Chapter 1

Lu Lanyi had died.

This was not entirely unexpected. From the third year of her marriage into the Yang family, her health had begun to decline. Each subsequent year saw her condition worsen—gradually becoming unable to manage household affairs, then bedridden. By the seventh year, medicine proved futile, and she breathed her last in the desolate silence of the main chamber.

The Yang family held her funeral. Lanyi saw her own mourning hall, the guests who came to pay their respects, and Consort Jiang, the family concubine, standing in as the hostess to receive condolences. Though pale from days of exertion, Consort Jiang’s delicate beauty remained undiminished. When she lowered her head, a flicker of smugness gleamed in her eyes…

Lanyi felt a pang in her heart. Now, Consort Jiang could revel in triumph without hindrance.

Then it struck her—wait, why could she still “see”?

…

It took Lanyi three days to confirm that she alone could see others, while no one could perceive her. She also discovered she no longer needed food or water.

Lanyi suddenly understood—she must have become a ghost. According to folktales, only those with immense grievances or unresolved vengeance lingered in the mortal world, refusing to move on. Did she harbor such resentment?

Lanyi didn’t think so.

Her maiden family owned hundreds of acres of fertile land. Though her husband’s family was poor, he was ambitious. With her dowry relieving him of financial distractions, he rose from a mere scholar to a Successful Candidate of the Two Imperial Examinations in just a few years, later entering the Hanlin Academy. She, in turn, transformed from the daughter of a rural landowner into the Hanlin Academician’s Wife. Everyone praised her father’s foresight and envied her good fortune.

Alas, she had fortune but no fate.

“So young, not even thirty, and without leaving behind a single child…”

“What a pitiful fate. With Yang Hanlin’s youth and prospects, countless families will vie for his hand. Once a new wife enters the household, within a few years, who will remember the one who came before…”

The whispers of female mourners reached Lanyi’s ears. She pondered—was her fate truly so pitiful? Perhaps it was.

After nearly eight years of marriage to Yang Wenxu, she had borne no children, while Consort Jiang successively delivered the Yang family’s eldest son, eldest daughter, and second son. With each child, Consort Jiang stood a little taller when coming to pay respects in the main chamber.

Yet Consort Jiang was unfailingly deferential to her mistress. No matter how ill Lanyi became—even when she refused visitors—Consort Jiang would still bring her three children to the main chamber every dawn and dusk, rain or shine, without fail.

Listening to Consort Jiang’s gentle voice and the carefree laughter of the children outside her door, Lanyi’s health spiraled downward, never to recover.

Lanyi thought—who could she blame? There was no one to blame. As her mother-in-law, Madam Yang, often said, she could only blame herself for her barren womb, unable to produce a Yang heir.

On countless sleepless nights, Lanyi ran her hands over her still-flat, girlish abdomen, convincing herself of this very truth.

This way, all the suffering she endured in the Yang family seemed justified—every hardship had its cause, and now, at last, it would depart with her.

After some time as a ghost, Lanyi found it wasn’t so bad. The only catch was she couldn’t stray far from the Yang family. When they were in the capital, so was she. When they returned to their hometown, she followed. When they came back to the capital, she trailed behind… Seven or eight years passed this way. Yang Wenxu rose meteorically from an ordinary Hanlin scholar to an Academician of the Grand Secretariat Participating in Confidential Matters, while preparing to remarry—this time to the youngest daughter of the Minister of Revenue. His career and marital prospects flourished, making him the envy of the capital.

Lanyi—how she hated it!

For the first time, she realized the depth of her hatred.

The more Yang Wenxu prospered, the deeper her hatred grew!

Many questions she had not dared to ponder deeply while alive—something always stopped her from facing them. As a wife, she was the Kun, the Yin; she was supposed to be virtuous and compliant. She could only blame Consort Jiang, and this deeply ingrained belief had blinded her for so long, leaving her a confused ghost even after death. Only now did she realize who she truly hated.

The Yang family no longer lived in that cramped little courtyard. The new emperor had bestowed upon them a grand three-sectioned mansion with a garden, now brightly decorated and filled with guests. The newly purchased servants and maids all wore joyful smiles.

Whether guests or servants, all they talked about was the newly wedded bride. No one mentioned the former wife who had once been there.

The words of the mourning female guests from back then had come true—Lu Lanyi had indeed been forgotten, completely and utterly.

Through the candlelit window lattice, Lanyi’s eyes dripped blood. Only then did she understand—she truly was a vengeful spirit, lingering in the mortal world with grievances unspoken and vengeance unfulfilled.

Her heart brimmed with hatred, aged like vintage wine. Lanyi raised her hand, curling her fingers into claws, and reached toward the tall, familiar figure inside the window—

“Madam, Madam, wake up! Are you having a nightmare?”

Someone gently shook her with concern, persistently calling her name. Lu Lanyi’s heart trembled as if she had fallen from a great height, jolting awake suddenly.

