Chapter 5

Late into the night, the lanterns in the Zhou residence dimmed one by one. Only a few dying candles remained, casting their flickering light onto the flagstones, where scattered red flower petals lay.
They were decorations prepared yesterday for the wedding with the Cheng family. Now they littered the ground, caught by the breeze, fluttering like blood-stained snow.

Ran Nannan lay quietly in bed, eyes closed, her face pale to the point of translucence.
Her hair fanned across the white pillow, with a few strands still clinging to the trace of tears. At the corners of her lips was a faint, almost imperceptible smile, as if she were dreaming of something that finally brought her peace.

The old nurse knelt at the bedside, tightly clutching her already cold hand. Her shoulders trembled with silent sobs.
No one dared cry out loud. The maids kept their heads bowed, wiping away tears, afraid of disturbing something—or someone.

Outside, the wind suddenly picked up, rustling through the small bamboo grove in the courtyard with a whispering sound.
It was like someone sighing gently… or calling out to her from far, far away.

Ran Nannan lay still. The faint smile at her lips gradually faded. Her body lost all warmth, like a flower drenched by the night dew—no longer needing to bloom for anyone.

The Zhou family quickly began arranging the funeral. When the etiquette matron from the Cheng family heard the news, she turned livid, took back their gifts, and left without a word of sympathy.

Master Zhou paced the courtyard, hands behind his back, face clouded with conflicting emotions.
He knew all too well what losing this marriage alliance meant for the Zhou family. But looking into the room at his daughter’s cold body, an ache stirred in his chest.

The old nurse still sat at Ran Nannan’s bedside, slowly tidying her hair. Her touch was light and careful, like tending to a sleeping child.

“Second Miss…” the old woman choked out, voice barely audible, as if afraid to disturb the silence.
“In the next life… don’t be so beautiful, alright? And don’t meet the Zhou family again… I beg you…”

But Ran Nannan could no longer hear.

A gust of wind swept through the window lattice. The tiny oil lamp in the room gave a sharp sputter, the flame jumped—then went out.

Only darkness and chill remained, creeping over everything like a boundless tide, silently swallowing her whole.

—

Ran Nannan felt herself walking down an endlessly long corridor.
Cold flagstones underfoot. Red lanterns hung on either side, one after another, their bright glow oddly tinged with a ghostly chill.

She walked forward. Her steps were light.
At the end of the corridor stood a youth in a green robe, his features like moonlit breeze, his gaze full of sorrow. As she approached, he reached out and gently wiped away the tears on her face.

“If there’s a next life, don’t let it be like this,” he said softly. His voice was like a flower petal falling on water.

Ran Nannan opened her mouth to speak—

—but suddenly, her chest felt as if something had been released.
The next moment, her body plunged downward, light as air.

All the lanterns, moonlight, and flagstone path rushed away from her, vanishing into a heavy, impenetrable darkness.

—

Suddenly, something warm tapped her.

“Nannan? Ran Nannan!”

She jolted awake, breathing fast, as if dragged forcefully out from underwater.
In front of her was a girl’s youthful, slightly awkward face—wide-eyed, full of confusion and fright.

Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtain, hot against her skin.
Around her were familiar desks and chairs, and on the wall hung a banner that read: “Good Luck for the Gaokao.”
A mock exam paper sat half-done in front of her, a pencil rolling across the page.

She turned, dazed, and saw boys playing basketball outside, their cheers sharp and clear. The June breeze drifted in through the mesh screen, carrying the scent of grass.

“You scared me to death!” her deskmate whispered.
“I called you forever during lunch break and you didn’t respond. You looked… like you weren’t even breathing. Did you not sleep again last night?”

Ran Nannan opened her mouth, throat dry.
After a long pause, she gave a soft “mm.”

Her deskmate pouted and pushed a water bottle toward her.

“Drink something, will you? It’s hot as hell today, and you’re still dreaming?”

Mechanically, Ran Nannan took it.
She looked down at her hand.

It was pale and delicate, fingertips slightly pink—but there were no bruises, no lash marks.
She flipped her hand over, touched her wrist. Just a bit of sweat. No scars.

She looked up and out the window. Sunlight struck her eyes, lighting a touch of amber in her pupils.

Her chest suddenly tightened.

The scenes from the dream—the red lanterns, stone corridors, incense smoke, bloodstained silk skirts…
Ten years of pain, shame, longing, and despair—like a heavy net that had just moments ago wrapped around her—
Now, it all felt violently torn away.

What remained was an aching emptiness.

“Nannan, are you really okay?” her deskmate whispered again.

Ran Nannan looked at her for a long moment. Then slowly, she smiled.

“…I’m fine.”

Her voice was soft, trembling slightly—though she didn’t notice it herself.

The bell rang. The classroom erupted into noise. Her deskmate tugged her out to fetch water.
As she stood, her whole body felt light—like a feather.
Stepping into the hallway, the sunlight slanted across her shoulders, warm and golden.

She suddenly wanted to cry. But she held it in.

Her fingers tightened slightly on the desk’s edge, and in her heart, she whispered:

“If there’s a next life, don’t let it be like this.”

And now, that next life… had really come.