The moon hung high above the Xia Dynasty’s imperial palace, veiled in a faint red haze that made it look like blood smeared across the heavens. Torches flickered against the lacquered gates, shadows stretching like the fangs of waiting beasts.

Empress Xiyue sat alone within the Phoenix Hall. Her robes were woven of snow silk, threaded with gold, a symbol of sovereignty unmatched. Yet the silence around her was suffocating, broken only by the echo of her own heartbeat.

She already knew tonight was her last.

The whispers in court, the sudden reassignment of her loyal guards, the poisoned glances of her ministers—everything had pointed to betrayal. Still, she had not thought it would come so swiftly, nor so cruelly.

“Your Majesty,” her chief maid, Ruolan, trembled as she knelt. “The Imperial Guard has turned. The Crown Prince himself—he… he leads them here.”

Xiyue’s lips curved into a bitter smile. So even the son I raised like jade polished by water has chosen the blade over loyalty.

She rose slowly, each step echoing with the weight of authority she still bore, even if stripped from her. “Fetch my phoenix hairpin,” she commanded. “If I am to meet my betrayal, I shall meet it.”

Ruolan’s eyes glistened with tears, but she obeyed.

Moments later, the grand doors of Phoenix Hall burst open. Soldiers flooded in, armor clattering like thunder. At their head strode Crown Prince Xuanyuan Liang, his once-boyish features hardened into steel. Behind him followed the Grand Consort—her greatest rival in the harem, lips curved in triumph.

“Mother Empress,” Xuanyuan Liang’s voice rang cold. “By decree of the Emperor, you are stripped of your title. Your crimes against the dynasty—manipulation, sorcery, treason—are beyond pardon.”

“Treason?” Xiyue’s laugh was sharp, regal. She raised her chin, her phoenix hairpin catching the torchlight like fire. “If nurturing you into a Crown Prince was treason, then I am guilty. If guiding the empire through famine and plague was treason, then let the historians curse my name.”

The Grand Consort stepped forward, eyes glinting with mockery. “History will not curse you. It will erase you.”

The soldiers advanced. Ruolan screamed as she was dragged away, her cries piercing the hall. Xiyue, however, stood still, every inch the sovereign she had always been.

She remembered the day she entered this palace—a girl of sixteen with nothing but wit and unshakable poise. She had clawed her way to the highest seat a woman could claim. She had ruled beside emperors, tamed ministers, and held the Mandate of Heaven itself in her grasp.

And yet, in the end, not even the heavens would protect her.

A blade pierced her chest.

The pain was sharp, cold, yet strangely cleansing. Blood spilled onto her white silk, blossoming into crimson flowers.

Xiyue staggered but did not fall. Instead, she turned her gaze upon her son—no, not a son, but a viper she had nurtured.

“Remember this, Xuanyuan Liang,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the blood in her throat. “The Empress you betrayed will return. Even if a thousand years pass, even if the skies change, I will return—in splendor. And when I do, you will kneel.”

The Grand Consort sneered. “Arrogant to the end.”

Her vision blurred. The torches dimmed. The scent of iron filled her lungs.

And then—darkness.

---

She expected nothingness. She expected silence, the eternal void.

But instead, there was noise.

Honking. A shrill, mechanical beeping. Voices shouting in a strange tongue—yet she understood them.

Her body jerked, as though pulled from the depths of an icy river. Xiyue’s eyes flew open.

Above her was no gilded ceiling of the Phoenix Hall, but glaring white lights. Around her, people bustled in strange uniforms, masks covering their mouths.

“Doctor, she’s stable! The Patient Lin Wanrou has regained consciousness!”

Lin Wanrou?

Xiyue blinked, her breath ragged. Her limbs felt weak, her body foreign. She tried to move, only to feel the sting of tubes and needles tethering her to a bed.

“What sorcery…” she muttered hoarsely.

A nurse leaned over. “Miss Lin, you had an accident. You should rest.”

Miss Lin.

Memory not her own surged like a flood. A young woman—fragile, pitiful—mocked as a failed actress, abandoned by her family, ridiculed by the media. She had taken sleeping pills in despair, her final act unnoticed by the world.

And yet, into this broken vessel… the soul of Empress Xiyue had descended.

Her heart pounded. She looked at her pale hands, so different from the ones that had once held the seal of the empire.

“Rebirth,” she whispered. “The heavens truly heard me.”

