The night was heavy with rain. It lashed against the windows of the remote pavilion, each drop a frantic knock from the heavens. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wood and faint medicine. A single lantern burned low, its flame swaying with each draft, casting long, restless shadows on the walls.

On the bed lay a woman—no, not quite the woman she used to be.

Where am I…?

Lyra Mo stirred weakly, her lashes trembling as fever made her vision blur. She remembered reading the final chapter of a novel, the bitter fate of a villainess whose end was sealed. And then darkness. Now, her body burned like fire and froze like ice, caught in a storm of memories that weren’t her own.

Huang Ying Yue—the name echoed in her skull like a curse. Cruel. Shameless. Hated.

Her fingers clenched the silk sheets. This isn’t me. I’m not her… I can’t be her.

The door slid open.

A tall figure entered, his robes dark as midnight, his presence filling the room like a blade unsheathed. Cassian Ruan—righteous cultivator, revered as the sect’s rising star. His very gaze was sharp enough to cut through pretense, and now that gaze landed upon her, cold and unyielding.

“Mo Ying Yue,” he said—her borrowed name, spoken like a verdict. “What game are you playing this time?”

Lyra’s lips parted, but her throat was dry, the fever stealing her voice. She could only shake her head faintly, strands of damp hair clinging to her flushed face.

Cassian’s eyes narrowed. In the novel she had read, this was the man who despised Huang Ying Yue most of all. She had humiliated his disciples, threatened his allies, even dared covet him openly. He should have left her to die in her sickness. He should have walked away without a word.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he crossed the room, his steps measured, his aura steady, as though he were approaching a venomous serpent that might strike at any moment. He stopped at the bedside, studying her face. The woman before him looked the same—foxlike eyes, lips curved in that infamous seductive shape. And yet… there was something different.

Her eyes—no longer gleaming with malice, but clouded with pain. Vulnerability.

“Don’t think I will pity you,” he said, though his voice was quieter now. “Whatever tricks you scheme, they won’t work on me.”

Lyra forced her lips into a faint curve, trying to summon the villainess’s usual arrogance. But instead of a sultry retort, all she could whisper was:

“I… don’t want trouble.”

The words sounded foreign, even to her own ears.

Cassian stilled. For a heartbeat, only the storm answered. He had expected venom, mockery, perhaps a shameless plea. But this—hoarse, weak, stripped of pride—this was something he had never heard from her before.

Is she acting? His mind sharpened with suspicion. Yet the trembling of her hands, the heat radiating from her skin, the cracked dryness of her lips—all were too raw, too unfeigned.

He exhaled slowly, as if displeased with himself. Then, with practiced precision, he set a small jade vial on the table and poured a dose of cooling medicine into a cup.

“Drink,” he commanded.

Lyra blinked, startled. She hadn’t expected him to help. Her instinct was to refuse—fear of poison, fear of showing weakness. But her body betrayed her, parched throat aching. Slowly, shakily, she reached out.

Her fingers brushed his as she took the cup. They were calloused, steady, and much warmer than she expected. Her heart jolted.

No. Don’t think this means anything, she told herself. To him, I am nothing but a threat.

She sipped. The medicine was bitter, but it cooled the flames inside her chest, pulling her back from the edge of delirium.

For a long while, neither spoke. The silence pressed heavily, broken only by the patter of rain.

Finally, Cassian turned, his robes sweeping the floor. “Rest. Once you’ve recovered, you will explain yourself. Try anything foolish, and I will not hesitate.”

He strode toward the door.

Lyra’s voice, weak but urgent, broke through. “Cassian—wait.”

He paused, back to her. The lantern’s light caught the sharp line of his jaw.

“I…” Her throat tightened. She wanted to say I’m not who you think I am, but who would believe such madness? Instead, she whispered, “Thank you.”

The words were simple, fragile.

Cassian’s hand lingered on the doorframe. His brows furrowed—subtly, almost imperceptibly. In all their years of enmity, Huang Ying Yue had never spoken those words.

Without replying, he slid the door open and disappeared into the storm.

