At twenty-five, Dr. An Ru was already a name whispered with reverence in cutting-edge medical research circles. A gifted prodigy with an almost intuitive grasp of complex biological systems, she'd dedicated her young life to the relentless pursuit of breakthroughs, particularly in xenobiotics. Orphaned young after both her parents succumbed to a rare, aggressive illness, she found more solace and purpose within the sterile confines of the lab than anywhere else, driven by a quiet, fierce desire to conquer the diseases that stole loved ones. The acrid tang of formaldehyde and ozone was the familiar perfume of her state-of-the-art lab, a scent she'd grown accustomed to, a comfort in her tireless work.
"Still here, An Ru?" Dr. Chen, a senior researcher, poked his head into her workstation, a half-smile on his face. "Going to pull another all-nighter with your specimens?"
An Ru glanced up, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Just one more calibration, Dr. Chen. This antique toxin sample from the archaeological site… it's fascinating. The molecular structure is unlike anything I've ever seen, a true relic of forgotten ancient knowledge. This is amazing! This is like stuff from my ancient Chinese history books and traditional Chinese medicine all in one vial!"
"Right, right. Don't work yourself to death, kiddo. We'll see you bright and early," he chuckled, waving off before disappearing down the hallway with the last of the team.
Left alone, An Ru returned her focus to the shimmering vial. It was an ancient mystery demanding her modern expertise. She meticulously prepared her instruments. With a steady hand, she tried to add a single, precise drop of the potent toxin to the specialized solvent in the spectrometer. But something went horribly wrong. A sudden, violent explosion erupted from the apparatus, sending a searing flash of light and heat through the lab. An Ru was thrown backward with immense force, her head slamming against the heavy lab table behind her with a sickening thud. She felt a dull pain at the back of her head, the world spun, fractured, then plunged into absolute darkness.
She didn't die. Not exactly.
Her first conscious sensation was a dull ache, not in her familiar, athletic build, but in limbs that felt shockingly frail, almost like twigs beneath her skin. A profound, alien weakness sagged through every muscle. The scent wasn't sterile chemicals, but a cloying mix of musty herbs, stale incense, and something faintly metallic, like old, dried blood. A rough, coarse fabric scratched against her skin. Her eyelids felt heavy, glued shut, but a sliver of weak, yellowish light pierced through, revealing the blurry, ornate carvings of a wooden ceiling. This was definitely not the pristine white of her lab.
Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at her throat. A searing headache pounded behind her eyes, making every thought a struggle. She tried to move, but her muscles protested with a weak tremor, as if they hadn't been used in weeks. Her tongue felt swollen, a dry, foreign object in a parched mouth. A reedy whimper, thin and embarrassingly weak, escaped her lips. My voice? What's wrong with my voice? What happened? This has to be a dream. Or a hallucination from the concussion. Or am I dead? The disorientation was profound, disorienting her mind beyond anything she had ever experienced.
Suddenly, a harsh, nasal voice cut through the hazy silence. "The useless creature finally stirred? Thought she'd stay comatose forever."
The words, though in an archaic dialect, were chillingly clear. An Ru instinctively recoiled, trying to push herself up, but only managed a feeble twitch. A sharp, impatient prod jabbed her arm.
"Still so weak? What a waste of good medicine. Lady Mei won't be pleased." This second voice, younger and laced with a sneering condescension, was just as unsettling.
An Ru forced her eyes wider, squinting against the dim light filtering through the window lattice. Figures began to coalesce: two women stood over her. The younger one of the two, slender and her chin held impossibly high, was clad in fine, embroidered silks of a vibrant peach, her long, dark hair smoothly drawn back into a simple, elegant coil adorned with delicate jade pins. She looked down with open disdain. The other, round-faced, was dressed in a plainer, dark blue tunic of a servant, yet still sported a cruel smirk. Beyond them, a heavily made-up woman in her mid thirties, draped in fine silks, emerged from the shadows. Her painted smile seemed artificially sweet, but her eyes held a chilling, predatory gleam.
"Oh, look, my dear An Lin," the silken voice purred, dripping with mock concern, "the legitimate daughter lives! Perhaps the gods truly do favor fools."
The name "An Lin" sent a jolt through An Ru, as if a switch had been flipped. It wasn't just a random word; it was a key. A torrent of fragmented, foreign memories began to deluge her mind, sharp and vivid, yet utterly alien. She saw fleeting images: a grand estate, endless cold tea, sharp words, and the constant, suffocating presence of that seemingly sweet woman who was now mocking her. This is too real for a dream. And these memories... they aren't mine. She was looking at faces she vaguely knew, yet had never met. The words "legitimate daughter", "An Lin", "Lady Mei," and even her own name, "An Ru," resonated with a horrific, dawning certainty..
