’d bought yesterday—odd, this one looked different.
“Something wrong, Miss?” Lizzy asked.
I looked at the pin. It was a phoenix-tail butterfly, lifelike, wings even seeming to flutter, like it might lift off any second. Tiny colored gems trailed the tail like a comet’s tail.
So exquisite. Was this the butterfly hairpin I bought yesterday for fifty taels? This looked more like five hundred taels. Jackpot.
Talk about turning misfortune into fortune—woohoo. I hopped into the carriage eating pastries, feeling cheerful.
Even though I’d decided to give up on Alexander, I was now certain.
Our household is small: a doting brother, an indulgent father. I’d been pampered and sheltered. I didn’t need palace scheming over love.
Whatever happened in my previous life—whatever he had in mind—I didn’t care anymore.
This life I would be myself. Find a husband who’d protect me, visit my father often, and live peacefully.
12.
“Hey—is Claire coming today?”
“Dunno. Chances are she’s too ashamed—after clinging on like that and then getting dumped.”
“It wasn’t her who dumped him, right?”
“Heh—no, Prince Alexander asked for it. But you know the Emperor wouldn’t humiliate Chief Minister Bennett…”
Around the table the women were chattering about the hottest topic—the engagement—and, unfortunately for me, most of them wore schadenfreude smiles.
Prince Alexander is a rare talent—he has a good shot at the throne. Dozens of well-born girls adore him but had no chance because Claire kept close to him. Now? Now they could try.
I stood outside listening. Nora looked at me with concern.
Sigh—celebrity attracts trouble— I pushed open the door. A servant announced, “Miss Bennett of the Bennett House—” The hall fell quiet.
Every pair of eyes turned to me.
I smiled demurely and made my way to my seat with all the proper etiquette.
Rosaline sat in the place of honor, her eyes gleefully malicious. I stuck my tongue out at her.
Eleanor Grant, daughter of the Minister of War, hustled over. “You called off the engagement!”
I nodded. “Yes. What of it?”
She clicked her tongue and retreated, speechless.
“Guess Prince Alexander didn’t want her. You don’t chase what’s not for sale, after all—”
A rippling chorus of spiteful laughter bubbled up. I looked over: oh, it was Vivian Park, eldest legitimate daughter of the Minister of Revenue.
13.
Vivian—Newford’s supposed prodigy—was proud. We’d been rivals once, until I lost interest in the contest when I started chasing Alexander.
Who knew she’d been spreading rumors behind my back—saying I’d been throwing myself at him, that I was disgraceful, that he hated me.
Yes—I’d been clingy.
But he didn’t hate me!
I Woke Up Rich and Burned Them Down
My reputation was ruined in no small part because of her whispering. Tsk. Before I always thought Alexander preferred demure women who seemed obedient but now? Not worth it.
So when she sniped, I shot back, “Right—chasing isn’t a trade. And how clever of you to secretly give Prince Edmund little sachets during the Qixi Festival.”
Her face flushed. She hadn’t expected I’d know. She stood, furious. “Claire Bennett, how dare you slander me! I never gave sachets to Prince Edmund!”
I nibbled my plum cake and looked at her coolly. Her cronies started quietly showing disdain and whispering.
Friendship’s fragile, I thought.
“Cough—cough—enough. We’re all sisters here. Look at these red plums, aren’t they beautiful? Enjoy the flowers,” Rosaline said, smoothing things over.
The other girls, sharp as they were, quickly steered Vivian away. She glared at me as she sat back down.
I looked at the plum blossoms and felt exhausted. I truly dislike this atmosphere.
14.
Rosaline pulled me into her room and said, all curious, “What’s up with you—?”
We were alone, so I sprawled in a chair and said, “Bored.”
She frowned. “Bored? You used to love gatherings like this!”
I thought a moment. “Maybe I came of age. Got more mature.”
Rosaline: “…you’re getting weirder. But fine—you shouldn’t keep pining after Alexander. He doesn’t like you.”
I nodded.
She was silent for a beat, then said, “I’ve taken in a few girls who do tricks. Want one to play with?”
I looked up at her bright smile and nodded.
She clapped and a round-faced, lively girl came in. In my previous life Rosaline had given me that very girl on my wedding day; she became my most trusted maid. I don’t know what happened to her after I died.
She made an orange appear in my pocket and vanish again. I laughed.
Rosaline said, “See? My Faye’s talented!”
I smiled. “Yeah, she’s great. Call her Faye from now on.”
Rosaline rolled her eyes. “Are you forever stuck on the ‘little’ nickname?”
Back at the banquet, I kept my half-present state. Rosaline, tired of my deadpan face, told me to scram. I snapped to and left in a hurry.
Socializing is exhausting.
In the carriage, watching Faye’s tricks, I felt the strangest thing—fate truly is mysterious.
The maid I received on my wedding day in my last life had somehow returned to me again.
I sipped hot tea and nibbled on a pastry, feeling restless. How do I pry myself out of the memories of my past life?
These last three days felt like a dream.