Tears did not fall. Instead, a regal fire lit in her gaze. She, the Empress betrayed by kin, discarded by courtiers, had been granted another chance.

The world had changed—no palaces, no golden thrones. Instead, towering glass buildings, strange machines, and glowing screens. But power was power, no matter the era.

Slowly, painfully, she raised her hand and grasped the phoenix-shaped jade pendant that hung at her neck—the one thing this Lin Wanrou had cherished from her late mother.

The phoenix. Her symbol.

Her lips curved into a faint, imperious smile.

“If this world crowns its rulers not with thrones, but with wealth and fame, then so be it. Empress Xiyue will reign again. And this time… I shall return in splendor.”

Outside the hospital window, fireworks exploded, welcoming a new year.

For Lin Wanrou, it was the first night of a second life.

For the world, it was the dawn of a storm they were unprepared to face.

The sterile chill of the hospital clung to Lin Wanrou’s skin, but her mind remained sharp as a blade. She had not survived palace intrigues for decades only to falter in this strange new world.

The room was quiet now, save for the steady beep of the heart monitor. She sat upright, her back straight despite the weakness of her body. The IV line in her arm tugged, but she ignored it.

Memories that did not belong to her still pressed against her thoughts—snippets of a girl’s pitiful existence. Wanrou had once been the eldest daughter of the Lin family, heiress in name, but scorned in reality. Her stepmother favored Lin Qingyao, the younger half-sister, who shone like a pearl in the eyes of society.

Lin Wanrou, meanwhile, was considered a stain: an aspiring actress who failed her auditions, plagued by scandals, laughed at her “delusions of grandeur.” She had crumbled under pressure until she swallowed a handful of sleeping pills.

It was in that moment of despair that the heavens had granted Xiyue’s soul passage.

Wanrou’s lips curled faintly. So this body was abandoned. Cast aside. Broken. How fitting for me to reshape it.

The door swung open. A woman in a sleek designer coat entered, her heels clicking arrogantly against the tile. Her makeup was flawless, her hair a glossy wave—Lin Qingyao, the beloved daughter.

Behind her trailing their father, Lin Guosheng, a man whose tailored suit could not hide the exhaustion etched into his features. He glanced once at Wanrou, then quickly away, as though she were an embarrassment.

“Wanrou,” Qingyao said sweetly, though venom laced her tone. “You actually woke up. How… surprising.”

Wanrou tilted her head, studying her half-sister. In another life, this kind of woman had filled the palace—beautiful, cunning, always smiling as they thrust the knife deeper.

“Yes,” Wanrou answered coolly, her voice calm but laced with authority. “It will take more than despair to end me.”

Qingyao blinked, caught off guard. The Wanrou she knew had been timid, stammering apologies even when wronged. Now her eyes burned with an unshakable composure, as though she sat upon a throne unseen.

Lin Guosheng cleared his throat awkwardly. “Wanrou… your actions have caused enough disgrace. The company suffered because of your scandals. If you have any conscience left, you should stay out of sight and stop causing trouble.”

Wanrou studied the man who was supposed to be her father. His words were familiar; she had seen countless emperors discard daughters as pawns. It no longer stung.

Instead, she smiled faintly. “So you came here not out of concern, but to remind me I am a burden. Very well. Consider me warned.”

Qingyao smirked, stepping closer. “Sister, perhaps you should accept reality. You’re not meant for the spotlight. I, on the other hand…” She lifted her chin proudly. “Tomorrow I’m attending the Golden Iris Gala with President Jun. Imagine what people would say if you showed up—our family’s shame standing next to me.”

Wanrou’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. President Jun… could it be Jun Lianhe, the Silver Emperor himself? Fate was playing its games already.

But she did not show surprise. Instead, she leaned forward, her gaze locking onto Qingyao’s. “Careful, dear sister. Pearls that gleam too brightly often shatter the quickest.”

For a heartbeat, Qingyao faltered, unsettled by the authority in Wanrou’s tone. It was as though an Empress’s shadow loomed behind her fragile figure.

Lin Guosheng frowned. “Enough. Wanrou, focus on recovering. Qingyao, let’s go.”

With a final disdainful glance, they left. The door closed, silence swallowing the room once more.

Wanrou leaned back against the pillows, her mind racing. The family that should have shielded her had instead cast her aside. Yet it mattered little. She had clawed her way to sovereignty once before; she would do it again.

