Chapter 1 – A Body Not Her Own

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.

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