After rocking along for half an hour, we finally reached the Bennett House. I stretched and then heard Molly’s voice from outside the carriage: “Hey? You’re that girl who sold herself to bury her father yesterday!”
Smack.
The pastry in my hand hit the floor, suddenly not appetizing.
I slapped my forehead. Oh man… I’d forgotten her.
I lifted the curtain and saw Hazel in a white dress, her expression steady—neither servile nor arrogant—as she addressed me, “Miss.”
Me: …ugh, this isn’t just a dream. It’s a nightmare.
Hazel is very diligent. She’s pretty, lithe, with delicate features—so striking that even in plain cloth she can’t hide it. There’s a tiny red mole under one eye that makes her look innocent with a hint of allure. Seriously, put her in a fine dress and she could pass for an actual lady.
In my last life I didn’t spend much time with her except for the scheming and the betrayals. What I envied most was that face—I wanted to ruin it all the time. But now, watching her bustling about at my side…
Well… it’s oddly pleasing to the eye.
I’ve been holed up in the house for three months, turning down every invitation. I promoted Hazel from a third-rank maid to first-rank and insisted she be kept right by my side every day.
There wasn’t much reason; I just wanted to see where I’d lost out.
Turns out the gap is pretty big. Even though her looks helped and I bumped her rank, she shows no signs of being spoiled. She does her chores diligently, keeps good relations with everyone, and gives me no cause for worry.
She seems to love reading, so I gave her a few rare books I’d already read. She was so moved she nearly cried—so pure.
Why did I think she was a schemer in my last life?
But Faye’s different from how I remember. In my other life she was loyal, obedient, and always offering plans for me. This time, she’s… off.
How to put it… she went to steal bird eggs. The mother bird attacked to protect its nest and pecked her hand. She threw the nest down and was about to stomp the mother bird.
I stopped her, but the mother bird was hurt and couldn’t fly right away.
Later she apologized with tears, saying she’d been angry and had planned to use the eggs for a magic trick for me.
I forgave her, but it felt strange. As I replayed memories from my past life, a thought kept tugging at the back of my mind.
“Father—does Minister of Revenue have any lost daughters or something?”
The court’s tense lately. Prince Edmund and Prince Robert keep squabbling; Prince Victor joins Robert’s side and stirs things up. Crown Prince Julian tries to placate everyone and stay uninvolved. Prince Alexander keeps silent, which only makes Edmund and Robert pick on him more until insults fly and tempers flare. The Emperor sits with a stony face and says nothing. The ministers tremble, but Henry Bennett—Chief Minister—knows the Emperor’s just watching the show!
So annoying.
Not even handling his own sons, just sitting there pretending to savor the drama of succession like some bizarre hobby. What a weird mindset.
Anyway, today things finally quieted down and the Emperor dismissed court, still looking entertained.
Chief Minister Bennett rushed home without stopping to have dinner with me—so touched he was in tears—three days without his darling daughter’s dinner, the agony!
But of course I opened with a question about the Ministry of Revenue’s missing daughter. “Isn’t the eldest daughter of the Minister not on good terms?” I asked.
He thought for a moment. “The younger daughter of the senior branch has been missing a long time. She disappeared ten years ago and hasn’t been found. Why?”
I sipped my soup. “I’m curious if she had any birthmarks or anything.”
He nodded. “At the time she had a small red mole under her eye, but it’s been so long I doubt many remember.”
He’d barely finished when I murmured, “I think I’ve found her.”
Coughing, the Chief Minister choked on his soup. I waved, and a woman in a white dress walked over—pure and delicate, with that little red tear-mole under one eye.
Henry Bennett thought it was ridiculous.
Three months after I disappeared, I caused another stir: I’d apparently found the missing younger daughter of the Minister of Revenue—born as Vivian Park. Her mother, worried about appearances, later renamed her Hazel Bennett.
Then that fool Samuel Durant suddenly decided he had found her first and that I’d stolen his claim, so he started coming to the Bennett House every day to pick fights.
I favor bright colors—my dresses are nearly always vivid. It’s winter, so I wore a red gown and pinned on Waverly’s butterfly hairpin.
Watching him sitting in the hall sipping tea with nothing to do, I couldn’t help but think how nice it must be to inherit a title and not have to lift a finger. That’s the only way someone could be so carefree during a succession crisis—come by my house all day under the pretense of learning politics from my father and bother me.
As expected, the jerk jumped up when he saw me. “You—! It’s your fault! If I’d brought her home first, I could have married the Minister’s legitimate daughter!”
I glanced at him lazily and slumped back into my chair. “Get real. What family would marry their daughter to you? You’re a pro at eating, drinking, womanizing, and gambling. Ill-educated. Dream on.”
He retorted indignantly, “Hey! I didn’t womanize!”
A headache throbbed. “Who cares? Go propose to the Ministry if you’re desperate. Stop pestering me.”
I stood to leave, my leg had gone numb from the awkward position and almost buckled. I was about to hit the floor when someone caught me.
A man steadied my arm, frowning. His eyes were almond-shaped and warm, a small dimple on his cheek. Up close he smelled faintly of fresh grass with a hint of orange—my favorite—and a trace of body heat. The place he held was warm.