As the memories continued to flood her mind, a deeper, more profound pain surfaced. It wasn't just about neglect and mockery. There was a specific, searing humiliation, a formal rejection that had been publicly and maliciously orchestrated. She saw a fleeting image of herself, dressed in fine clothes but with a hollow gaze, while others whispered and pointed. The memory of a broken promise, and the cruel, triumphant smiles of both Lady Mei and An Lin during that painful moment, left her new heart aching with a sorrow that wasn't entirely her own. This wasn't her body. This wasn't her life. She closed her eyes tight, clutching on the thin blanket, and willed her soul to fly back across the chasm of time and space, to the body she had left behind. She focused on the familiar scent of her lab, the feel of the microscope knob turning under her fingers, the hum of her state-of-the-art apparatus. She held her breath, waiting for a gush or a shift or anything that resembles a pull of reality. But nothing happened. She tried again, and again, and again. But it always end with the stale air of this room making its way into her nostrils. This was a nightmare. A terrifying, ancient nightmare. And she was trapped.
A jolt of raw anger, hot and unfamiliar, surged through An Ru. She was a doctor, a scientist, accustomed to logic and control, not to being a helpless invalid in some historical drama. She tried again to push herself up, her limbs trembling, every muscle screaming in protest. This body felt as weak as a newborn kitten, a stark contrast to her own, well-trained physique. The effort was futile; she collapsed back onto the rough bedding, a wave of dizziness washing over her.
"Still trying to play dead?" The sneering voice, belonging to the maid in the dark blue tunic, pierced her daze. The maid stepped closer, her shadow falling over An Ru's face. "Don't think just because you woke up, things will change. You're still the Young Miss who can't even hold a teacup without trembling."
An Lin, the slender girl in peach silks, chuckled, a cold, sharp sound. "Indeed, Sister. Father may be back soon, but he won't be impressed by a sickly, half-witted daughter. You should know your place." Her eyes, narrowed and calculating, swept over An Ru's frail form. "Best to stay quiet and not make trouble, lest you find yourself back in a coma."
The thinly veiled threat sent a chill down An Ru's spine, but it also ignited a spark of defiance. A coma? They did this? The fragmented memories began to coalesce, sharper now. Neglect. Malnutrition. A constant stream of "medicine" that only seemed to make the original An Ru weaker. She saw blurry images of Lady Mei's overly solicitous smile, always offering another bland bowl of herbs. So, not just neglect. Active sabotage.
She slowly, deliberately, turned her head away from them, feigning weakness, but her mind was racing. She needed information. She needed to assess her physical state. She needed to understand where—and when—she was. Her medical mind, despite the headache and confusion, clicked into analytical mode.
Pulse: Weak and thready. Respiration: Shallow. Skin: Pallid, with faint bruising on the wrists and ankles. Signs of chronic malnutrition and… a lingering sedative, perhaps? Her fingers, though clumsy and unfamiliar, instinctively tried to palpate the radial artery, assessing its rhythm. The body was frail, yes, but not entirely broken. There was a faint pulse of resilience, a stubborn spark that the original An Ru must have possessed to cling to life this long.
The other women, apparently satisfied with her defeated posture, soon left the room, their murmurs fading down the hall. The door clicked shut, plunging the room into a quieter, though still oppressive, solitude.
An Ru lay there, eyes closed, allowing the bits and pieces of the original An Ru's memories to fully wash over her. It was like downloading a massive, corrupted file – painful, disorienting, but utterly necessary. She saw a lifetime of gentle neglect turned to calculated malice, of a mother's passing that seemed too convenient, of a stolen dowry, a usurped status, and a forced engagement that was twisted into a humiliation. She saw the faces, the names, the hierarchies, the unspoken rules of this ancient world.
When she finally opened her eyes again, the headache remained, but her gaze was clear, no longer clouded by confusion. The helpless, timid girl was gone. In her place lay a woman with the sharp mind of a modern doctor, now armed with the bitter knowledge of this poor 14-year-old girl's life.
A wave of profound grief, sharp and unexpected, suddenly washed over An Ru. Her lab, her research, the life she had meticulously built – all gone. She was thousands of years from her time, separated by an impossible gulf. Her own body, the one she had trained and lived in for twenty-five years, was surely cold and lifeless on a lab floor. There was no going back. The scientific part of her mind, ever logical, brutally confirmed the truth: this was irreversible. She was trapped.
But with that crushing realization came a different kind of clarity. If her old life was over, then this new one, however unwanted, was all she had. And she wouldn't squander it. She wouldn't be the sickly, bullied victim. She would make this body, this name, her own.
Lady Mei. An Lin. You thought you could destroy her? You picked the wrong victim this time. A dangerous glint entered An Ru's eyes. You just resurrected a phoenix.