“Madam, you’re finally awake!” A round-faced maid peeked through the gauze bed curtains, her face alight with relief. “You’ve always slept lightly, but today you wouldn’t wake no matter what, and your hand kept trembling. You gave me such a fright.”

Lanyi stared blankly at the maid. She recognized her—this was Cui Cui, her dowry maid. After Lanyi’s death, Cui Cui, unable to bear the injustice, had confronted Yang Wenxu in a heated argument. Enraged, Yang Wenxu had driven her away. Unable to stray far from the Yang family, Lanyi had never learned what became of Cui Cui or where she went.

Then, following Cui Cui’s words, she turned her head on the pillow and glanced at her right hand lying outside the quilt—pale, weak, and curled limply.

Lanyi flexed her fingers.

She could feel the exhaustion from exertion. It wasn’t trembling—she had thought—

She should have been clutching Yang Wenxu’s heart in that hand.

She looked again carefully. Indeed, it was empty.

What a pity.

She hadn’t made it in time.

“Madam, sit up and rinse your mouth, then take your medicine.” Cui Cui moved efficiently, tucking a pillow behind her back and helping her sit up slightly. She brought warm water and green salt, deftly assisting Lanyi through a simple wash before presenting a bowl of medicine. Scooping a full spoonful, she fed it to her.

The strange yet familiar bitterness of herbs slowly sharpened Lanyi’s awareness:

How odd. She was a vengeful ghost who didn’t even need to drink water—why was she taking medicine now?

…

By the time she had finished two doses, Lanyi accepted the reality—she had been reborn, returned to the day before her death.

Cui Cui was overjoyed, bustling around the room while chattering, “Madam, you seem much better today! You managed to take your medicine—you must be recovering well.”

Having been a ghost for so long, Lanyi’s memories of her final days were hazy. She vaguely recalled losing consciousness in her last days, her throat unable to swallow, medicine spilling out as soon as it was fed to her. Cui Cui had wept desperately then.

But whether it truly happened that way, she couldn’t quite remember.

In contrast, everything she had witnessed and learned after death remained vivid in her mind—not a single detail forgotten.

“Cui Cui,” she called weakly.

Cui Cui heard and hurried over: “Did you call for me, madam?”

“Go wait by the gate. If anyone comes from my hometown, bring them to see me immediately,” Lu Lanyi instructed in a faint voice, her gaze steady.

Cui Cui hesitated: “But madam, you’re so ill. I should stay with you. Besides, we haven’t heard of anyone coming from your hometown—”

“I’m about to die,” Lanyi interrupted. “I want to see someone from home. Go wait there.”

“…” Tears welled up instantly in Cui Cui’s eyes. To her, Lu Lanyi had been unable to take medicine for the past two days and had only shown slight improvement today. The gravely ill often had sudden whims and made unreasonable requests—indulging them might help their condition.

She stopped arguing and went out to summon a young maid to keep watch, wiped her hands hastily, and rushed off.

Lu Lanyi lay quietly.

Those few words had drained her remaining strength.

Her gaze grew unfocused again, her limbs so heavy they barely responded—yet this brought an odd lightness, as if her soul had floated free once more to look down upon her dying self.

What a useless person I am.

She would probably die again soon.

Lanyi didn’t know why she’d been granted this brief reprieve, but it pleased her that she could finally do something she’d long desired yet suppressed—something she’d even considered sinful to contemplate.

Dusk approached. The setting sun of spring cast faint golden light through the window, warm and gentle, but Lanyi paid no attention. She only thought: There’s still time before dark.

Noise came from outside—it didn’t sound like Cui Cui returning, so Lanyi ignored it. The young maid glanced at her uncertainly before going out, then returned to announce: “Madam, Consort Jiang has brought the eldest young master, the eldest young miss, and the second young master to pay their respects.”

But Lanyi had already recognized the approaching commotion—three children together could never stay quiet.

After a brief pause, mustering what little strength she’d regained, Lanyi said: “Let them in.” More witnesses would be useful.

The maid looked surprised—Lu Lanyi had refused visitors for nearly three months. Consort Jiang came daily but could only stand briefly outside the main chamber to show her regard before leaving.

The servants could bar her from entering, but not from waiting outside.

The maid went out again and soon ushered in Consort Jiang’s party.

Walking at the center, Consort Jiang wore a moon-white jacket with pearl-and-gold hairpins at her temples, her posture graceful and assured. She held a boy of about six or seven by her left hand and a girl of four or five by her right, followed by a plainly dressed wet nurse carrying a nearly one-year-old infant.

In the past, such a sight would have choked Lanyi—as if a hand had seized her heart, leaving her breathless with no hope of rescue.

And when Yang Wen Xu returned home, this complete family would appear together—the more harmonious and affectionate they seemed, the more superfluous Lu Lanyi became as the silent official wife.

So superfluous that death was her only option.

Fortunately, she had finally died.

Lu Lanyi let out a sigh. When she was alive, she always felt an invisible rope tightening around her neck. Now that she was dead, the rope had vanished, and she could finally “breathe” again.