I had to admit, Samuel Durant still looked good—deceptively charming—and different from the brat who used to tug my braids as a kid.
I kept my head down and didn’t notice how intimate our position looked, as if we were embracing. I didn’t see his reddened earlobe.
“Hey, you really don’t like Prince Alexander anymore?” a voice asked from above. I straightened and pushed him away. “My word is my bond—no backing out now.”
He smiled, eyes squinting, and ruffled my hair. “Good girl, I’m off—”
Me: “???” Who gave you permission to touch my head? You jerk!
I watched his cheerful retreat and thought this guy keeps getting more and more inexplicable the older he gets. Men around me are all strange.
Because I reached the “ripe” age of fifteen and wasn’t betrothed, and because my past glories were too dazzling, noble families either feared Prince Alexander’s retribution or thought I was too wild. So the suitors who called were mostly low-level civil officials—marriage to me would only curry favor with my father and advance their careers. Talented, proud young men didn’t bother.
My father blew a fit, swearing they had no vision. A couple of higher-ranking offers came from illegitimate sons, and he flat-out refused to marry me off into a messy, uncertain household. He’d rather keep me supported forever than let me go into that.
I clung to his arm and acted spoiled, repeating that I didn’t want to marry, and he finally calmed down. That same day he went to the ancestral hall to speak with my mother’s tablet.
Whenever he felt he hadn’t done enough for me or had wronged me, he would go talk to her portrait. In my last life, before I married Prince Alexander, he stayed there for days and days and came out with gray at his temples.
Watching him now made my chest ache. I’d still be so unfilial again in this life that I’d make him worry.
Lately the weather’s warmed, so I’ve been taking Molly, Lizzy, Nora out in rotation, sometimes inviting Faye. We find a pretty spot, spread a little brocade mat, snack on treats, sip tea, and the day slides by.
Admittedly, there’s selfishness: if someone attractive appears, I’ll take a closer look. If the person’s decent, maybe I’ll marry and give my father something to do. Perfect.
“Claire!” A sweet voice called. I turned—Hazel. She wore a heavenly blue gown and a blue jade hairpin that made her look ethereal. Beside her were Prince Alexander, Prince Edmund, and Vivian Park—some unfamiliar noble girls.
Great—terrible timing.
“Claire, long time no see. I came by when you were sick before. Are you better now?” Hazel’s eyes were bright, and Prince Alexander looked at her with obvious tenderness. I smiled, “Better. Just getting some fresh air.”
Of course they’d show up together. Sigh. Hazel’s cute, but I don’t want to see Prince Alexander—or Vivian Park—right now.
“I heard the younger sister’s been getting attention lately. Good things coming. Why no news yet—” Vivian said with a faintly sneering look.
Prince Alexander’s brow tightened for a moment, then smoothed.
Prince Edmund snapped his folding fan open with a slap and said sarcastically, “Claire is charming and your father is a pillar of the state. Who ordinary would be worthy? She should be properly courted.”
I watched them and felt a prickly annoyance—Vivian and Edmund were perfectly matched: irritating.
Hazel frowned and stood. “Sister, isn’t it improper for women to be discussed in public like this? Marriage is the duty of parents and matchmakers. And Prince Edmund, joking about such things—unseemly behavior for a prince, isn’t it?”
Edmund’s expression chilled. He stepped forward and snapped, “Are you lecturing me?”
Alexander kept smiling but moved forward too, placing himself between Edmund and Hazel. He said to Edmund, “Little brother, are you upset already? No need.”
Watching this scene made me wince. I didn’t miss Prince Alexander’s displeasure. I knew he didn’t dislike me; he might even like me a little. But he would never defend me like that, never stand in front of me. Seeing those small acts from the sidelines made everything clear. I let it go. Love and hate from past lives—let them vanish.
I dusted my skirt—no dust in reality—and stood, nibbling on my pastry as I watched the show.
Prince Edmund noticed my look and scowled, "Miss Bennett, what's with the stare?
You're the only noble girl in all of Newford who won't be married off, huh! Hmph—"
"Who said I won't be married?"
Me: "Hm?"
I turned and saw Samuel Durant coming toward us—hair loose and tied back with a teal silk ribbon, wearing a teal robe embroidered with silver thread. His gaze burned bright.
He carried a birdcage in one hand. His eyes were soft and flirtatious, a little dimple curling his mouth—charming, rakish, utterly dazzling.
Prince Alexander looked at him in surprise and snorted, "What are you talking about?
If Chief Minister Bennett were to promise Claire to someone, there's no way he'd promise her to you—Newford's biggest rake."
Samuel handed the birdcage to me, ruffled my hair, then stepped in front of me and said, "What?
If he can't promise you to me, who can he promise you to?
You can't even beat me at eating, drinking, gambling, or carousing—bah."
Prince Alexander was stunned. Who compares like that?
A royal prince should not be competing with Samuel Durant over who drinks more or gambles harder.
If that's the prize, forget the throne.
He flushed red with anger, stumped for a rebuttal—anything would be humiliating—so he swept his sleeve and left.
