Chapter 1: Rebirth in a Broken Mirror

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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