The princes are grown, scheming with ministers, and the ministers are quietly picking sides.
Originally, the Bennetts stayed above all that, loyal only to the king.
When His Majesty and my father were comrades in their youth, they were close—so the moment I was born I was granted the title Lady Anneworth and a little parcel of land.
Ordinary daughters of officials could only dream of such favor.
But in my last life I lost my mind. I let the third prince’s handsome face trick me and swore I would marry him no matter what.
I ignored that my father never picked sides, ignored that my brain couldn’t outplay a scheming prince.
I married him anyway. Then, as expected, I lacked his favor, grew jealous of Hazel, and did a string of awful things.
I even betrayed my country for selfish reasons, nearly causing disaster, and in the end I brought ruin to the Bennett House.
I watched my once-beloved father, in tatters, kneel at the public square as bewildered citizens hurled rotten vegetables at him—I lost my mind.
I rushed the executioner’s block to grab the sword and, in the chaos, plunged it into my own body.
When I woke up, I was fourteen again.
2. At that moment, Prince Adrian Hale was petitioning the king to call off the engagement.
Of course the old-me wouldn’t accept.
I cried, made a scene, and even threatened to hang myself. There was no way around it—my father, a doting man, had no choice but to go to the king and repeat my performance.
The king had a headache and told the third prince to go back and prepare for the wedding.
But now—
“Tun-tun—Dad told you, that prince isn’t your true mate. See? Let’s not marry him, okay?”
When Secretary Bennett heard the news he came straight to my room. He’s nearly forty, a refined man who gives off the mature charm of a seasoned official—unless he’s flattering, that is.
Yesterday, for some unknown reason, his daughter (that’s me) woke up crying her eyes out as if wronged by the heavens. It tore his heart out.
Though stern and strict in public, he treats me like a fragile treasure at home. With my mother gone, he’s been both father and mother to me; he’d rather lift me to the heavens than see me cry.
The thought of me sobbing again made him miserable; he asked me carefully what was wrong.
I felt a pang and set down the warm milk in my hand.
“Dad, you’re smiling like a wide-grin swindler from the street. It’s creepy.”
His face fell—not because I mocked him, but because I had the nerve to joke with him at a time like this. By his reckoning, I should’ve barreled in, clutching his sleeve and bawling like yesterday.
Was I too calm? Maybe I’d been through too much.
“Umm… Tun-tun, did you hear what I said?”
I nodded and smiled. “Heard it. Prince Adrian wants to break the engagement? Fine—let him.”
Secretary Bennett blinked, reached up to feel my forehead, then his own, muttering, “No fever.”
I watched him and pictured the way he’d looked at the executioner’s block, then pinched my lips to swallow the sorrow. “Actually, I suddenly think the third prince is kind of ugly. Let him cancel.”
He froze.
Prince Adrian was supposed to be Newhaven’s most handsome man.
3.
In an elegant chamber, a man in a blue robe embroidered with silver lotuses sat upright at a table, practicing calligraphy.
His strokes were precise but infused with a wild flair that cut deep.
Incense curled from a gilded dragon censer, perfuming the room with calm.
“Your Highness, Miss Claire Bennett agreed to break the engagement.”
The man paused mid-stroke, the character completed in a flourish fit for a master.
His eyes were narrow, his nose high, lips thin—equal parts passionate and aloof, all tempered by a rigid air. The contradiction made him irresistible.
“That’s odd,” he murmured, ending the line and looking up at his attendant. “So she came to her senses on her own? What did she say?”
The third prince was surprised. Claire had clung to him ever since their first meeting—for five years she’d been a shadow in his life. For her to suddenly let go was astonishing.
The guard hesitated then said, “Miss Claire said… the prince is ugly.”
He left out the “kind of.”
The prince: “…”
4.
Claire Bennett, the Bennetts’ heiress, voluntarily breaks her engagement to Prince Adrian Hale—Newhaven’s elite are stunned!
She instantly becomes a cautionary tale among the noblewomen.
Cautionary or not, curiosity reigned. Floods of invitations to flower-viewings and banquets poured into Bennett House.
I lounged on a soft couch, stoking the brazier and eating iced cake. I planned to decline everything, but then Duchess Marjorie even posted an invitation.
They’re all just bored and waiting to watch me make a fool of myself. But duty to my future sister-in-law means I have to show up.
Ugh—my hair’s falling out from stress.
The event’s tomorrow.
I was cozy and didn’t want to go, but I lacked some accessories for the new outfit… sigh.
5.
Half an hour later, Maggie and Ruby finally hauled my half-collapsed self up and dressed and powdered me.
I wore a crimson silk gown embroidered with golden plum blossoms and a plain red cloak lined with white fox fur—warm and elegant.
My hair was swept simply and pinned with a garnet hairpin; tiny ruby beads brushed my face and made it look thinner.
I checked my reflection and nodded, then went out with Maggie and Ruby.
In my last life, Prince Adrian liked strolling with Hazel; I was jealous and sulky and missed all the fun. This time, I decided to actually enjoy the street scene and head to Waverly Jewelers.
But as soon as I stepped out, I ran into a scoundrel harassing a girl forced to sell herself to bury her father.
“Oh! Little miss—come here, let me see you,” he leered.
“Sir, please stop touching me!” the girl said. Her voice was firm but soft, slightly hoarse; it was like a feather brushing the heart. It sent chills through me—wait, that voice…
My scalp prickled. Holy—that’s Hazel?
What’s she doing selling herself for her father?
6.
The man was familiar: Heir Sam Hartley, Lord Fairmont’s son.
A rakish, handsome playboy who was actually kind of a fool.
He’s known for wanting to own all beautiful things—did he want to “collect” Hazel?
And he’d already made a move.
He gripped Hazel’s arm and crowed, “You’re selling yourself to bury your father? I’ll buy you! Take my money and come home with me. I’ll dress you up every day!”
Hazel struggled, lips bleeding from biting down, tears in her big doe eyes. She was so sadly beautiful it made your heart ache.
Pah! I refuse to think she’s pretty—though I did feel guilty for how I’d treated her last life. So I marched over and kicked Sam Hartley away. He’d been my father’s student for two years; I wasn’t afraid of him.
“You’re as perverse as they come. No decent girl would go with you!”
Sam staggered, stunned, then saw me: a sharp-faced girl who instantly stepped forward, then took two retreating steps as if facing a mortal enemy.
“What are you doing everywhere, Claire Bennett? Ugh—always tattling!”
I narrowed my eyes. He must remember the time my father stormed his house to complain—and Sam had been beaten so badly he couldn’t get out of bed for three days. He fled with his lackeys, swearing, “You’ll get your punishment!”
Trash.
Hazel looked between the fleeing Sam and me, counted the coins in her hand, and suddenly knelt.
“Thank you, Miss, for redeeming me. From now on, I am yours!”
I sputtered, “Wasn’t that money mine???”
Hazel’s face was serious. “If a bad man gave the money and you made him leave, then it counts as if you gave it.”
