---

When I opened my eyes, I was flat on the cold tiles of the girls’ bathroom floor.

A sharp, throbbing pain pulsed at the back of my head, and my cheek stung like someone had just slapped the soul out of me.

Correction—they had.

Three girls in designer uniforms stood over me, sneering.

“Pathetic,” one of them muttered, adjusting her glossy curls in the mirror. “You should’ve thought twice before even looking at Yiran’s boyfriend.”

Another girl clicked her tongue. “The trash doesn’t even know her place.”

The third one laughed. “Let’s leave her. The janitor can scrape her off the floor.”

Their heels clicked as they walked out.

My body burned. Not from pain. From rage.

But here's the thing…

I was not the same “Shen Zhi” they had just kicked around.

That girl? The weak, stuttering doormat of a heroine from this dog-blood romance novel?

She was gone.

I, on the other hand, was very much here.

---

I sat up slowly, ignoring the pounding in my head.

Memories were flooding in—hers and mine.

The tragic female lead of “His Cold Heart, Her Warm Tears.”

God, even the title was painful.

In the original story, Shen Zhi was pitiful beyond belief. Constantly bullied by her rich classmates. Tortured by her jealous stepsister. Ignored and emotionally wrecked by her “cold but secretly caring” male lead who took 80 chapters to grow a brain.

I remembered reading it. I even hated the female lead for being so spineless.

But now… I was her.

And if I hated pain in my past life, you can bet I wasn’t about to take it lying down now.

They wanted me to cry prettily and break like glass?

They’ll be crying soon.

---

I walked out of the bathroom like nothing had happened—well, except the blood on my lip and the giant bruise blooming on my cheek.

Students stared.

Whispers followed me like flies.

“Oh my god, she’s still alive?”

“She probably deserved it.”

“Why doesn’t she transfer already?”

My gaze cut through them like blades. I didn’t respond. I didn’t lower my head. I walked like I owned the hallway, bleeding lip and all.

Fake sympathy and plastic smirks?

I’d collect them like trophies soon.

---

Back in class, I dropped into my seat like a queen reclaiming her throne.

The class prince—Li Zeyan—sat three rows away, flipping a pen between his fingers. Cold, handsome, quiet. Your standard ice-block male lead. Girls swooned. Shen Zhi used to stare at him with love-struck eyes.

Now?

I had other priorities.

I opened my textbook with purpose. Time to rewrite this story.

---

Lunchtime.

Right on cue, the “villains” approached.

Yiran, my step-cousin and the novel’s fake white lotus, stood at the front, her voice sugary-sweet.

“ZhiZhi,” she said, resting her hand on my desk, “I heard you got into another… accident. Are you okay?”

My classmates waited for my usual stammered response.

But I smiled.

Brightly.

So brightly it made her flinch.

“I’m fine, Yiran. I just slipped. You know, like how you slipped and sent that anonymous post to the school forum about me ‘seducing’ Li Zeyan.”

Her smile cracked.

“You must’ve clicked ‘send’ by mistake. Happens, right?” I added, tilting my head.

Around us, the class held its breath.

Yiran’s mask didn’t break, but her nails dug into my desk.

“Oh, ZhiZhi, you have such an imagination,” she laughed. “Maybe I should recommend a therapist.”

I leaned closer.

“Don’t bother. I already booked you one. You’ll need it when the school finds out about your fake scholarship documents.”

The color drained from her face.

I smiled wider and unwrapped my lunch.

Let the games begin.

---

That night, I looked into the mirror in my tiny apartment.

The old Shen Zhi was still in there, bruised and trembling.

But she had backup now.

Me.

---

Monday morning came with a vengeance.

The kind of vengeance that included a group chat full of gossip, a fake scandal on the school forum, and my name tagged in a photo that had clearly been edited to show me sneaking into the male dorms.

Nice try, Yiran.

Too bad I had receipts.

---

I walked into the school hallway wearing the same uniform as always, but now paired with a freshly healed bruise and a new lip gloss called “Savage Cherry.”

It shimmered.

It sparkled.

It screamed: Yes, I know you’re watching me. And yes, I’m hotter than your lies.

---

📱 Buzz!

My phone pinged. A message from Yiran.

Yiran:

> “ZhiZhi~ I saw the post about you on the forum 😢 I’m so sorry people keep misunderstanding you! Let me know if you need someone to talk to 💖”

I stared at it. Then typed.

Me:

> “Thank you for caring 💕 I’ll be speaking with the school’s disciplinary board today. I’m sure they’ll appreciate your ‘concern’ too.”

Seen ✅

Ah. Silence. The fake kindness couldn’t keep up with my real threat.

---

In the classroom, I felt every eye on me.

Some curious.

Some judgmental.

Some… worried?

And then came Li Zeyan.

He entered late as usual, messy hair and zero interest in the drama around him. He walked past me like I didn’t exist.

Perfect.

Let him keep thinking that.

It’s always easier to take a cold prince by surprise.

---

First period was history. I didn’t listen.

Instead, I wrote a list in my notebook. Not about world wars, but something more personal.

> Operation: Reputation Destruction

Find out who runs the gossip forum.

Leak the truth about Yiran’s summer fling with her tutor.

Make friends—real ones this time.

Stay pretty while burning everything fake to the ground.

I tapped my pen, satisfied.

---

At lunch, the Queen Bees were in their usual spot: center table, laughing too loud, flaunting their designer handbags like they were trophies.