Lyra sank back into the sheets, heart pounding. She had survived her first encounter. But she knew the truth: survival was not enough. To live in this world, she would need to do more than breathe. She would need to change.

And Cassian Ruan… he was the first mountain she would have to climb.

Morning came reluctantly.

The storm had passed, but the sect grounds still bore its mark—mud-slick paths, broken branches, and a sharp dampness that clung to the air. In the distance, disciples bustled to repair lantern posts and sweep the flooded courtyards.

Inside the pavilion, Lyra Mo sat upright on the bed, her fever easing thanks to the bitter medicine. Her body was weaker than she remembered—Huang Ying Yue’s cultivation had already been damaged before her possession. The villainess’s reckless overuse of forbidden techniques had left scars deep within her meridians.

Lyra pressed a hand to her chest. This body… it’s strong, but flawed. If I don’t tread carefully, I’ll burn out completely.

The sliding door opened without warning.

Cassian Ruan entered again, robes fresh, his aura sharp with morning discipline. His gaze swept over her like a sword’s edge, pausing briefly at the half-empty medicine vial on the table.

“You took it,” he said flatly.

She nodded. “It helped.”

His brows knit faintly, as though the words unsettled him more than a threat would have.

Before she could say more, a disciple appeared at the doorway, bowing urgently. “Senior Brother Ruan! A beast has broken through the forest barrier. Elder Zhao sent me to call for aid!”

Cassian’s expression hardened. “Where?”

“The eastern training grounds. Two junior disciples are still trapped.”

Without hesitation, Cassian turned on his heel. His presence crackled like drawn steel.

Lyra’s heart clenched. She remembered this event—it was in the novel. A minor demonic beast attack, one that Cassian handled easily. But there was a detail: in the original timeline, Huang Ying Yue had followed him, only to sabotage the fight, hoping to draw attention to herself. That was one of the reasons Cassian’s hatred had deepened.

If she stayed behind, she would avoid suspicion—but the disciples could die. And if she followed, she risked everything.

Her fists tightened around the sheets. This is my chance to change her fate.

Ignoring the trembling of her limbs, she rose and followed.

The eastern training grounds were chaos. A black-furred beast, twice the height of a man, thrashed amid the shattered bamboo, its crimson eyes burning with demonic hunger. Disciples scattered in panic, their lower cultivation unable to withstand its aura.

Cassian moved with lethal precision. His sword sang through the air, silver light carving arcs that forced the beast back. His expression was unreadable, calm in the face of fury.

Lyra arrived breathless, her heart hammering. Every instinct screamed at her to run. But two disciples—barely teenagers—were pinned against a collapsed wall, the beast’s claw tearing closer.

If I do nothing, they’ll die. If I act, Cassian will think I’m plotting something again. But I can’t… I won’t let them die.

Her palms burned as she gathered what little spiritual energy she could. It was faint, sputtering like a dying flame, but she shaped it into a talisman seal she recalled from Huang Ying Yue’s fragmented memories.

The seal burst with a flare of golden light, striking the beast’s flank. It howled, stumbling sideways—just enough for the trapped disciples to scramble free.

Cassian’s eyes snapped to her. His blade pierced forward in that instant, driving through the beast’s chest. With a final shudder, it collapsed into the dirt.

Silence.

Lyra’s breath came ragged, her hands shaking from the drain of energy. The disciples she’d saved stared at her in shock, then quickly bowed. “T-thank you, Lady Ying Yue!”

Her heart twisted. That thanks wasn’t meant for me… but for her name.

Cassian sheathed his sword, striding toward her. His gaze was unreadable, but his presence bore down on her until she felt her knees weaken.

“You,” he said softly, dangerously. “Why did you interfere?”

“I…” She swallowed, her throat dry. “They would have died.”

“That has never stopped you before.” His voice was sharp, each word an accusation.

Lyra forced herself to meet his eyes. For once, she did not play coy, did not sneer or flirt. She simply said: “I am not the same as before.”