---

That night, when the nurses finally dimmed the lights, Wanrou swung her legs from the bed. Her body protested, weak and trembling, but her spirit urged her on. She stood before the mirror mounted on the wall.

The reflection staring back at her was pale, almost ghostly. Dark circles framed her eyes, her hair hung lifeless. Yet within those eyes now flickered a fire that had been absent from Lin Wanrou before.

She touched the phoenix pendant around her neck. “From ashes, a phoenix rises,” she murmured. “This face, this body, may be weak—but it shall dazzle. I will build my empire anew.”

She straightened her posture, shoulders squared, and the chin lifted. In the mirror, she no longer saw the fallen actress. She saw the outline of an Empress reborn.

---

The next morning, news spread quickly. “Lin Wanrou survives suicide attempt—again.” Gossip forums mocked her, headlines ridiculed her, and the entertainment industry sighed in disdain.

But for Wanrou, it was noise. Court gossip by another name.

When the nurse brought her bbreakfast, theWanrou asked calmly, “Bring me a newspaper. The latest one. And a mirror that is not nailed to a wall.”

The nurse blinked at the odd request, but complied.

Hours later, Wanrou sat upright in bed, studying the entertainment section. Pictures of Qingyao graced the front page—perfect, glamorous, touted as the rising star. Wanrou’s own name appeared only in footnotes, associated with pity and shame.

She traced Qingyao’s smiling face with her finger, her lips curving. “Very well, sister. You want the stage? Keep it warm for me.”

---

That afternoon, Mei Ling arrived. The young woman was Wanrou’s personal assistant—underpaid, overworked, yet loyal in her own way. She carried a bundle of clothes and eyed Wanrou nervously.

“Miss Lin, you… you look different today.”

Wanrou’s gaze softened slightly. At least one loyal soul remains in this era. “Different is good,” she said. “From this day forward, you will see me as I truly am.”

Mei Ling tilted her head, puzzled. But as Wanrou rose from the bed and allowed her to help with the clothes, she could not deny the aura had changed. The once fragile girl now moved with an elegance that could not be faked.

---

By evening, the hospital corridors buzzed with rumor: Lin Wanrou had spoken back to her father and sister. She had carried herself like nobility reborn. Some dismissed it as temporary delusion, others whispered that perhaps she had finally snapped.

Wanrou herself remained unbothered. She sat by the window, the city lights sprawling before her like jewels scattered on black velvet.

In her past life, she had ruled over mountains and rivers. Now, her dominion would be skyscrapers and industries. The rules of the game had changed, but the essence of power was the same: control, image, influence.

She whispered into the night, her voice a promise to herself and to the heavens that had granted her another chance:

“From this moment, Lin Wanrou is no more. The world shall know me as an Empress once again. Let them watch… as I returned in splendor.”

The day of Lin Wanrou’s discharge arrived under a bright, pitiless sun. The hospital staff whispered as she walked the corridor, her steps steady despite the IV drips and wheelchairs she passed. She wore a simple dress Mei Ling had brought: ivory linen, modest, yet tailored to her figure with an elegance that belied its simplicity.

Her posture was perfect, her chin tilted at an imperceptible angle that made her appear taller, commanding—even regal.

“Miss Lin,” Mei Ling murmured nervously as she pushed open the doors leading outside. “There are reporters waiting. A lot of them. Do you… want to sneak through the back?”

Wanrou’s lips curved faintly. Hide? An Empress does not sneak like a thief.

“Open the doors wide,” she instructed.

The moment sunlight spilled across her figure, a storm erupted.

“Lin Wanrou, did you really attempt suicide again?”

“Are you seeking sympathy for a career revival?”

“Your sister Lin Qingyao will be attending the Golden Iris Gala tonight—are you jealous of her success?”

“Do you have anything to say to the investors who called you a disgrace to the Lin family?”

Microphones thrust forward. Cameras flashed mercilessly, capturing every angle.

Mei Ling’s face went pale. She tried to shield her with a bag, but Wanrou raised a graceful hand.

“Step back, Mei Ling.”

Her voice was calm, yet it carried across the crowd with a weight that made the nearest reporters falter. Slowly, deliberately, she removed her sunglasses.

