A cold wind brushed past Feng Ziyan's face as she lay on the hard ground. Her fingers curled around loose soil, damp with morning dew. Breath hitched in her throat as she blinked—once, twice—eyes adjusting to the soft light of early dawn filtering through swaying bamboo leaves above her.
No pain. No blood. No flames licking at her feet. Only silence, disturbed only by the soft chirp of sparrows.
She sat up in a daze.
Her hands—small, delicate. Not the hands of a young woman who had fought through years of torment, betrayal, and death. These were the hands of a girl—thirteen years old, untouched by the horrors she had endured.
Her breath caught as she realized the truth.
"I'm… back?"
She scrambled to her feet and raced toward the nearby pond. Leaning over, she saw the reflection of her younger self—a face smooth and soft, not yet scarred by grief. Hair still black as ink, not yet streaked with white from trauma. Wide eyes that hadn't yet narrowed with suspicion and pain.
A breathless laugh escaped her. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
She had been reborn.
Back to the day of her thirteenth birthday.
Back before her father's betrayal, before her stepmother's poison, before her cousins sold her innocence and plotted her downfall. Back before she had met him—him, the only person who tried to save her, and whom she had pushed away in fear.
A rush of memories slammed into her like a storm tide—her mother's dying words, the hidden space within her soul, the scroll her mother had pressed into her hand right before death...
She gasped and pressed her hand to her heart. It was still there.
The Soulspace.
Ziyan closed her eyes and reached inward.
A pulse.
A flicker.
Then, darkness blossomed into light as she slipped into the hidden dimension nestled in the core of her being.
The Soulspace was vast, like an endless void of stars and swirling clouds. At its center stood a lone phoenix tree, glowing with scarlet and golden flame, unburning yet eternal. Its leaves shimmered like fireglass, whispering secrets in a forgotten tongue.
This had once been sealed away by her bloodline, hidden from her. Her mother had died before she could teach Ziyan its full use. But now? Now she had time.
Time to learn.
Time to avenge.
Time to destroy those who had destroyed her.
"I will not die like that again," she whispered, fire lighting in her chest.
She stepped back from the Soulspace and opened her eyes, determined.
---
Back at the Feng Manor, the servants buzzed with excitement. The eldest miss had vanished early in the morning and was found wandering the eastern garden. A physician had been called. The Madam Dowager ordered her confinement to the southern wing. Stepmother Liu feigned concern, her fake tears fooling no one—least of all Ziyan.
Ziyan sat demurely, head lowered as the physician checked her pulse.
"Her meridians are fine, though slightly unstable," he said. "But I advise rest and quiet. Perhaps she fell and hit her head."
"Yes, yes," Liu Rong said, her sharp eyes flicking toward Ziyan. "Such a silly girl, always running about."
Ziyan met her gaze.
Cold. Calm. Knowing.
The smile on Liu Rong's face wavered for a split second.
Ziyan said nothing. Not yet.
That night, she feigned sleep. When the maid slipped in with a porcelain cup of "soothing tea," she accepted it with a smile, then poured it into the pot of orchid in the corner. The orchid wilted before morning.
Poison. Just like last time.
"You started early," Ziyan murmured.
But she would be ready.
She had time. This time, she would not let her enemies strike first.
---
Three days passed. Ziyan practiced in secret—gathering spiritual energy, stabilizing her inner meridians, and meditating within the Soulspace. She began unlocking the inheritance left behind by her mother: ancient arts tied to fire and rebirth, the Phoenix Flame Technique. It awakened something sleeping within her, something wild and powerful.
Her flames responded to her emotions now—uncontrolled, yes, but promising.
But there was something else, too.
A shadow. A presence she sensed every time she entered her Soulspace.
It was faint, but it watched.
And once—just once—she heard a voice.
"You've returned… Ziyan."
Her heart had stopped.
Male. Gentle, deep. Familiar.
She didn't know the voice, but her soul did.
Who are you?
The voice had not returned since.
---
A week later, Ziyan's life changed again.
She had been summoned to the training grounds of the Feng family. It was time for the annual family test—where the heirs of each branch demonstrated their talents before the elders.
Last time, she had been mocked, belittled, sabotaged.
But not this time.
This time, she stood in the center of the arena in blood-red robes. Her cousins sneered from the sidelines.
"Poor Ziyan, trying again?"
"She's just ornamental. No talent. Can't even summon a spirit beast."
They laughed.
Then Ziyan raised her hand.
And fire exploded around her, phoenix-shaped and searing.
Gasps echoed through the arena. Even the elders stood in shock.
Liu Rong dropped her teacup. "Impossible!"
Feng Ziyan smiled coolly, flame curling around her fingertips like a crown.
"You were right," she said softly. "I'm not the same girl as before."