Yiran looked up and saw me walk by.

“ZhiZhi,” she called sweetly, “You’re brave to show your face after the post today. What were you even doing near the dorms?”

I smiled. “Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t sneaking in… but the guy sneaking out of your room last weekend? He might have something to say.”

She paled.

Gasps rippled through the cafeteria.

“Don’t lie,” she hissed, stepping forward. “You have no proof!”

I leaned in, lowering my voice just enough to be terrifying.

“I don’t need proof… yet. But the guy? Let’s just say he works part-time at the campus coffee shop. He still has your pink scrunchie.”

Yiran stumbled back.

“I’m done playing the weak girl,” I whispered. “Now it’s your turn to run scared.”

---

Later that day, I dropped off an anonymous envelope at the student council’s complaint box.

Inside?

A full copy of Yiran’s fake academic portfolio, complete with a plagiarized essay from a scholarship competition she supposedly “won.”

Checkmate, sweetheart.

---

Back home, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the sofa in my small apartment.

I could still feel the ache in my muscles from last week’s beating. But it didn’t matter.

The pain reminded me: I wasn’t soft anymore.

I had edges now.

And no one gets to cut me twice.

---

That night, I got a message from an unknown number.

Unknown:

> “You’re not like before. What changed?”

I frowned. Who was this?

I typed:

Me:

> “Who is this?”

Unknown:

> “A spectator. Just wanted to say… I like the new you.”

Creepy? Maybe.

Intriguing? Definitely.

I ignored it.

But the corners of my lips tugged upward.

---

Yiran didn’t show up to school the next day.

Interesting.

One little whisper about her tutor and she vanishes?

I didn’t even leak the proof yet.

I sipped my iced Americano in the corner of the courtyard, pretending to read while my ears picked up the whispers.

“She’s sick?”

“No way, she’s embarrassed.”

“I heard her boyfriend dumped her too.”

“She had a boyfriend?”

Exactly. Let the rumor mill work for me.

The best revenge? A little truth wrapped in a lot of public curiosity.

---

Later, I walked past the school’s café where most of the elite students hung out. And guess who I saw?

Li Zeyan.

Alone. Headphones in. Sketchbook open.

The original Shen Zhi would’ve melted on the spot.

I didn’t.

But I did pause, just for a second. He had drawn a city skyline, abstract but emotional. A rawness in it I didn’t expect.

He looked up. We locked eyes.

I smiled.

He didn’t.

Classic.

I walked away without a word.

---

Back at my locker, I found a note folded into the vent.

Neat handwriting.

> “You think you’re smart, but you're playing with fire. You’ll get burned, Shen Zhi.”

Cute.

I pocketed it without flinching.

Then added another task to my revenge notebook:

> 5. Find out who thinks they’re shadowy enough to threaten me anonymously. Burn them first.

---

In PE, I was paired with Li Zeyan. Bad luck? No. A gift.

He tossed the volleyball like I was invisible.

I caught it easily.

“Planning to ignore me the whole time?” I asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t talk during gym.”

“Too bad,” I said, smirking. “That’s when I’m at my most charming.”

For a split second, his lips twitched like he might smile.

But then he turned away. “Not interested.”

Oh, honey.

We’ll see.

---

That night, another message came from the unknown number.

Unknown:

> “I saw what you did to Yiran. That was bold.”

Me:

> “Bold is my new brand. Got a problem?”

Unknown:

> “No. I liked it. You’re dangerous.”

I stared at the screen.

Who was this?

A stalker?

A frenemy?

Or... someone playing a long game?

I typed slowly:

Me:

> “Then keep watching. The show’s just starting.”

🌪️ Chapter 4: Bruises Fade, Enemies Multiply

---

Three days later, Yiran came back.

Not with tears—but with lipstick.

Blood red.

Interesting choice for someone who’s drowning.

She walked into the classroom like she owned it. Sat down beside me.

“You think you’ve won?” she whispered.

I looked at her lip color and said, “I think red suits you. Matches your lies.”

“You think people like you can rise?” she hissed.

I smiled. “You’re right. I don’t rise. I conquer.”

---

In the middle of math class, someone threw a folded note at me.

Another warning?

Nope.

This one said:

> “Cute comeback at lunch. You’re funnier when you’re dangerous. – LZ”

Wait.

LZ?

Li. Zeyan.

My head snapped toward him.

He wasn’t even looking my way.

Just sketching again.

I looked down at the drawing.

A girl.

Standing in flames.

Her eyes were mine.

---

At lunch, Yiran approached Li Zeyan, trying to cling to his sleeve like a bad perfume.

“Zeyan~ let’s sit together like old times?”

He pulled away.

“I don’t sit with liars.”

She froze.

He stood, tray in hand, and turned toward my table—then paused.

No way.

No freaking way.

He walked past me, sat two tables away, and pulled out his sketchbook.

I didn’t smile.

But inside?

I won a little victory dance.

---

That evening, my stepsister called me.

The original Shen Zhi would’ve answered with fear.

I answered on speaker.

“You’re embarrassing the family,” she snapped.

“Good,” I said, kicking off my shoes. “You should be used to it. You did it for years.”

“You’re acting like a brat.”

“Funny, I learned it from you.”

Click.

Honestly, hanging up on toxic people? Therapeutic.

---

I looked at myself in the mirror.

Lip gloss. Bruise fading. Smile forming.

Not bad.

Not done either.