Vivian Park followed right after. Before she left she glared at me, but when Samuel looked back at her expressionless, she shrank away.
The other noble girls dispersed, too.
Prince Alexander glanced at me; Samuel shifted a step to block his view.
He smiled, and Hazel Bennett gave me a mischievous wink, mouthed "I’ll come back later," then took off—Prince Alexander left with her.
In an instant it was just Samuel and me.
"Little Marquis? Come on, explain—what are you planning to do?"
The dazzling Samuel deflated the second I spoke. He scratched his head and stammered, "Well… let's not let your father hear this, okay? Ha, ha…"
I watched his forced smile and said, "It'll probably reach him in less than an hour."
The color drained from his face. Weakly he asked, "How about—how about I marry you? Is that okay?"
Looking at his cowardly face made me think of the boy I once knew—caught doing something wrong, terrified of my father's punishment, pleading for me to protect him.
Those two faces merged and softened me. I patted his head. "Fine. As long as my father agrees."
Better to marry someone I know than pick a stranger. And with my father around, Samuel wouldn't dare cause trouble.
He scratched his head, smiled, escorted me back to the Bennett House, and rushed back to his manor to prepare the betrothal gifts. I nodded and went home.
I didn't notice how worry had turned into joy on his face—shining, brilliant.
The day did not start well. I spent the morning at home when my father stormed into my room asking what had happened that morning.
I rounded the story down to: Samuel Durant came to propose. His brows shot up in fury. "That little scoundrel—I'll beat him to death!"
Then the servants announced: the Little Marquis had come to formalize the proposal.
His retinue paraded the betrothal gifts around Newford with drums and banners first.
The old Marquis and Samuel had already arrived. Word was the old man looked stern but had red eyes—perhaps he'd never thought he'd live to see his son married.
My father and I were stunned at how fast this moved. Even if the Marquis agreed, preparing a betrothal list and matchmaker usually takes three to five days, at least.
Chief Minister Bennett huffed at me to sit down and stormed into the front hall ready to fight.
There's no way I wouldn't go—so I sneaked after him.
When I arrived, they'd been talking a while.
Samuel knelt solemnly before my father. "Since I was young I've adored Claire. If Master Bennett consents, I swear I'll take only Claire as my wife. I will love her and protect her all my life. If I break this vow, may heaven strike me down."
I'd never seen him so earnest. My heart stuttered.
The performance was convincing; I almost believed him.
Seeing my father's hesitation, the Marquis's steward immediately produced the long betrothal list. The Durant household's assets were hefty—though not involved in court affairs, their fortune was vast. The list was packed with rare silks, foodstuffs, medicines, jewelry, even shops.
Ninety-eight sedan chairs total. The Empress's dowry once had ninety-nine. The treasures listed made me suspect he'd been preparing for a long time… Wait. Had I been led into a trap?
After that, I drifted back to my rooms in a daze. In my previous life, Samuel and I had little contact; later he supported Prince Alexander and our relationship soured. He barely nodded in my direction and often glared.
So how had this life gone so differently?
An hour later my father tiptoed in with a cup of tea and chose his words carefully.
I looked at him and smiled. "Did you agree?"
Chief Minister Bennett watched his daughter's smiling face and said hesitantly, "Well—my daughter, if you don't like it you can refuse. But you know how the princes are vying for the throne. The Little Marquis may be a rake, but his character isn't bad and he hasn't taken sides. Marrying him would be safer; you won't be dragged into more trouble."
"And don't think because he's a rake he runs wild. He knows himself—he hasn't gone astray. If he ever bullies you, I'll go and beat him up."
Listening to him fret and squirm, frown and glance at me for cues, then get angry, I stepped forward and hugged him.
He froze, felt my damp face, and was overcome. "What's wrong? Oh, don't cry, don't cry—no marrying anymore, your father will take care of you for life, okay?"
I burst out laughing. I lifted my face and watched his features crinkle with worry; let him wipe my tears. "I'll marry. I just—I'm not very clever, I always cause trouble, but I have the best father in the world. I'm so lucky."
His heart melted. He pretended not to cry, eyes reddening; he patted my head. "Who says that! My Claire is the cleverest!"
Afraid he'd actually tear up, he stood and said he had things to do, then hurried to the ancestral hall to tell my mother.
I watched his back go and smiled. I didn't know why I'd been reborn, but it felt good—behind a screen, someone stood quietly, a small smirk and a dimple appearing on his cheek.
Then, of course, I was furious again.
After breaking things off with the Third Prince, I was now engaged to Newford's biggest playboy, the Little Marquis.
I declined every invitation with practiced ease.
Once the betrothal exchange happened everything moved smoothly. They checked the horoscopes and picked a date—next month's fifteenth?
Only thirty days left???
My father badgered the Emperor, who begrudgingly gave me the title Countess of Anning—he claimed it was to prevent me from being bullied.
I haven't many close friends. When Lady Rosaline Pierce came with gifts to make sure I had thought this through, I nodded. She looked at me with mixed feelings and tugged at her mouth.
