The faint beeping of the heart monitor echoed through the quiet hospital room. The sterile scent of disinfectant hung in the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of flowers left on the side table. Morning sunlight filtered through half-drawn curtains, falling on the pale face of the young woman who lay on the bed.
Li Xinyue had not moved in six months. Her long black hair spread across the pillow like silk threads, her skin pale from the endless slumber. To the outside world, she was little more than a fragile doll. To her family, she was the shadow of an heiress whose absence had left a void in the Li household.
At that very moment, the door creaked open. Zhao Liyun stepped in, dressed impeccably in a pale lavender cheongsam that hugged her graceful figure. She was a woman in her early forties, her beauty well preserved, her smile soft enough to melt hearts. Yet her almond-shaped eyes carried a sharpness, as though every glance weighed and measured those around her.
Behind her, a younger woman followed. Li Jiaxue—seventeen days younger than Xinyue, yet always treated as if she were the rightful daughter of the house. Her long straight hair fell neatly past her shoulders, and her face glowed with the innocence of youth. But her smile—too perfect, too polished—hid the satisfaction she took in seeing her half-sister lying helpless.
"Doctor," Zhao Liyun said in her smooth, practiced voice, "how is her condition today? Any changes?"
The middle-aged doctor adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "Her vitals are stable. It is very likely that she will wake soon. But…" His tone lowered, careful, hesitant. "You must prepare yourselves. After being in a coma for six months, there may be aftereffects. Partial memory loss is common. In fact, she may lose memories associated with… trauma."
Zhao Liyun's lips curved ever so slightly at the corners, quickly masked by a look of exaggerated worry. "Oh dear… poor child. Losing memories—what kind of life is that?"
In the corner of the room, Madam Li, the grandmother of the Li household, gripped the head of her cane tightly. Her once dark hair was now silver, her posture frail but her spirit sharp as ever. She had seen through countless masks in her life, and she knew Zhao Liyun's crocodile tears all too well.
"It may not be such a curse," Madam Li said in a low, steady voice. "If her mind forgets what pains her most, perhaps that is Heaven's mercy."
Her words silenced the room. For a moment, all that could be heard was the rhythmic beep, beep, beep of the monitor.
And then—
The fingers on the bed twitched.
Zhao Liyun gasped theatrically, clutching at her chest. "Doctor! Look! She moved!"
Li Jiaxue rushed forward, her eyes shining with excitement that wasn't entirely genuine. "Sister! Can you hear me?"
Slowly, painfully, Li Xinyue's eyelashes fluttered open. The white ceiling above her came into focus, blurry at first, then clearer. Her lips parted, dry and cracked, a hoarse sound escaping her throat.
"…Grand…mother?"
The frail word hung in the air, fragile yet piercing.
Tears welled in Madam Li's eyes as she hobbled forward, taking her granddaughter's hand into her wrinkled palms. "Child, you've come back to us."
Xinyue blinked slowly, turning her gaze to the old woman. The warmth in her grandmother's touch, the familiar scent of sandalwood that clung to her clothes—it anchored her. Somewhere deep inside her fractured memory, she knew this was home.
Zhao Liyun leaned closer, her voice dripping with honey. "Xinyue, sweetheart, it's me, your Auntie Zhao—no, your mother now. Don't you remember? I've taken care of you all this time."
Xinyue's eyes slid past her, as though she hadn't heard. She didn't have the strength to respond, but instinct told her that this woman's embrace was not one she wanted.
Beside Zhao Liyun, Li Jiaxue pouted, lowering her voice. "Sister, it's me, Jiaxue. You've been asleep for so long. I missed you."
Xinyue's gaze lingered on her stepsister for a moment. Something about the curve of Jiaxue's smile unsettled her, though she couldn't place why.
The doctor cleared his throat. "Miss Li needs rest. Her body is weak. Please, keep visits short and calm."
But the room was already thick with unspoken tension. Madam Li squeezed her granddaughter's hand tighter. "You rest, child. Don't trouble yourself with too many words yet. You will need your strength."
Xinyue closed her eyes again, exhaustion sweeping over her. Yet, even as sleep tugged at her, fragments of broken glass pricked her mind. She saw flashes of her late mother's gentle smile, of stormy arguments in the Li household, of her father's distant back. Then, darker fragments—harsh voices, mocking laughter, and the feeling of drowning in a sea of shame.
Her chest tightened. She couldn't remember it clearly, but she knew something terrible had happened.
When she drifted back to sleep, Zhao Liyun's expression shifted. The softness drained from her face, replaced by cold calculation. She turned to Jiaxue, whispering in their shared code of glances.
"This is our chance," she seemed to say without words.
Jiaxue's lips curved into a subtle, satisfied smile. Yes, if Li Xinyue had truly forgotten the past, then the game had tilted in their favor.
But Madam Li, still gripping the girl's hand, noticed the silent exchange. Her eyes narrowed. She had lived too long not to recognize a snake coiling itself around the family she had built.
She stroked her granddaughter's hand gently, whispering so only Xinyue could hear. "Your late mother, Wang Meilin, she's watching over you from the Heavens. Never forget who you are, child. The blood of the Lis runs in you. Don't let them take what's yours."
Perhaps Xinyue could not fully understand. But in the faintest corner of her heart, something stirred—an ember that had not died during the six months of slumber.
Her story was not over. It was only beginning.