Really?
7.
Me: the Bennetts’ daughter, Lady Anneworth, reborn for two short days—and my old rival has just become my free maid. She starts tomorrow.
Her silver-tongued words left me unable to refuse. I watched her walk away and stood frozen, thinking.
In my last life Hazel was the Secretary of the Treasury’s daughter—so how did she end up selling herself?
Did I transmigrate into a fake life?
Or did she originally meet Prince Adrian when she was selling herself?
In my previous life I’d been happily sewing a wedding veil at home; I hadn’t gone out then. If so, Prince Adrian must’ve been nearby.
I scanned the street—no one. I turned my head, and on the second-floor balcony of a tavern, the third prince was drinking. His narrow eyes were coolly fixed on me.
Oh god, karma moves fast.
No, he’s far away—he can’t see clearly. Maybe he’s not even looking at me.
I covered my face and bolted.
Maggie and Ruby chased after me, bawling, “Miss—!!!”
The whole street heard them. Ugh! I’d just stolen someone’s love interest in front of her former suitor and then turned that love interest into my maid—what a mess.
Why did I even leave the house?
Ah!!
Prince Adrian watched my panicked retreat and a faint smile curved his lips.
That flustered, fleeing look was cuter than the affectation of a proper lady.
8.
Out of breath, I reached Waverly Jewelers and checked behind me. Good—no tail.
But of course not. Why would Prince Adrian ever chase me? I felt foolish for panicking.
Where did my old-life confidence and cruelty come from? I’d used poison and tricks; maybe I’d been found out. Now I’ll keep my distance from him.
Waverly Jewelers is the biggest jewelry store in Newhaven, backed by the kingdom’s largest royal merchant. Their pieces are fine and expensive; even the cheapest ring is a respectable dowry item.
Naturally, nobles and official families love it.
Maggie and Ruby escorted me to the third floor. The cold kept the crowd small, which was a relief.
“Oh—if it isn’t Lady Anneworth—”
Annoying.
I stiffened and looked up to the fourth floor. A woman in a peach silk robe was descending, dripping with opulent jewelry: a limited-edition phoenix-and-cat’s-eye gold hairpin that flashed like a dagger.
Handmaids supported her, careful not to touch the bangles on her wrist or the long jeweled finger guards.
Duchess Marjorie, of course.
I bowed, forced a smile. She gave me a once-over and asked, “So it’s true—you broke off the engagement?”
“You’ve learned a thing or two,” she added with a grin.
I put on my most serious face. “I’ve come to my senses. You can’t force a melon to ripen.”
Duchess Marjorie looked down at the petite, rosy-cheeked girl half her height and laughed. “What are you pretending for?”
Then she glanced slightly behind me and continued, “If Prince Adrian’s not sweet enough, who in Newhaven could be sweeter—”
I didn’t notice the shift in her tone. I thought for a moment and said, “I suddenly realize someone like my big brother is better. He looks so delicate—his health seems poor!”
I said the nonsense with a solemn face, ignoring the bitter fact that Adrian beat his own brother when he was thirteen.
Duchess Marjorie burst out laughing—couldn’t hold it in, tears almost in her eyes. The delicate, pampered-flower image she’d had a moment ago shattered.
I stepped back in disgust. “Watch yourself. If someone thinks you’re having a fit, don’t blame me—I won’t help you!”
Maggie poked me. I ignored her and shrugged.
Duchess Marjorie laughed even harder, unable to stop. A maid nearby, knowing what to do, helped guide her back up to the fourth floor.
She was still chuckling all the way up.
I was furious. God, this idiot’s going to be my sister-in-law?
How do people live like that???
9.
“I’m not well, okay?”
That familiar male voice came from behind—pleasant to hear, with an odd edge of threat.
My legs went weak; I nearly dropped to my knees.
Okay, apparently I’m the idiot here.
I stared at the long staircase up to the fourth floor and swallowed hard. That wasn’t a staircase—it was a lifeline.
I bolted. I’d only taken one step when a hand clamped the back of my neck, spun me around, and brought me face-to-face with his narrow, unreadable eyes.
“Heh… heh heh… what a coincidence, P-Prince Adrian.”
I hated my short height in that moment. He loomed a full head taller than me; I felt like crying.
First someone stole my fiancé, then I got caught talking behind his back—suddenly I didn’t want to be reborn at all.
Maybe death would’ve been better than dying of embarrassment.
“You broke my engagement and you smeared my name?
Trying to ruin my chances?
Hmm?”
He spoke the words that had me quailing like a quail, all in the softest tone. I tried to protest—he must have misunderstood—but wait—
“You were the one who broke it off!
Not me!”
Adrian looked at the flushed, slightly chubby pink face before him. Those big round eyes glared at him indignantly, bright as glass; she looked like a newly arrived Burmese puppy, her small mouth puckered in complaint.
He knew she was furious. He smiled, gentler still. “But the King said you called it off—”
I: #￥…&&*
Fine. My father had told the King to say that to protect our household’s reputation, even though I had no reputation left to protect.
I pried his hand from the back of my neck and said, “Whoever called it off doesn’t matter. It’s done. Your Highness, have some respect. From now on, let both sides live happily.”
Adrian’s eyes darkened. He was still smiling, but based on five years of my relentless pestering of him, I could tell: he was mad.
Why, though?
It was so strange!
That ruined any mood I had for buying hairpins. I picked the first one that pleased my eye and paid.
A furious mix of grievance, humiliation, hurt, and anger swelled inside me.
It’s so weird—he was the one who stopped wanting me, he was the one who didn’t like me, so why act like he had feelings for me? Gross!
10.
I stomped back to the Bennett House, dreading having to answer the same questions from the manor ladies tomorrow.
Adrian’s face kept replaying in my head. Why was he angry?
I’m the angry one!
From the time we met when I was nine until I was fifteen, and then four years into my marriage in my previous life when I died—he always smiled gently but never took the initiative.
That gave me hope.
So I clung to him without caring about my reputation; he never refused me.
The King granted the marriage—no objection from him—then when I came of age I had second thoughts. What kind of behavior was that?
What a scumbag!
He remarried six months after our wedding, taking Miss Clarke as his wife!
He knew I did bad things for him and didn’t stop me or tell me. Maybe even colluded with those who contacted me—so I’d step aside!
I replayed the past life’s incidents and painted Adrian as the worst person. Thinking about it, I cried myself to sleep.
The curtains stirred. A figure stepped into the room and looked at the small woman on the bed, stroked the tear tracks on the pillow, and touched her slightly swollen eyes.
He muttered, “So foolish, so blind.”
11.
“Huh?”
When I woke up, I expected puffy eyes. Surprisingly, there were none—perfect.
Maggie had styled my hair into a delicate flying-immortal bun. It looked airy and cute—very flattering.
Ruby helped me pick the clothes—today I wore a plum-colored gown, sweeping the floor, with plum blossom makeup. I looked gentle with a hint of charm.