“Madam.”

Consort Jiang, with a concerned smile, took the youngest child from the wet nurse’s arms and bowed together with the baby to Lu Lanyi.

Lu Lanyi said, “Sit down.”

She was calm. Once, she had harbored many complex emotions toward Consort Jiang—resentment, reproach, jealousy, even hatred. Consort Jiang had vexed her, and she had made Consort Jiang toe the line. Their overt and covert battles had continued until the spring of the third year, when Consort Jiang became pregnant with Yang Wen Xu’s second child. Overnight, Lu Lanyi felt utterly exhausted, losing all will to fight.

She realized she would never win—and she no longer wanted to.

Day by day, she grew quieter, more weary of everything before her.

But back then, she hadn’t realized that she wasn’t the only one who would lose.

Consort Jiang sat down. The baby in her arms let out faint whimpers, and she hurriedly soothed him, “Rui Ge’er, don’t cry, don’t cry. Your auntie is here.”

The baby quieted slightly but remained fussy, so Consort Jiang continued to murmur softly to him. A young maid in the room grew anxious. At just twelve, she didn’t fully grasp the dynamics between her superiors, but she knew it wasn’t good for Lu Lanyi’s recovery to have Consort Jiang doing this here. Glancing at Lu Lanyi’s expression, she stepped forward to speak.

Lu Lanyi shook her head at her.

The maid hesitated, then retreated.

From Lu Lanyi’s vantage point, she could see Rui Ge’er’s chubby little hand wriggling free from the swaddle—plump and fair, well cared for.

Lu Lanyi watched silently.

Consort Jiang believed that bearing Yang Wen Xu three children had secured her position. With Yang Wen Xu delaying remarriage for years, she’d had ample time to weave her schemes within the Yang household. Yet all of it had come to nothing.

In the future Lu Lanyi had witnessed, once Yang Wen Xu’s marriage to the noble daughter of the Minister’s household was settled, Consort Jiang—along with her eldest son, eldest daughter, and youngest child—were all sent back to their hometown. None would share in Yang Wen Xu’s true glory.

On a misty dawn, a carriage carried away Consort Jiang’s bitter, tearful laughter, along with all her carefully laid plans.

“Madam…” Consort Jiang grew uneasy under Lu Lanyi’s gaze, sensing something strange and unsettling in it that she dared not dwell on. She couldn’t help but speak up.

“Madam!” Hasty footsteps and Cui Cui’s barely contained exclamation interrupted Consort Jiang. “Someone from the old home really has come! Steward Yang is here to report the mourning!”

As she spoke, Cui Cui lifted the inner curtain. A travel-worn middle-aged man fell to his knees outside with a thud, prostrating himself in grief as he wailed, “The master ordered me to rush to the capital overnight to inform the young master and madam—Madam Yang has passed from serious illness! Please return at once! The funeral arrangements await the young master’s instructions!”

Consort Jiang abruptly stood, her composure shattered.

Lu Lanyi slowly closed her eyes.

At last, it had come.

How wonderful.

In her past life, news of her mother-in-law Madam Yang’s death had arrived at this time too. But back then, she had been gravely ill, unaware of anything. Yang Wen Xu, returning from his office, had hidden Steward Yang, withholding the news of his mother’s death until after her own funeral—concealing it for nearly ten days.

These ten days were crucial. It was during this time that Yang Wen Xu received the imperial decree promoting him to Left Vice Director of the Left Spring Workshop of the Court of the Imperial Stud. Although he only attended duty for one day due to his mourning leave for his mother’s passing, this marked an important first step in his official career, laying the foundation for his future meteoric rise.

“Madam? Did it startle you?”

Lan Yi kept her eyes closed without speaking for a long time. Cui Cui approached worriedly: “Madam, please don’t be upset. You’re still ill and shouldn’t worry about such matters. When the master returns, let him handle it.”

Lan Yi nodded slightly, then turned her head inward, hiding the corners of her lips against the pillow.

She smiled secretly.

How truly delightful.

Author’s Note:

Hello everyone, I’m here.

Let me say something embarrassing upfront—I failed to complete the full manuscript beforehand. I couldn’t continue after reaching nearly 100,000 words. Without the pressure of publishing, I simply couldn’t make progress. Sigh, feel free to criticize me.

Another important reminder: this story has a slightly different setting from my previous works. Both the male and female leads have been married before—a natural life experience. However, some readers might mind this, so please take note and avoid if it bothers you. We’ll meet again in my next work!

Rubbing my hands nervously, I have so much to say but don’t know where to start. Although I have some drafts, this is still an impulsive launch. According to my original plan, I should have waited until next February. But pushing it that far might not have changed anything—I’d probably still have the same amount of drafts. Moreover, not publishing anything made me feel like I was losing focus in life. I thought I wanted to relax, but I couldn’t truly unwind, always feeling like there was something unfinished. I wandered around all day today, torn and hesitant, but finally thought—enough, let’s just start!