Her eyes—dark as obsidian, sharp as a falcon’s—meet the sea of cameras. The crowd quieted, stunned. This was not the trembling, tear-streaked girl they had hounded months ago. This was someone… different.

“I have only one thing to say,” Wanrou began, her tone regal. “The Lin Wanrou you knew is gone. From this day forward, I will not bow to ridicule nor flee from shadows. If the world wishes to watch me, then watch closely—because I will rise higher than any of you dare to imagine.”

The words were not shouted. They were spoken softly, but with such conviction that the entire press line froze, their pens hesitating.

Some laughed nervously, whispering about delusion. Others scribbled furiously—headlines already writing themselves.

Wanrou, however, did not linger. She turned, her every movement graceful, and slid into the waiting car Mei Ling had arranged. The door closed, shutting out the chaos, but the echoes of her declaration lingered in the air.

---

Inside the car, Mei Ling stared at her with wide eyes. “Miss Lin… what you just said… it’ll be everywhere by tonight.”

“Good.” Wanrou’s gaze drifted to the city skyline flashing past. “A ruler’s first act is to announce her return. Now, they will watch.”

Mei Ling swallowed hard. For the first time since she’d worked for Wanrou, she believed.

---

That evening, the entertainment industry’s most prestigious event, the Golden Iris Gala, unfolded in glittering splendor. The city’s elite gathered under chandeliers that resembled cascading stars. Every actress, every socialite, every businessman of worth was there.

Lin Qingyao, radiant in a crimson gown, was the darling of the night. She walked the carpet on the arm of none other than Jun Lianhe, the Silver Emperor himself. Cameras adored her, journalists fawned, and whispers praised the Lin family for having such a jewel.

But amid the glamour, murmurs spread like wildfire: “Did you hear what Lin Wanrou said this morning? She claimed she’ll rise again.”

“How laughable. She can’t even secure a C-list role.”

“Still… the way she spoke… it was different.”

Even absent, Wanrou’s presence loomed.

---

Meanwhile, in a quiet penthouse overlooking the gala venue, Wanrou sat with Mei Ling, watching the broadcast on television. Her eyes lingered on Jun Lianhe—the man whose aura was cold steel wrapped in silver silk.

“That one,” Wanrou murmured, sipping her tea. “Jun Lianhe. The empire of this era bends partly to his will, does it not?”

Mei Ling nodded quickly. “Yes, President Jun controls the Jun Consortium. They say nothing in the entertainment industry moves without his approval. Even the Gala tonight—his company is one of the main sponsors.”

Wanrou’s smile was slow, deliberate. “Then fate has brought us onto the same stage already.”

Mei Ling shivered. She couldn’t tell if her mistress’s words were ambition or prophecy.

---

Across the city, in the gala’s VIP lounge, Jun Lianhe sipped his wine, aloof to the flattery surrounding him. His assistant whispered in his ear, “President Jun, the media is buzzing about Lin Wanrou. They say she declared her comeback.”

Jun’s eyes, sharp as tempered steel, flickered briefly with interest. “Lin Wanrou? The so-called fallen star?”

“Yes, sir. Many think she’s mad. But… her words are everywhere already.”

Jun swirled the wine in his glass, thoughtful. He had seen countless people crumble under the spotlight. Yet the reports described not despair, but composure.

Interesting, he mused. Perhaps the broken phoenix has a spark left after all.

He glanced at Qingyao beside him, smiling brightly at the cameras. But for the first time that night, it was another name that lingered in his mind.

---

Back in her penthouse, Wanrou set the teacup down and rose, her figure framed against the vast city skyline.

“Mei Ling,” she said softly, “tomorrow we begin. I will need information—about the industry, about the Jun Consortium, about every path that leads to influence in this world.”

Mei Ling hesitated. “Miss Lin, this world is… ruthless. It’s not like the dramas you’ve read. To reach the top—”

Wanrou turned, her gaze fierce yet calm. “I was betrayed by ministers and princes. I was killed by my own blood. Do you think paparazzi and greedy executives frighten me?”

Mei Ling’s lips parted, then closed. She bowed her head. “Yes, Miss Lin.”

Wanrou looked out at the city again, her eyes gleaming like twin flames.

“This world will learn,” she whispered, a vow to the night itself, “that an Empress does not fade. She reigns—always. And soon, they shall witness my return in splendor.”

Outside, the city pulsed with neon light, unaware that its stage had just gained its most formidable player.