Chapter 5: Fallen Princess

The cold wind whistled through the shattered halls.

Yan Jiayi dragged her aching body after him, heart pounding wildly.

Everywhere she looked —

Blood.

Ruins.

Broken jade pieces scattered like fallen stars.

The sharp smell of iron filled her nose, and something inside her chest clenched painfully — a grief so raw it nearly stole her breath.

But it wasn’t her grief.

Not completely.

These memories, these emotions, they weren't hers —

They belonged to this body.

To the real Princess of Lu.

The girl who had lived here.

The girl who had died here.

Not me, Yan Jiayi reminded herself fiercely, biting her lip hard enough to taste blood.

I’m just borrowing this body.

But even knowing that, her knees still buckled.

She collapsed to the blood-soaked floor, gasping for air.

Tears spilled down her cheeks without permission — the body's sadness overwhelming her mind.

Her fists slammed against the cold ground uselessly.

The red-robed man stopped and turned, his cold eyes watching her fall.

He crouched lazily nearby, his blood-stained sword resting easily across his lap, like a predator watching a wounded animal.

"This is your end," he said.

"Your family's gone. Your kingdom’s ashes."

Yan Jiayi trembled, forcing her head up to glare at him.

She didn’t know him.

She didn’t know this world’s politics fully yet.

But one thing was clear.

This man was the reason this mansion bathed in blood.

He was the blade that severed the past.

The man tilted her chin up roughly with his sword tip, making her meet his dark, bottomless eyes.

"Little princess," he said mockingly,

"Will you crawl, or will you die here?"

Yan Jiayi’s nails dug into her palms.

The body's sorrow wanted her to sob, to give up, to crumble.

But her own soul — sharp, stubborn, unyielding — refused.

I just wanted to live.

I didn’t ask for a throne. I didn’t ask for revenge.

But I won't die here.

Taking a shaky breath, she looked him dead in the eye.

"I’ll crawl," she whispered hoarsely.

A cruel, almost amused smile flickered across the man’s face.

"Good," he said, rising to his feet in a smooth motion.

"Then crawl after me."

He turned without waiting for her, his crimson robe dragging through the blood.

Yan Jiayi clenched her teeth, wiped her tears with the back of her hand, and forced her battered body to move.

One hand.

Then another.

Slowly, painfully, she crawled after him — through the broken halls of her own graveyard.

The cold floor scraped her palms and knees, every movement like a thousand needles stabbing into her skin.

Yan Jiayi bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing herself forward.

The man in red robes didn’t look back.

His steps were steady, casual — as if he was walking through a field of flowers instead of a palace turned slaughterhouse.

Every few paces, he would slow just slightly, making sure she was still crawling after him like a broken doll.

They reached the heart of the mansion — the once grand throne hall.

Now nothing but a field of corpses.

Yan Jiayi froze.

Her fingers tightened against the cracked floor tiles.

Among the bodies — dressed in ruined silk robes, soaked in blood — she recognized some faces.

Some were vague — faint memories from this body.

Some sharper — a mother’s kind smile, a brother’s teasing laughter.

They were all dead.

The man finally stopped at the center of the carnage, and turned.

He looked down at her, his crimson sword resting lightly against his shoulder.

"You want to live?" he asked lightly, almost bored.

Yan Jiayi said nothing, her throat dry.

The man pointed casually to a body near her — a middle-aged minister dressed in tattered court robes.

"This one was loyal to your family," he said lazily.

"One of the few who tried to protect the palace."

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering.

"He's still breathing. Barely."

Yan Jiayi’s eyes widened, crawling closer without thinking.

The minister's chest was faintly rising and falling — a small, ragged breath.

His blood-soaked hand twitched weakly, reaching toward her.

There was still life.

Still hope.

But the man’s next words were like knives slicing into her heart.

"If you want to live," he said calmly,

"Kill him."

The words fell into the silent hall like stones into a lake.

Yan Jiayi stared at him in horror.

The man smiled slightly — not kind, not cruel, just amused.

"A wounded dog will only slow you down," he said.

"And I don’t have the patience to protect useless burdens."

He pointed the tip of his sword at her — but didn’t attack.

"No hesitation," he said coldly.

"Either kill him... or stay here and die with him."

The choice was simple.

Brutal.

And completely unfair.

Yan Jiayi’s hands shook.

She wasn’t a murderer.

She wasn’t this world’s princess.

She was just an ordinary girl, thrown into an ocean of blood without warning.

The minister's clouded eyes looked at her pleadingly.

"Your Highness..." he rasped faintly.

Yan Jiayi clenched her fists so tightly that her nails pierced her palms.

In that moment, she realized —

This wasn’t just a test of strength.

It was a test of her soul.

Would she stain her hands with innocent blood to survive?

Or would she keep her innocence — and die a meaningless death alongside a broken empire?

The red-robed man watched silently, waiting for her decision.

The clock ticked.

The smell of blood thickened.

The broken world held its breath.

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