On the way out I ran into Hazel. We exchanged a look that could only be called disaster.
That familiar scene made me pause—so Rosaline admired Prince Alexander? Rosaline was the childhood friend who had once been engaged to my eldest brother. In my past life she told me Alexander's tastes and whereabouts when I was most alone. After marrying my brother she often listened to me and gave me advice.
So all those odd little things—why my laxative turned into poison, why small squabbles escalated into life-or-death—were not coincidences. It wasn't Hazel making things worse to make Alexander hate me; it was all deliberate.
Everything came flooding back. I laughed—how could I have been so blind?
"Claire?"
Hazel's soft voice pulled me back. She looked concerned.
She bit her lip and said carefully, "Claire, I know you and Rosaline have been childhood friends, but… you don't have to weigh her words too heavily. Do what you think is right, okay?"
Seeing how gently she worried over me I owed her an apology. "I'm sorry."
Hazel blinked wide, smiled, and her tear mole glinted. "No, it's me who should thank you. If not for you I couldn't have reclaimed my place in my family. Let's get along from now on."
She said the same thing in our last life; then I had bumped into her and walked off. This time I nodded sincerely, thinking—man, she really is pretty.
When I returned Rosaline's little boat-shaped trinket—something she'd given me at ten that we each kept from the same piece of jade—her graceful face stiffened for a moment.
"What does that mean?
What did Hazel say to you? You believe her and not me?"
I asked simply, "How long have you admired Prince Alexander?"
She paused. I looked her in the eye and said, "If you say you don't, I'll believe you."
She went completely silent and sank into a chair like she'd lost energy.
I gave her back the rose-colored jade pendant I always wore. She looked at it and said nothing.
I walked the streets with Molly and Lizzy trailing silently behind. Trees lined the courtyards and the sunshine was perfect, flowers bursting everywhere. My mood lightened and then I heard a familiar voice.
"Huh?"
I turned and saw a familiar back calling out, loud, "Big! Big!"
I peered up at the sign: "Lucky Charm Gaming House."
Samuel's page saw me and elbowed him. "Tch—what are you doing! The master is having fun!"
He glanced back casually. I smiled at him.
Samuel hesitated, then grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the gambling parlor. "Come on," he said, grinning, "If you play too, they won't beat me up—safety in numbers!"
Though women weren't barred from gambling, in my last life I kept my demure image and never came.
I thought about it—seemed fun.
At first I was timid and had no idea what "big leopard" or whatever bets meant, so I guessed wildly.
I won a few rounds and my face flushed with excitement.
It was really fun!
An hour later my shyness had vanished. I'd almost leapt onto the table.
Samuel watched the rosy-cheeked woman next to me and laughed, nearly dancing with delight.
Luckily the place was already noisy, so Claire didn't notice at all—the only thing she saw was the betting cups.
Samuel Durant had no interest in the cups; he could hear the numbers just by the clack.
Right now he was watching the hand that kept nervously clutching her sleeve—slender, delicate, the nails a soft pink.
The hand's owner was smiling, eyes sparkling like little stars.
He couldn't help thinking, thank God, easy to placate—doesn't seem sad anymore. I just discovered something great about Samuel Durant!
He's incredible!
He didn't even look at the cups and still guessed the numbers!
Holding the 500 silver coins she'd won close to her chest, I felt weightless.
"Heh—impressive. Not heavy?" the man beside her teased, tugging at his braid and smirking at her.
"Not heavy! I earned it myself! Not heavy at all!"
Samuel laughed until his eyes narrowed, his dimples deepening.
He ruffled my hair and I chattered away about my gambling-day adventures.
He bought a candied hawthorn on a stick; since my hands were full he fed me bite by bite, stealing a taste for himself now and then.
Before I knew it we were back at the Bennett House. That whole ruckus had washed the gloom clean out of my chest.
I hovered at the gate, wanting to say thank you but feeling shy.
How do you even say it? "Thanks for taking me to the gambling den when I was being an idiot and losing a friend, you cheered me up?" That would just sound braggy.
He saw me dithering, smiled, tapped my forehead gently and said, "Go on in. See? Not heavy."
I hesitated a second more, then blurted, "Thanks for today," and bolted inside, heart pounding so hard I didn't notice him watching my retreating back, slightly stunned.
What goes around comes around.
That night I saw bruises along my arm in the tub—embarrassing to admit, but I'd clutched the silver so hard all the way home. It would definitely hurt tomorrow.
"Ah." I sighed, climbed out of the bath. Nora dried my hair, I drank a little milk and slept in just my undergarments and silk trousers.
Probably I was worn out from the day's excitement; I fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow.
When he came in, he found Claire sprawled on her back snoring softly.
He smiled and just watched her.
The quilt was folded over her belly, pale shoulders exposed. The sight under the undergarment—just thinking about it stirred something in him. He closed his eyes to smother the desire.
"Little imp," he muttered to himself, and moved close to rub ointment into the bruises on her arm.
The softness under his fingers deepened his gaze.
Watching her little snores and her pouty pink lips, he resisted and only tapped one finger gently on them.