I slid in the hairpin I’d bought yesterday… but this pin didn’t look like the one I remembered.
“What’s wrong, Miss?” Ruby asked.
I studied the pin: a phoenix-tail butterfly, lifelike, its wings seeming to flutter. Tiny multicolored gems trailed from the tail like a comet’s tail. Exquisite. This couldn’t have been the 50 taels hairpin I bought yesterday—this looked like at least 500 taels. Score.
Looks like a loss turned into a gain—what luck! I boarded the carriage in a good mood, nibbling a cake.
Even though I’d long decided to give up Adrian, I felt even more certain now.
My household was simple: a doting brother, a permissive father. I was spoiled. The steward was fine, but I would not tolerate love-scheming.
Whatever happened in my last life—whatever he thought—I didn’t care anymore.
This life I’d be myself, find someone who truly cared for me, someone who’d visit my father often, and live a peaceful life.
12. “Oh? Is Claire Bennett coming today?”
“Don’t know. She probably has no face to show—after all that clinging and then getting dumped.”
“She didn’t dump him, did she?”
“No, Prince Adrian did—though the King covered it out of respect for the minister.”
The ladies at the table chattered about the hottest topic of the season—me. Most of the voices carried malicious glee.
Prince Adrian had the makings of a great ruler; many young noblewomen admired him. But I’d been monopolizing him, so no one else got close. Now, they thought, there was hope.
I lingered by the doorway, listening. Lily looked worried.
Being famous brings trouble, I sighed and walked in. A footman announced loudly, “Miss Bennett of the Bennett House!”
The hall fell briefly silent.
Everyone stared as I entered.
I wore a composed smile and conducted all proper courtesies as I took my seat.
Duchess Marjorie sat in the place of honor, her naughty eyes full of triumph. I stuck my tongue out at her discreetly.
The second daughter of the Minister of War immediately leaned in. “You broke the engagement?”
I nodded. “Yes. Why?”
She clicked her tongue, surprised, then drew back wordless.
“Probably Prince Adrian tired of her—chasing never works, after all—”
A chorus of spiteful giggles. I looked over. Oh—Miss Clarke, the Treasury Minister’s daughter.
13.
Miss Clarke was known as Newhaven’s top talent—proud and haughty. We’d been rivals, but when I began to pursue Adrian I stopped fighting her for that title.
Who knew she would slander me behind my back—saying I begged, clung, made a spectacle, that Adrian disliked me.
True—I had clung to him.
But he didn’t hate me that much!
Born Again to Break His Empire
She’d done a lot to ruin my reputation. Tsk. Before, I’d always thought Adrian disliked outspoken women and acted meek in public. Now—no use pretending.
I bit back and said, “Yes, chasing never works. You sneaking a sachet to Prince Victor on Qixi was quite the feat.”
Her face flushed—she hadn’t expected me to know—and she sprang up, furious. “Claire Bennett! You shameless liar. When did I ever give Prince Victor a sachet?”
I casually ate plum blossom cake and ignored her. The girls who usually hung around her shifted and whispered with disdain.
Such brittle friendships.
“Cough, cough. Alright—sisters, come admire the plum blossoms,” Duchess Marjorie said, ready to smooth things over.
The other ladies were sensible; someone soon coaxed Miss Clarke to calm down. She glared at me as she sat.
I looked at the plum blossoms and felt weary.
No wonder I hated this atmosphere.
14.
Duchess Marjorie saw my absent look and pulled me into her room to gossip. “What’s wrong?”
With just the two of us, there was no need for restraint. I slumped into a chair and said, “I’m bored.”
She frowned. “Bored? You used to love these gatherings!”
I thought for a second. “Maybe I’ve come of age. I’m mature now.”
Duchess Marjorie: “…You’re getting weirder. But fine—like I said, Adrian doesn’t like you, so stop pining.”
I nodded.
She was quiet a moment, then said, “I’ve recruited some little girls who can do magic tricks. Want one to play with?”
I looked up at her bright smile and nodded.
She clapped and a girl was brought in—round-faced, lively. In my past life, Duchess Marjorie gave this girl to me on my wedding day. She later became my closest maid. I wondered what had become of her after I died.
I watched the girl make an orange disappear and reappear in my pocket and smiled.
Duchess Marjorie beamed. “See? My Penny’s clever!”
I nodded. “Yeah, she’s good. Call her Penny from now on.”
Duchess Marjorie sighed. “Are you obsessed with the diminutive ‘-y’?”
Back at the banquet, I kept my soul half-detached. Duchess Marjorie, tired of my deadpan face, told me to leave. I revived instantly and slipped away.
Socializing is exhausting.
On the carriage, watching Penny do tricks, I marveled at how strange fate can be—
The maid I got on my wedding day in my last life had turned up again.
I sipped hot tea and picked at pastries, feeling restless. How could I pry myself free from the memories of my last life?
These three days felt like a dream.
After half an hour’s jolting, we finally reached the Bennett House. I stretched, and then Maggie’s voice came from outside the carriage: “Hey? Weren’t you that girl who sold herself to bury her father yesterday?”
Smack.
The pastry in my hand fell to the floor and suddenly tasted like nothing.
I slapped my forehead. Damn—I'd forgotten about her.
I lifted the curtain and saw Hazel in white, expression steady, neither abject nor arrogant. She looked at me and said, “Miss.”
Me: …ah. This isn’t just dreamlike. It’s a nightmare.
Hazel was efficient, pretty, and lithe, features delicate enough that even plain linen couldn’t hide her striking beauty. There was a tiny red tear mole under one eye that made her innocence slightly sultry. If someone could out-lady me by changing clothes, it would be her.
In my previous life I hadn’t spent much time with her beyond schemes and betrayals. I was most jealous of that face—always wanting to ruin it. But now watching her bustle around me…
Hm…pleasing to the eye.
For three months I’ve been holed up in the house, refusing all suitors. I elevated Hazel from a third-tier maid to first-tier and kept her near me every day.
Really, there wasn’t much to it—I just wanted to see where I’d lost out.
Turns out she’s actually very different from me in a way that matters. Even though I promoted her for looks, she showed no sign of being spoiled.
She did her tasks diligently, kept good relations with the staff, and never gave me any cause for worry.
She seemed to love books, so I passed on a few rare volumes I’d read. She was moved to tears—so innocent.
Why had I once thought she was a schemer and a fiend?
Penny, though, wasn’t what I remembered. I used to think she was loyal and thoughtful, always offering plans and considering my interests. This time around she did things that made me uneasy.
Like when she went to take bird eggs. The mother bird dove in to protect the chicks and pecked her hand, and Penny actually shook the nest from the tree and prepared to stomp the mother bird to death.
I stopped her, but the mother bird was injured and couldn’t fly for a while.
Afterward she apologized with tears, saying she’d been angry and had planned to use the eggs to perform tricks for me.
I forgave her, but it felt off. Memories from my last life kept surfacing, and a vague suspicion started to grow in my head.
“Father—does the Secretary of the Treasury have any missing daughters or anything like that?”