The wind tugged at his robes. His eyes searched hers, cold yet uncertain. For a moment, she thought she glimpsed hesitation—then it was gone.

“We’ll see,” Cassian murmured, turning away.

But as he walked ahead, she caught the faintest pause in his stride—the smallest crack in his certainty.

And in that pause, hope sparked within her chest.

The sect was rarely quiet. By dawn, the courtyards rang with disciples practicing sword forms, the clang of steel echoing against stone walls. Yet beneath the usual rhythm, another sound lingered—hushed voices.

Lyra heard them the moment she stepped outside her pavilion.

“…She saved them, didn’t she?”

“Impossible. Lady Ying Yue never lifts a hand unless it’s for herself.”

“Then why risk her life yesterday?”

“Maybe it was a trick. She wants Senior Brother Ruan’s favor again.”

Their words clung like burrs to her skin. She kept her head bowed, pretending not to hear, though every step grew heavier.

Inside, Lyra seethed. No matter what I do, it’s never enough. In the book, Huang Ying Yue dug her own grave by scheming. But if I try to change—if I try to do good—they still see me as her.

A familiar voice cut through the whispers.

“Clear the path.”

Cassian Ruan strode into the courtyard, the morning sun glinting on his blade. Disciples immediately parted, bowing low. His gaze swept the crowd, cool and disinterested—until it landed on her.

Lyra froze.

For a heartbeat, his eyes lingered on her face, searching, measuring. She held her breath, refusing to look away. But then he turned, his robe trailing like shadow, leaving without a word.

The whispers flared louder behind him.

“…She followed him again?”

“Of course. She’s shameless.”

Her fists clenched.

Later that day, Lyra sat alone in the library pavilion, tracing her fingers over ancient scrolls. She wasn’t looking for techniques or power—her body couldn’t handle them yet. Instead, she searched for knowledge Huang Ying Yue had ignored: healing methods, cultivation stabilizers, anything that could buy her time in this fragile vessel.

A shadow fell across the table.

“You’re studying?”

Her head snapped up. One of the junior disciples she had saved yesterday stood there awkwardly, his face flushed. He bowed deeply. “Lady Ying Yue… I just… wanted to thank you. Again. If not for you, Senior Sister and I…”

Lyra softened, offering a small smile. “Be careful next time. Training grounds can be dangerous.”

His eyes widened. For a moment, he looked as though he might speak more—but then another disciple appeared at the doorway, glaring. He seized the boy’s arm.

“Don’t be fooled,” the newcomer hissed. “She’s only pretending.”

The two left quickly, but not before casting her one last wary glance.

The smile slipped from Lyra’s lips.

Pretending. That’s all they see.

When she returned to her pavilion that evening, Cassian was already waiting inside.

His presence filled the room, a storm held barely at bay. He stood near the window, arms folded, watching the glow of lanterns in the distance.

“You’re drawing attention again,” he said, voice low.

Lyra stiffened. “I didn’t—”

“You saved those disciples. You read in the library. You smile at juniors who should fear you.” His gaze turned on her, sharp as a blade. “Whatever game you’re playing, it won’t work on me.”

“I’m not playing a game.” Her words came out softer than she intended, but steady.

He moved closer. Lantern light caught in his dark eyes, revealing something unreadable. “Then what are you doing?”

For a long time, she couldn’t answer. The truth—that she wasn’t Huang Ying Yue at all—was a secret she could never reveal.

So she met his suspicion with the only answer she could give. “Trying.”

His brow furrowed. “…Trying?”

“To be different.” Her voice trembled, but she held his gaze. “Even if no one believes me.”

Silence stretched. The only sound was the faint crackle of the lantern.

At last, Cassian’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t press further. He turned away, his tone clipped. “Then prove it.”

The door shut behind him, leaving her in the quiet.

Lyra sank onto the bed, pressing her hands over her face. The sting of tears threatened, but she swallowed them back.

Prove it… But how, when even saving lives brands me a liar?

Yet despite her despair, her chest flickered with the smallest ember of resolve.

If the world demanded proof, then proof she would give.