"Mm." Claire mumbled, turned over. He smiled and pulled the quilt up over her properly.
Not even a month more—soon he'd be able to taste the prize.
Of course Father heard about the gambling trip. I sat facing him as he fumed and, as consolation, he presented me with the latest bracelet from Waverly Jewelers.
Father was convinced Samuel had dragged me to the gambling house to expose my innocent heart to the den of filth, so he bought me something to soothe me.
I nodded furiously and praised his insight, then sold Samuel out, scolding him for leading me into that dangerous place.
So when Samuel visited again, Father chased him out of the estate with a rattan cane. I laughed until I cried.
Days passed. Father hired a matron released from palace service to teach me etiquette.
I quietly stitched my bridal cover, and my eldest brother returned—battle-worn and cold as ice from years away. We weren't close, though he doted on me.
In my previous life, Father was executed while he was rushing home; I died without even seeing him once more.
He looked me over from head to toe like he wanted to tousle my hair but feared I'd be startled. I hugged him and said, "Brother, welcome home."
He stiffened, patted my head and said, moved, that I had grown up.
Then he turned and stormed off to fight Samuel, furious that his sister had been whisked away.
I watched him go and smiled. Being alive again was the best thing—there was time to fix everything.
Imagining Samuel running all over town with my brother in hot pursuit made me secretly satisfied.
I had no idea how the duel turned out: my brother ended up with the tip of a red-tasseled spear at his throat.
Afterward, while my brother and father talked in the study, I assumed it was state business. But within days came word that my brother's engagement to Lady Rosaline Pierce had been annulled.
A little later there were rumors that Lady Rosaline had gone to the temple to tonsure and begin holy practice. I stood up suddenly, wanting to seek her out, then paused—why would I go?
Nora and Molly watched me with worry as I sank back down; they only knew I'd fallen out with Lady Rosaline but didn't know why.
I wasn't planning to tell anyone.
Truthfully, the news didn't make me happy. How many who go to the temple return? Was she driven to it because of the broken engagement?
I didn't hate her—not because I'm saintly, but because even without her interference, in my last life I still turned into that awful person. Jealousy had already eaten me alive; I would have done anything to ruin Hazel Bennett. But hearing she'd gone to a temple didn't make me feel better. She was only seventeen.
I still wanted a good ending for all of us.
The day Lady Rosaline left, I stayed in bed. I had been in bed for ten days straight, barely moving—only getting up when absolutely necessary, even eating in bed. I couldn't motivate myself for anything.
Father and Brother suspected why and would check on me daily with treats.
Twenty days until the wedding.
That morning Nora and Molly insisted on bathing me and dressing me. I came back to bed listless.
"I swear you're like the pig on the village farm—eat and sleep, sleep and eat." A playful voice taunted.
I looked up. Samuel was leaning against the doorframe, tugging his braid and smiling with a dimple that made me want to poke it.
"What are you doing here? You know we can't see each other before the ceremony."
I only glanced and lay back down.
"That's only the three days before the wedding," he said. "It's still too early."
I rolled my eyes.
Suddenly he scooped me up mid-waist. I clutched his neck, stunned. Nora and Molly slipped away.
Damn them—I will sell them out later!
He chuckled low and leaned in. "After the wedding, there'll be plenty of days you can't leave the bed—"
I bristled. What was that supposed to mean? Domestic abuse? If he touched me, my father would—!
I grit my teeth and retorted, "Who says I won't be the one who can't get out of bed? Hmph."
He paused, then laughed louder, delighted. "Then I can't wait—"
I gaped. Was his brain broken?
From then on I decided to eat properly and exercise hard to be ready to punch Samuel on the wedding day.
He watched me run laps in the courtyard, teasing me about my pace and my short legs until I snapped and chased him, beating him up. He always looked embarrassed but oddly pleased, his dimple just begging to be poked. I poked it. I worried his skull might be hollowed out from all the teasing.
With his antics, time flew. Before I knew it, the wedding day arrived.
Before dawn I was dragged out to be dressed. My scalp hurt from the braiding and I squealed through the pain.
The imperial red silk was embroidered with paired lotuses in gold and colored threads, layered under a thin rosy veil embroidered with silver—delicate, shimmering in the sun.
Seeing myself in the mirror stunned me. I'd never looked so beautiful—rosy cheeks, sultry eyes. I was a breathtaking bride.
"Oh—she's so pretty—" the maid doing my makeup cooed.
I squeezed her hand. "No—the credit's yours! Your skill makes me look this good."
I was suddenly convinced this woman who looked twenty-eight was actually forty.
With the veil over my face, my brother hoisted me onto the bridal sedan. He murmured, "If he bullies you tell me. Worst case, you can come home—I'll take care of you."
My eyes pricked. In my old life I never felt that closeness with him—he'd always been so cold. Today he was chatty and worryingly dad-like.
I hugged his neck. "Brother, hurry up and find yourself a wife too. Stop fussing about me."
He smiled; I almost lifted the veil—I'd never heard him laugh aloud like this.
We rode with celebratory horns blaring. Samuel rode beside us, tossing out wedding money to the crowd below who scrambled for it. I sat inside and smiled at the joyful sounds.