Politics at court had been tense lately: Prince Marcus and Prince Lionel were bickering, and Prince Victor sided with Lionel just to stir trouble. The Crown Prince stayed neutral, wanting no part of it.
Prince Adrian kept silent too, but of course Marcus and Lionel wouldn’t let him off so easily. They traded barbs until Marcus nearly went to the streets in rage and Lionel was left speechless.
His Majesty looked grave but said nothing. The ministers trembled—but Mr. Bennett knew the King was just enjoying the show.
So petty!
Not only did he ignore his own sons, he sat back to “relive” how the previous emperor felt during a succession struggle. Ridiculous.
Finally the court dispersed, the King evidently not yet satisfied. Mr. Bennett hurried back to the house for dinner with Claire, tears of gratitude in his eyes.
He hadn’t had dinner with his beloved daughter in three days—what torture!
Claire opened with questions about the Treasury: wasn’t the Secretary’s eldest daughter ill-favored with her household?
Mr. Bennett thought a moment. “The younger daughter of the main branch has been lost for a long time—went missing ten years ago. No one’s found her. Why?”
I took a sip of soup. “Curious—does she have any birthmarks or anything?”
He nodded. “Yes, she has a small red beauty mark beneath an eye. But so much time’s passed—who’d remember now?”
He’d barely finished speaking when I said quietly, “I think I’ve found her.”
Cough—cough—cough.
Mr. Bennett choked on his soup, stunned. I waved, and a woman in a white dress stepped forward.
Her face was pure and delicate, and a small red tear mole sat under her eye.
Mr. Bennett thought it—the whole thing—was absurd.
Three months after Claire’s disappearance she was suddenly famous again: she’d found the Treasury’s long-lost younger daughter, formerly named Vivian Clarke.
Later Vivian’s mother, worried, had her go by Hazel Bennett instead.
Then Sam Hartley—the dim-witted heir—suddenly decided he’d found her first and I’d stolen her. He started coming to the Bennett House every day just to make a scene.
I favored bright colors—dresses in loud hues—and it was winter, so I had on a red gown pinned with a butterfly hairpin from Waverly Jewelers.
Watching him lounge in the hall doing nothing but sip tea made me think: it’s nice to have an inherited title. Do nothing and live well.
Only he would have time to spend the entire sensitive succession period sipping tea at my father’s house under the pretense of asking him questions, then bother me all day.
Sure enough, he jumped to his feet when he saw me.
“You see! It’s your fault! If I had brought her home, I’d have a Treasury daughter as my wife!”
I glanced lazily at him and collapsed back into a chair. “Get real. Which decent family would let their daughter marry you? You’re expert at eating, drinking, gambling, and whoring. No talent. Dream on.”
He retorted righteously, “I do not whore!”
My head hurt. “Who cares? Find a match at the Treasury if you’re sick about it—stop pestering me!”
I stood to leave, but my legs were numb from the twisted position and nearly gave out. I’d have hit the floor if not for a warm arm catching me.
A man steadied my elbow, frowning as he looked at me. His almond eyes were soft with feeling, lips pressed together, a small dimple appearing on his cheek.
We were so close I could smell him: a faint grassy scent mixed with my favorite orange and a little warmth. Where he touched me felt warm.
I had to admit: Sam’s looks could be deceiving. He’d grown into an attractive man, nothing like the kid who used to tug my pigtails.
I kept my head down, oblivious to how intimate our pose looked—as if we were embracing—and didn’t notice his reddening earlobes.
“Hey, you really don’t like Prince Adrian anymore?” came a voice from above. I froze, straightened, and pushed him away. “Ahem. Once I speak, my words can’t be taken back—”
He smiled, eyes squinting into crescents, ruffled my hair and said, “Good child—I'm off—”
Me: ????
Who let you touch my head?
Jerk.
I watched his cheerful retreat and thought the man had only gotten stranger with age.
Tch—men around me are all odd.
At fifteen, I was already considered “of age” and still unbetrothed. My earlier reputation only made things worse: nobles feared offending Prince Adrian, or thought I was too wild.
So for a while the suitors who came were third- or fourth-rank civil officials—men whose match with me would be more about currying favor with my father than anything else.
Talented, proud men refused to come forward. Mr. Bennett fumed and called them blind.
There were a few first- and second-rank suitors, but all were illegitimate sons. My father would never let me marry into that tangled household.
He insisted those families were risky, their future paths uncertain; he’d rather raise me himself than marry me into such a mess.
I clung to his arm, whining that I didn’t want to marry at all until he stopped fussing. That afternoon he went to the ancestral hall to speak with my mother’s tablet.
Whenever he felt he’d failed me or wronged me, he’d go and talk to my mother’s spirit.
In my last life he stayed there for days before I married Prince Adrian, returning with gray at his temples.
Seeing him like that made my eyes sting—reborn, I still made him worry.
Now that spring had come, I took turns taking Maggie, Lily, Ruby, and Penny out. Sometimes I invited Hazel along.
We’d lay a small embroidered rug somewhere pretty, nibble sweets and sip hot tea until the day slipped by.
Of course, I had another motive. If I found a handsome man I liked and he proved decent, I’d marry him and give my father something to busy himself with.
Perfect.
“Claire!”
A sweet voice called. I turned to see Hazel—no, Hazel Bennett—floating in a sky-blue gown, a fine blue jade pin holding her hair. She looked even lovelier. Beside her were Prince Adrian Hale, Prince Marcus, and Vivian Clarke—several unfamiliar noblewomen.
Oh no. Bad luck.
“Claire, long time no see. I heard you were ill. Are you better now?”
I looked at the lively girl and then at Adrian’s warm look for her. “Yes, I thought I’d come get some fresh air—”
Of course they’d be together. Sigh—I liked Hazel well enough, but I had no desire to see Adrian, nor to run into Vivian.
“I heard little sister’s been looking at men lately—good news is near. Why no news yet?” Vivian said, eyes laced with a faint sneer.
Adrian’s brows tightened for a beat and then smoothed.
Marcus snapped his folding fan open with a clap and said in a sarcastic tone, “Claire is cute and your father is a pillar of the state. Not every common man is worthy.”
I thought Marcus and Vivian made a perfect pair—insufferable.
Hazel frowned and stood. “Sister, it’s improper for women to discuss marriage in public. Matches are for parents to arrange and matchmakers to handle. And Prince Marcus, joking about this—unbecoming of a gentleman, is it not?”
Marcus’ expression chilled. He stepped forward. “Are you lecturing me?”
Adrian kept his smile but stepped up to stand between Marcus and Hazel. “Fifth brother, truly upset already? There’s no need—”
Watching them I felt a sting. I hadn’t missed Adrian’s displeasure; I knew he didn’t dislike me—he may even have liked me a little—but he would never stand up for me like that.
From the outside looking in, everything suddenly snapped into place. I let it all go. Love and hate from past and present—let them fade.
I dusted nonexistent crumbs from my skirt, stood, and nibbled my pastry as I watched the scene play out.
Prince Marcus caught my gaze and sneered, "Miss Bennett, nice, huh?
Across all of Newhaven’s noble ladies, you’re the only one who won’t be married off! Hmph—"
"Who says I won’t be married off!"
Me: "Hm?"
I turned and saw Heir Sam Hartley walking over. His hair was loose, tied with a teal brocade ribbon. He wore a teal robe embroidered with silver thread; his eyes were bright and intent.
He carried a birdcage in one hand. His almond eyes were wet with feeling, a small dimple lifting at the corner of his mouth—suave and dazzling.
Crown Prince Edward looked at him in disbelief and scoffed, "What are you babbling?
Even if Mr. Bennett were to betroth Claire, he wouldn’t give her to you, Newhaven’s biggest rake."
Sam casually handed the birdcage to me, ruffled my hair, then planted himself in front of me and said, "What, you don’t want him to promise me you?
I beat you at eating, drinking, gambling, and whoring—bah."
Edward was stunned. Who compares like that?
A prince of dignity, competing with Sam over who’s better at debauchery? If it was about the throne, he might as well give up now. By morning the censor’s memorials would be flying through the palace.
He flushed with anger, couldn’t think of a reply without losing face, and stormed off in a huff.
Vivian Clarke followed, shooting me a glare as she passed, but Sam returned her stare without expression and she immediately wilted.
The other ladies drifted away too.
Prince Adrian Hale glanced my way. Sam shifted a step to block his line of sight.
He grinned. Hazel Bennett gave me a mischievous wink, mouthed that she’d come find me later, and skipped off with Adrian following.
Suddenly it was just Sam and me.
"Young Marquis? Come on, explain—what are you planning?"
The confident Sam from moments ago crumbled the second I spoke. He scratched his head and stammered, "Uh… let’s just not let your father hear, okay? Ha—ha…"
I watched his awkward laugh and smiled. "It’ll probably reach him within the hour."
Color drained from his face. He asked weakly, "Then… then can I marry you? Is that okay?"
Looking at his cowardly face hit me with a flash of childhood: him making mistakes and being scared of my father’s punishments, begging me to protect him. The two images merged. My heart softened. I patted his head. "Fine. As long as my father agrees."
Better to marry someone I knew than a stranger. With my father around, Sam wouldn’t dare cause trouble.
He scratched his head, smiled, escorted me back to the Bennett House, then rushed back to his home talking about preparing the betrothal gifts.
I nodded and went inside.
I didn’t notice his worried expression shift to something bright and relieved—his eyes suddenly sparkled.
The day began badly. I stayed home all morning. Father burst into my room furious, asking about what happened this morning.
I rounded down and only said Sam had come to propose. He nearly jumped out of his skin.
"That little brat dares show his face? I’ll beat him to death!"
A servant came to announce the young marquis's proposal had arrived. Before proposing he’d even paraded the betrothal gifts around Newhaven with drums and banners.
The old Marquis and Heir Sam had already arrived.
They said the old Marquis looked stern but his eyes were red—perhaps he hadn’t expected to live to see his son wed.
Father and I froze. So soon? Even if the Marquis agreed, arranging the dowry with matchmakers usually took three to five days.
Mr. Bennett barked at me to sit and not go, then stormed to the front hall ready to do battle.
There was no way I wouldn’t go, so I sneaked after him.
When I arrived they’d been talking for a while.
Sam was kneeling, earnest, telling my father, "I’ve admired Claire since I was a child. If Sir agrees, I swear I will take Claire as my one and only wife, love and protect her all my days. If I break this oath, may heaven strike me down—may I die a wretched death!"
It was the first time I’d seen him so solemn. My heart skipped.
The boy could act—almost made me believe him.
Watching my father hesitate, the Hartley steward began to read a long list of betrothal gifts. The Marquis’s estate had been solid for generations; they weren’t involved in politics now, but they had wealth. The list was long, filled with rare fabrics, foods, medicines, jewelry, even shops.
Ninety-eight sedan chairs in all. The Empress’s dowry once had ninety-nine. These treasures were lavish. I wondered how long Sam had been preparing this… Did he set me up?
After that, things blurred. I wandered back to my room in a daze.
In my past life, Sam and I drifted apart; later he supported Prince Adrian and we barely had a relationship, only nods when we passed, and he always gave me harsh looks.
How had this life become like this?
An hour later my father came in cautiously, sipping tea and choosing his words.
I smiled. "You agreed?"
Mr. Bennett looked at his daughter’s cheerful face and fumbled. "Well, daughter—if you don’t like him you can refuse. But you know there’s a succession struggle for the throne. Sam’s a rake, sure, but his character’s not bad and he hasn’t picked a side. Marrying him would be safer—won’t drag you into it."
"And don’t let his wild air fool you. He knows his limits—he hasn’t run around. If he ever dares mistreat you, I’ll go beat him up myself!"
I watched my father pacing through anxious reassurances: worried brow, scanning my face, quick to anger. I crossed to him and hugged him.
He froze, felt my damp cheek, and his voice softened. "What’s wrong? Oh no, no—my Tuan Tuan, don’t cry. Don’t marry if you don’t want to; I’ll take care of you forever, okay?"
I couldn’t help it—I burst into laughter and tears. I lifted my face to the pitying lines at his eyes as he wiped my cheeks and shook his head. "I’ll marry. I’m not very clever and I always get into trouble, but I have the best father in the world. I’m so lucky."
Mr. Bennett’s heart melted. He was proud and teary, but embarrassed to cry. He nodded, patted my head, and said, "Who says otherwise? My Tuan Tuan is the cleverest!"
Afraid he’d actually cry in front of me, he stood and left, then went straight to the ancestral hall to tell my mother the news.
I watched his retreating back and smiled. I didn’t know why I’d been reborn, but… it was good.
Behind a folding screen someone stood quietly, the corner of his mouth curling into a dimple.
I was irritated again—so soon.
I’d rejected the Crown Prince’s engagement and was now set to marry Newhaven’s most notorious playboy, the young Marquis.
I deftly turned down all other invitations.
After exchanging tokens with the Hartleys, everything moved fast: matching horoscopes, set the date for the fifteenth of next month—
Thirty days from now???
Father nagged the King until he relented and, shamelessly worrying I might be bullied, gave me the title Lady Anneworth.
I didn’t have many close friends. When Duchess Marjorie came to present her gifts she asked if I’d thought this through. I nodded; she looked at me with mixed feelings and twisted her mouth.
As she left she bumped into Hazel. They exchanged a look that was disaster personified.
That familiar moment startled me. So—Marjorie likes Prince Adrian?
Marjorie is Duchess Marjorie's childhood name; I hadn’t used it in years, but she’d already been betrothed to my eldest brother. In my past life she’d been the one who told me Adrian’s tastes and schedule when I was alone—she was my confidante. After she married my brother she still came to listen and advise me.