After the ceremony, laughter and cheering, my veil was lifted. Samuel stood in his wedding robes—his usually loose hair tied properly—and he stared at me with bright eyes.
Was he actually handsome?
My gaze brushed past him to Prince Alexander Hale. For a split second, surprise flashed across his face, then it was gone. I glanced at him and felt nothing.
Hazel Bennett stood beside him, eyes reddened and on the verge of tears, looking like she might be moved. I didn't cry.
Then red flooded my vision and the veil was dropped back down.
Someone hissed in my ear, "Looking at someone else in front of me? You better watch yourself—you'll be in trouble!"
I smiled. He was jealous? So theatrical.
Back in the bridal chamber I lifted the veil and, starving from the day's rush, reached for the sweet tucked in my sleeve—just as I heard voices outside.
"Hey—young master, why are you sneaking off so soon? Drink more!"
Samuel: "Drink by yourself. Marrying a wife isn't easy—get lost."
I froze.
Samuel opened the door, hurried to the bed, took a breath and lifted my veil.
I swallowed the cake I was trying to hide.
Samuel gave a helpless smile. "Come on, drink our nuptial wine together—don't choke."
I leaned over to drink. The maids slipped away while I drank; when I looked up, it was just Samuel and me, eyes meeting.
"Huh?
Why did they all leave? I haven't eaten yet."
Samuel Durant looked at my flushed face from the wine and asked suspiciously, "Chief Minister—cough cough—father-in-law! Or madam, didn't they give you some little booklet?"
I frowned and thought for a moment. I did get one. In my last life I accidentally spilled tea on it; the ink ran and blobs obscured everything. I could barely make out an illustration of two people tangled up fighting.
I’d been exposed for framing Hazel, so on our wedding day I never even saw Prince Alexander. After that, I never saw him again. Getting to sit at the same table was a luxury.
This time the booklet's cover looked about the same, so I hadn't bothered to read it—I was in the middle of a novel and then forgot all about it.
Hearing his question, I blurted, "That little book with the two people fighting? I read it. So?"
Samuel choked on my words for a second, then shook his head and smiled, "Really, there's no helping you."
I blinked. You need to learn martial arts to get married?
That's impossible.
Samuel looked up at me; there was a look in his eyes I couldn't read. His voice went hoarse. "It's okay. I have patience. I can teach you slowly—"
I puckered my lips in displeasure. "You still make me learn??? Do I have to? Can't I skip it?"
Samuel straddled me and pushed me down onto the bed, touching my face. "You have to learn."
I felt warm and tugged at my collar without thinking. His expression grew serious, his gaze deep and oddly frightening.
He lowered himself slowly until his face was an inch from mine and took my hand. "Tuan-tuan?"
My whole face heated up.
"Don't call me that!"
I pushed at him. This was way too close; I was weirdly flustered… "Tuan—"
His voice went even hoarser. Then—hmm?
Hands started roaming over me.
I squirmed awkwardly.
"Hey? Why are you taking off my clothes???"
"Hey? Where are your hands going???"
"Hey hey hey! Ow ow ow!"
-Remaining content loading-
"Tuan-tuan—wake up—"
I heard a voice at my ear. I turned over with a frown, felt hands moving over me again, and had to open my eyes to grab the hand. Pouting, I said, "I'm not learning anymore! I've been practicing all night! It hurts so much!"
My whole body ached. Looking at the purple bruises on my skin, this was clearly not martial arts—I had been cheated. I wanted to go ask Father or my eldest brother about it but couldn't bring myself to.
How to explain it? Samuel Durant tricked me into "practicing martial arts" and I—cough cough—paid the price.
He had inched closer, whispering in my ear, "I've waited so long. This is nothing—"
I grabbed his hand and started struggling. Since when was he so strong? I remember pounding him with a fist when we were kids!
In the end, I failed and got dragged through another round of "training." I was miserable.
Watching the bed curtains sway, I thought I might literally die from learning martial arts. This is what marriage is like?
On our wedding night I felt that weight. After sharing a bed with Samuel for a month, I decided to hide out at the temple for a few days.
No—I wasn't going to pray there just for worldly peace; I went to pray for the happiness of all under heaven, and maybe to see old acquaintances.
(Those princes fighting for the throne: We've pulled our hair out for crowns, and you talk to us about happiness?) Anyway, with Samuel's plaintive face in mind, I happily packed and ran off to Lotusborn Temple with Molly, Faye, Nora, and Lizzy.
Lotusborn is the premier temple in Newford. Legend says the first abbot had no parents—he was born from the lotus pond behind the mountain, pure and upright. A century later, his spirit didn't go to paradise but lingered in the temple to help those with fate. If you were lucky enough to see him, he'd grant one wish.
Legend has it that the founder of Newford, Emperor Theodore, once met that first abbot in what was then a shabby shrine. He asked for the wish to save the people—and became the true dragon emperor.
As a kid I thought it was a ghost story. Imagine: a moonless night, twisted shadows, you alone in a decrepit mountain shrine and a nameless spirit pops up and offers to grant a wish—how terrifying. I'd probably become a spirit myself.