All those little incidents—why did Marjorie’s preferences always seem odd? Why did the laxatives I gave Hazel turn into arsenic? Why did every tiny spat escalate into life-or-death drama? I thought Hazel was the one making things worse so Adrian would despise me. Turns out… everything clicks into place now.
Pieces fell into place. I laughed at how foolish I’d been.
"Hmm?"
Hazel’s soft voice made me look up at her worried face.
She chewed her lip, chose her words like she’d made up her mind, "Claire, I know you and Marjorie were childhood friends, but—um—you don’t have to take everything she says to heart. Just do what you think is best, okay?"
I watched her tiptoe around my feelings and felt I owed her an apology. "I’m sorry."
She blinked big eyes, smiled, her little tear-mole glittering as she looked genuinely pleased. "No, I should be the one to thank you. If not for you, I couldn’t have reclaimed my family status so smoothly. Let’s get along from now on."
She’d said almost the same thing in my last life; back then I’d bumped into her and left. This time I nodded sincerely and thought—wow, she’s so pretty.
When I returned Marjorie’s token to her, her composed face stiffened for a beat.
"What do you mean? What did Hazel say to you? You believe her and not me?"
I simply asked, "How long have you admired Prince Adrian?"
She hesitated. I stared into her eyes and said seriously, "If you say no, I’ll believe you."
She went speechless and slumped into a chair.
I handed her back the rose-hued jade pendant we’d both worn since we were ten—matching pieces from the same stone. She looked at it without speaking.
Walking down the street with Maggie and Ruby trailing silently behind me, the lanes were lined with trees and flowers in full bloom under a warm sun.
I was clearing my head when a familiar shout caught my ear.
"Huh?"
I turned and saw a familiar back calling out, "Boss!" "Boss!"
I glanced up at the shop sign: Lucky Charm Gambling House.
One of his lackeys caught sight of me and jabbed Sam’s arm. "Tch, what are you doing? The young master’s having fun!"
Sam paused, hesitated, then grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the gambling house.
Me: "What are you doing???"
He grinned over his shoulder, "Heh heh—misery loves company. If you play, I won’t get beaten up!"
Though there’s no rule against women in gambling dens, in my past life I’d kept my gentle, composed image and never come.
"Okay."
It actually sounded kind of fun.
At first I was reserved and clueless about the games, just guessing numbers. I won a few hands and my cheeks flushed with excitement.
It’s really fun!
After an hour my nervousness evaporated. I’d never seen myself like this—I nearly tugged my sleeve and climbed onto the table.
Sam watched the woman next to me’s pink face and whooped with joy, nearly dancing, laughing out loud.
Luckily the place was noisy to begin with, so Claire barely noticed anything—her eyes were fixed on the cup game.
Sam Hartley wasn’t in the mood to watch the cups; he could tell the numbers just by the sound.
Right then he was staring at the hand that kept unconsciously tugging at her sleeve—slender, long fingers, nails a soft pink.
The owner of the hand smiled, eyes sparkling as if full of tiny stars.
Sam couldn’t help thinking, Thank God—easy to please, not hard at all. I discovered Sam Hartley’s best quality for the first time!
He’s incredible!
He didn’t even look at the cups and still guessed the number.
Cradling the 500 silver coins she’d won, I felt light as air.
“Heh—proud of yourself? Not heavy?” the man beside me teased, one corner of his mouth lifted as he swung his little ponytail.
“Not heavy! I earned it fair and square! Not heavy at all!”
Sam’s eyes narrowed into happy slits; his dimples deepened.
He ruffled my hair while I chattered about our one-day gambling-house excursion.
He bought a sugar-coated hawthorn for me. Since my hands were full, he fed me piece by piece, taking bites himself every now and then.
Before I knew it we were back at the Bennett House. The whole commotion had blown away the gloom in my chest.
I lingered outside the door, wanting to thank him but feeling awkward.
How do I put it? “Thanks for taking me to the gambling den when I was feeling like an idiot who lost a friend—your presence cheered me up”? That’d make him swell with pride!
Seeing me hesitate, he smiled and tapped my forehead gently. “Go on in. It’s not heavy, right?”
I hesitated one more second, then blurted, “Thanks for today,” and bolted into the house, heart pounding so hard I didn’t notice the way he watched my retreating back, slightly stunned.
You always have to pay your dues.
That night after bathing I noticed bruises along my arm—embarrassing, but I’d been clutching silver all the way home; they were going to hurt tomorrow.
I sighed, climbed out of the tub. Lily dried my hair, I had some milk, and in just a little undergarment and silk pants, I fell asleep like a log.
Maybe I’d worn myself out; I hit the pillow and was out.
When the man came in, he found Claire sprawled on the bed, snoring softly.
He smiled, looking down at her.
The quilt tucked up over her belly, pale shoulder exposed, the hint of the bodice underneath—just picturing it stoked something in him and he clenched his eyes shut to tamp down his desire.
“You little enchantress,” he muttered under his breath, then leaned in to rub ointment on the bruises on her arm.
The softness under his fingers made his gaze darken.
Watching her, little snores tugging at her pink pout, he resisted and only tapped her finger lightly with his own.
“Mm,” Claire mumbled, turned over. He smiled and tucked the quilt in around her.
Not even a month to go until he could finally—well, eat his fill.
As you’d expect, word of the gambling-house outing got back to my father. I watched the furious man in front of me and received the latest bracelet from Waverly Jewelers.
My father insisted that Sam had dragged me to the den and that the filthy scene would scar my tender mind, so he gave me a little consolation.
I nodded fervently and praised his insight, betrayed Sam with gusto, and denounced him as the villain who’d dragged me off to the gambling den.
So when Sam visited again, my father chased him through the whole estate with a rattan cane, and I laughed until I cried.
Days went on. Father hired a governess who had been released from court to instruct me in etiquette.
I quietly embroidered my wedding veil. My eldest brother returned dusty and weary from years away—he’d left young to fight and carried a cold, sharp air. We’d never been close even though he doted on me.
In my previous life, when Father was led to the public square, he was hurrying back; I died without even one last glance.
My brother gave me a once-over as if he wanted to tousle my hair but was afraid to startle me—awkward. I hugged him. “Brother, welcome home.”
His body stiffened. He patted my head, touched, saying I’d grown up. Then he turned and stormed off to fight with Sam.
He was furious that his sister—finally warming to him—had been taken. He thought it was a huge insult.
I watched him go and smiled, overwhelmed with gratitude that I’d come back to fix everything.
I pictured Sam scampering away with my brother on his heels and felt quietly pleased.
I had no idea how the duel ended: my brother with the red-tasseled spear at his throat.
When he returned, he and Father spoke in the study about state affairs—I assumed that was it. Days later, rumors spread that my brother’s engagement to Duchess Marjorie was called off.
Not long after, word came that the duchess had gone to a temple to take the tonsure and practice. I shot up, wanting to go find her, then stopped and wondered—why would I?
Lily and Maggie watched me with worry as I sat back down. They knew I’d fallen out with the duchess but didn’t know the whole story.
I intended to tell no one.
Honestly, the news didn’t make me happy. How many who take vows in a temple ever come back? Why did she do it—because the engagement was broken?
I didn’t hate her—not out of virtue, but because I understood that even without her, I would have become what I’d been before. Jealousy had already eaten me alive, and I would have schemed and framed Hazel Bennett without holding back.
Still, hearing she’d gone to the temple made me uneasy. She was only seventeen.
I wanted—no, I needed—a good ending for all of us.
On the day the duchess left, I didn’t go. I’d been in bed for ten full days. Except for brief bathroom trips, I even ate in bed; I couldn’t summon the energy to do anything.
Father and Brother had their suspicions and came by daily with treats.
Twenty days until the wedding.
For reasons I didn’t understand, Lily and Maggie forced me to bathe and dress that morning. I moped back to bed.
“You’re the only pig on the estate who eats in bed, sleeps, and repeats,” the teasing voice said.
I looked up. Sam stood propped in the doorway, ponytail swinging, one corner of his mouth lifted; his little dimple made me want to poke him.
“What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to see me before the wedding,” I said, barely turning my head.
“That’s only for the three days before. We’ve still got time,” he replied.
I pursed my lips and stayed mute.
Before I could react, he scooped me up around the waist. I grabbed his neck, stunned, while Lily and Maggie slipped away. Damn them—I’d sell them out!
He chuckled at my alarm, leaned close. “After we’re married, there’ll be plenty of days you can’t get out of bed—”
My hackles rose. What does that even mean? Domestic abuse after marriage, you say? If you dare touch me, my father will beat you to death!
I grit my teeth. “We’ll see who can’t get out of bed, humph.”
He blinked, then laughed harder. “I can’t wait for that—”
Me: ??? Is he broken in the head?
From that day on, I decided to eat properly and train—if only to be ready to clobber Sam on the wedding day.
Sam watched me run laps around the courtyard, teasing me about being slow or having short legs. I’d grab him and give him a good thrashing. Each time I hit him, he looked delighted, his dimple begging to be poked—and I obliged, worrying that all the roughhousing had scrambled his brains.
With him goofing around, time flew, and before I knew it, it was the wedding day.
They ripped me from bed before dawn to dress me. My braided scalp still ached from the tight styling and I howled.
The imperial red silk was embroidered with twin lotuses in gold thread, colored with dyed silks and overlaid with a thin blush sea-serpent gauze. The gauze was nearly translucent, threaded with fine silver flowers that flashed in the light.
I stared at myself in the mirror, stunned. I’d never seen myself this gorgeous. Rosy cheeks, a coquettish gaze—“a city-stopping beauty” wasn’t exaggeration.
“My, the bride is simply beautiful,” the maid fussing over me gushed.
I squeezed her hand. “No, sister—you’re brilliant at makeup.” Now I truly believed this woman, who looked barely twenty, was actually forty.
With the veil over my face, my brother shouldered me into the bridal sedan. He murmured, “If he mistreats you, tell me. If worst comes to worst, come home—your brother will support you,” the sort of thing Dad would say.
My eyes blurred. In my previous life, he’d been so distant. So on this day, he walked silently with me, no nagging—different, more like Father.
I swung my arms around his neck. “Brother, hurry and get yourself a wife too. Stop lecturing me.”
He smiled. I nearly lifted my veil—he’d never smiled aloud before!
We rode through town to the sound of horns and cheers. Sam rode beside the sedan, tossing wedding coins into the crowd below, which surged and scrambled for them.
I sat inside, listening to the laughter and the shouts, and couldn’t help but smile.
After the ceremony, the guests applauded. The veil was lifted. Sam stood there in his wedding robes, hair neatly tied back for once, staring at me with bright eyes.
Had I never noticed how handsome he could be?
My gaze drifted. Adrian Hale caught my eye and there was a flash of surprise on his face—quick as it came, it was gone. I looked back with no ripple in my chest.
Hazel Bennett stood beside him, eyes red as if about to cry—though I didn’t cry.
Suddenly the world went red and the veil dropped back down.
A man’s voice hissed in my ear, “Looking at someone else with me right here? You little thing—you’ll be in trouble in a minute.”
I smiled. He can get jealous now? He’s really trying on the act.
Back in the bridal chamber, I lifted the veil—famished after a day without proper eating, I was about to sneak a cake from my sleeve when voices outside said, “Hey—young master, you leaving already? Keep drinking!”
Sam snapped, “Drink on your own then. Finding a wife wasn’t easy, so hush.”
He opened the door and rushed to the bed. He inhaled once, then lifted my veil.
I swallowed the cake as best I could.
Sam sighed, smiling helplessly. “Come on, have the nuptial wine with me. Don’t choke.”
I tilted the cup and drank. While I drank, Maggie, Lily, Ruby, and Penny slipped away. When I finished and looked up, it was just Sam and me, eyes locked.
"Huh?
Why did they all leave? I haven't eaten yet."
Sam Hartley looked at my face, flushed from the wine, and asked suspiciously, "Young Mistress, ahem, mother-in-law! Or nanny, didn't they give you any little booklets?"
I frowned and thought for a moment. I think they did give me one. In my last life I accidentally spilled tea on it—the ink ran and smeared—but I could still make out two people tangled up fighting.
I was exposed for framing Hazel Bennett, and on my wedding day I didn't see Prince Adrian Hale at all. Afterwards I never saw him again. Being able to eat together would have been a luxury.
This time the cover looked the same as last time, so I didn't open it—I was busy reading a novel and forgot all about it.
When Sam asked, I answered without thinking, "That booklet with the two people fighting? I already read it. What about it?"
Sam was taken aback by my answer for a beat. Then he shook his head with a smile: "There's really no dealing with you."
I blinked. Did getting married also mean I had to learn martial arts?
That's a little much.
Sam looked up at me, a strange light in his eyes I couldn't read. His voice was hoarse: "It's fine. I'm patient. I can teach you slowly—"
I puckered in displeasure. "You mean we have to learn? Can't we not learn?"
Sam swung up and straddled me, pinning me to the bed, fingertips on my cheek. "You must."
I felt hot and tugged at my collar without thinking. His expression grew even more serious; his gaze was dark and strangely frightening.
Sam eased down until his face was an inch from mine, grabbed my hand. "TuanTuan?"
My face went bright red all at once.
"Don't call me that!"
I pushed at him—this was way too close and it made me oddly panicked. "TuanTuan—"
His voice was lower, rougher, and then—huh?
His hands started wandering over me.
I squirmed awkwardly.
"Hey? Why are you taking off my clothes?"
"Hey? Where are your hands going?"
"Ow! Ow! Ow—"
– remaining content loading –
"TuanTuan—wake up—"
I heard that voice by my ear, frowning, rolled over, but felt hands moving on me again. I had to open my eyes and grab that hand, pouting: "No more practice! We practiced all night! It hurts!"