After two hours of jolting travel, I arrived. The stone steps made my legs tremble; by the time I climbed them, I felt half dead. If I slipped, I'd die for sure.
At the gate a small novice with rosy lips and white teeth met me. He looked barely ten but radiated peace. He led me to a guest room, bowed, and I returned the bow, patting his head.
The little monk: "…"
Me: "…"
The atmosphere turned awkward—I'd been swept up by a sudden surge of motherly feeling. I took a small pouch of candied fruit from my bag—I'd bought it but hadn't eaten it. "Do you want this?"
The novice's serenity faltered. Tears glistened at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you, benefactor, but—it's not appropriate…"
He stared at the candy and stammered.
I raised an eyebrow and shoved the pouch into his arms. "Take it—"
"Then…young monk will accept it!"
He grabbed it happily and ran off. I watched his retreating back and couldn't help but smile.
That little monk's name was Listening Bamboo. In my previous life, when I was confined at the temple, he used to bring me meals.
The temple people weren't cruel to me. It was my own sulking that drove everyone away. I would yell and chase off anyone who came, feeling pleased with myself at imagining Hazel's defeat.
When they finally replaced the helpers with that small kid, I had no patience. I couldn't stand being confined and spent days crying in a corner like a madwoman.
Seeing me always crying and refusing to eat, he gave me a piece of candied fruit. He said his father had died and he'd cry too; his mother would give him candied fruit and then he wouldn't miss his father as much.
I snorted, thinking a kid like that couldn't possibly understand my suffering. Sorry—I was short-sighted. I thought I was the most tragic person alive and didn't realize that tiny pouch of candy had taken him three months to save up for.
I threw the candy away and shoved him out the door.
But then I saw him pick the candy up, dust it off, and pop it into his mouth.
He actually ate it.
Honestly, even though I thought I was the most miserable, I wasn't so destitute I'd eat ground-off candy. I had enough to live.
That scene shook my pampered worldview.
The next day I gave him a big bag of candy. His single-lidded eyes trembled with joy, he looked at me with reddened eyes, and then ran off hugging the food he'd been sent.
Shit.
Later, he became the one who suffered at my side, trembling and taking me around the temple. I realized not everyone dresses in brocade and silk. The temple's "plain" robes were actually decent for ordinary people. Their rice was coarse, with chunks of something that made you cough. Some people couldn't afford a one-silver coin medicine and had to ask the temple for help.
That year I saw things I hadn't noticed in my first twenty years.
Too bad it didn't last. The moment I left, I was dragged to the execution ground and accidentally died trying to snatch a sword—and killed myself.
Otherwise I might have quietly divorced Prince Alexander, and perhaps gotten my father swapped out of prison. But that would have opened a whole other mess. The reasons were tangled: the family thought killing my father would make the Emperor think Alexander had no intention of usurping the throne. It was complicated.
Plus Alexander really hated me—looking at me made him recoil. If not for some unknown reason, he might have had me "snapped."
Temple life was simple and dull. I couldn't help sneaking a look at Conrad.
Fine, Listening Bamboo, sorry—you were a two-for-one: I bought candy and stole a glance.
I wanted to see Conrad. My feelings were complicated. Years of ties made her more than a friend—she was family. I had no sisters, so we shared secrets. She'd always indulged me like an older sister. I couldn't believe it was all fake.
I watched her in plain clothes kneeling before the altar and whispered prayers. I couldn't reconcile the sensuous woman of the past with this simple, desireless version of her.
I must've been in the wrong. I hoped we never met again, and yet I missed the woman she used to be.
I'm not stupid. Samuel had just met my brother when my brother immediately broke the engagement—there was no simple explanation, I wouldn't believe it was random. Samuel must have been watching me for a long time, including the people around me.
Though he always played the useless younger lord, I knew he slipped out at night to handle things; I just didn't ask.
Otherwise, with the Marquess Durant's military merit and the little marquis's bloodline, the Emperor would not sit quietly. The Xie family were all the same: when the Emperor and my father were close, any suspicion led them to act, and then they pretended sorrow and grief as they issued the edict.
I lay on a soft chair, staring at candlelight.
In my last life, Samuel sided with Alexander and got tangled in court politics. Was it because of me? If so, the unnamed reason I wasn't killed by Alexander—maybe it was because of Samuel.
Thinking about his lazy, unconcerned second-son act made me both happy and sorry for him. I must have hurt him deeply in my last life.
Realizing that made me see how much I already loved him.
"Hey, only three days apart and you miss me enough to cry?"
A familiar voice startled me. As the man hurried up and wiped my tears, I couldn't help but hug him. "I love you so much—"
Why is it that every time I need you, you're right here beside me?
Samuel Durant froze at the confession, his mind exploding with a rush of realization. He'd always believed Claire Bennett had married him out of convenience.
Could it be—she felt the same as he did?
His hand tightened without thinking, pulling the small figure in his arms closer. In a voice too soft for her to hear, he murmured, "Me too—this life and the last."