My whole body ached. Looking at the purple bruises, this wasn't martial arts training—I was duped. I wanted to go ask Father or my eldest brother about it, but it felt too embarrassing to explain.
How could I phrase it? Sam Hartley tricked me into 'training' and ended up… well.
Sam had moved even closer, whispering in my ear: "I've waited so long. This is just the beginning—"
I grabbed and began to struggle. When did he get so strong? I remember being able to knock him out with a single punch when we were kids!
In the end, I failed to break free and got forced into another round of 'training.' I was miserable.
Watching the bed curtains sway, I thought I might die from martial arts practice in this life. This is how marriage was, huh.
On that wedding night I felt the weight of it, and after sharing a bed with Sam for a month, I decided to duck into a temple for a few days.
No—going to the temple to pray for peaceful court governance and the welfare of the people, maybe to pay respects to old acquaintances.
(the rival princes vying for the throne: we've already pulled out our hair and you talk to us about marital bliss?) Anyway, amid Sam's lamenting face I cheerfully packed a bag and ran off to Lotus Life Temple with Maggie, Penny, Lily, and Ruby.
Lotus Life Temple is Newhaven's most revered monastery. Legend says the first abbot had no parents and was born from the lotus pond on the mountain behind the temple—emerging from the muck unsullied, washing in clear waters without being tainted, gentle and upright.
A century after his passing, his spirit didn't go to the Pure Land. Instead he lingered in the temple helping those who were fated to meet him. If someone was lucky enough to see him, he'd grant one wish.
Legend has it that the founder of Newhaven, Emperor Yanwen, met that first abbot in the little Lotus Life shrine and made a wish to save the people—then became the true Dragon Son of Heaven.
As a child I thought it was a ghost story. Imagine: a moonless night, wind whispering, trees casting eerie shadows, and you're alone in a shabby mountainside shrine. Suddenly an unknown spirit appears, chuckling that it'll grant you one wish. Wouldn't you be scared? If it were me, I'd probably turn into a spirit on the spot.
After two hours of bumpy travel I finally arrived. The tall stone steps made my legs tremble; by the time I climbed them I was half dead. Falling off them would be a sure way to die.
At the gate a cherub-faced novice came to greet me. He looked no older than ten but radiated calm.
He led me to the guest room door, bowed. I returned the bow and ruffled his hair.
Novice: "…"
Me: "…"
The mood got awkward; my sudden motherly impulse surprised me.
I took out a small pouch of candied fruit I'd bought but hadn't eaten. "Do you want this?"
The little monk looked at the pouch. The serenity around him faltered and a strange gleam appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"Thank you, benefactress, but—this is improper…"
He stared at the candy and spoke haltingly.
My eyebrow twitched and I stuffed it into his arms. "Take it—"
"Then… little brother accepts it!"
He snatched it and ran off delighted.
Watching him scamper away, a smile tugged at my mouth.
This little monk's name was Timmy. In my past life, when I was confined in the temple, he used to bring me food.
The temple folk hadn't mistreated me. It was my own self-pity that had chased off anyone who came to help. Watching them leave made me irrationally happy—I imagined hurting Adrian, which felt satisfying.
I didn't expect they'd put a little kid in my charge. I couldn't stand being confined and sulking, so I’d hide in a corner and cry like a lunatic.
Seeing me cry and refuse to eat, the kid gave me a candied fruit and said his father had died once and when he cried his mother would give him a candy that made him think less of his father.
I sneered internally—how could a kid know my grievances? I was blind then. I thought I was the most tragic person alive and didn't realize how dearly that little pouch cost him. He saved up for three months to buy one.
I threw the candy—and him—out the door.
But I couldn't stand it. I turned to scold him and watched him pick the candy up off the ground and put it in his mouth.
Put it in his mouth.
Honestly, even at my most miserable, I wasn't so low as to eat candy dragged off the floor. Even in confinement my food wasn't that scarce. That scene shook my pampered worldview.
The next day I gave him a big bag of candied fruit. His single-lidded eyes trembled happily; his eyes reddened as he watched me, then he ran off hugging the meal I'd given him.
Shit.
After that, he became my meek little charge, shivering as he dragged me around the temple. I learned that not everyone wore fine clothes. I learned that the shabby robes I mocked weren't bad; to ordinary people they were decent. I learned the temple rice was brown and mixed with unnameable gritty things that scratched your throat. I learned that Hazel Bennett complaining I'd squandered money and didn't understand the people's hardships might actually be right.
Some people couldn't even afford a one-silver tael medicine and had to beg at the temple.
That year I saw so many things I'd never known in my first twenty years.
Too bad I didn't get to do more. Once I left, I was brought straight to the public square and executed. I messed up and died with my hands empty.
Otherwise maybe I'd have quietly divorced Adrian and had Father exonerated. But Father died partly because someone wanted to make it look like he wasn't trying to seize the throne—complicated reasons. Adrian had seemed to hate me so much he couldn't even bear to look at me. If not for some other unknown motive, he might have had me killed outright.
Temple life was simple and dull. I couldn't help but glance over at Kenneth.
Fine, sorry, Timmy—you were just a bonus view. I was there to look at Kenneth.
Old habits: my feelings were complicated. Ten-plus years of closeness—she wasn't merely a friend, she felt like family. I had no sisters, so we whispered secrets to each other. She'd always indulged me like an older sister; I couldn't believe any of that was fake.
I climbed the wall and watched her in plain robes kneel before the altar, chanting quietly. I pulled back. I couldn't reconcile that same sensual, bewitching woman with the ascetic, wanting-nothing figure in front of the shrine.
I must owe her a lot. I wanted to say we'd never see each other again, but I also missed the old her.
I'm not that clever, but I'm not stupid either.
Sam had just met my brother, and my brother immediately called off the engagement—there had to be something going on. I refuse to believe it was that simple.
Sam must've been quietly keeping tabs on me for a long time, including the people around me. He put on that useless, pastry-eating act, but I knew when he slipped away at night to handle things—I just didn't ask.
Otherwise, with the old marquis's achievements and the promising young heir, the emperor might have taken notice.
The Xie family was all the same. The emperor and my father were close, and when suspicion arose he went with the flow: issue an order, then show public grief and heartbreak.
I lounged in a soft chair, staring into the candlelight.
Last life, Sam sided with Adrian and got tangled in court affairs—was it because of me? If so, then the unknown reason I didn't get killed by Adrian was probably because of him.
Thinking of him in that lazy, fearless second-son pose made me both happy and sad.
I must have hurt him badly in my last life.
It hit me then that I loved him—deeply.
"Hey hey, only three days apart and you're already crying from missing me?"
A familiar voice snapped me back. The man hurried up and dabbed at my eyes; before I could stop myself I wrapped my arms around him. "I love you so much—"
Why is it that every time I need you, you’re always by my side?
Sam froze at the confession; his head spun. He had always believed Claire married him out of mere resignation.
So she felt the same way as he did?
His hand tightened on the small figure in his arms. In a voice meant only for her, he whispered, “Me too—for this life and the last.”
