The first thing Bai Lian noticed when she opened her eyes was the emptiness beside her.
The bridal chamber was still dressed in red—the candles burned down to stubs, the embroidered phoenix quilt still pulled neatly over her. But the man who had sat across from her last night, cool as ice, was nowhere in sight.
Lu Zhan had left without a trace.
She pushed herself up slowly, fingers brushing the empty pillow. In her past life, this moment had been so different. She had woken up flushed and glowing, clinging to the fantasy that she was loved. The illusion had lasted until reality had gutted her.
Now, there was no illusion left to cling to.
"Madam," a servant's voice came softly through the door. Hesitant. Not respectful, not dismissive—just uncertain. "The family is gathered for breakfast."
Madam. The word made her lips twitch. How quickly titles changed with a single marriage contract.
Bai Lian rose and crossed to the polished bronze mirror. A pale face looked back at her, framed by loose hair that had slipped from its pins. Her eyes, though, were sharper than she remembered.
She touched her reflection lightly. "This time," she murmured, "I won't be the fool."
Straightening her back, she let the servants dress her in proper silks, her movements calm, deliberate. When she stepped out of the bridal chamber, her pulse quickened—not with nerves, but with anticipation.
The family hall awaited. And with it, the people who had once watched her downfall with amusement.
This time, she intended to watch theirs.
The Lu family's main hall was already lively when Bai Lian arrived.
Porcelain clinked softly against the long rosewood table; the air was rich with the smell of rice porridge, steamed buns, and tea. But under the hum of servants moving about, the real noise was whispers.
"They say she picked the cold one."
"Why? Lu Hao would've been the better match."
"Maybe she panicked—"
"Shh, she's here!"
The chatter died the moment she stepped across the threshold.
Bai Lian's gaze swept the room once. The elders sat at the head, expressions carefully neutral. The younger cousins peeked at her over their bowls with wide, curious eyes.
And then there was Lu Hao.
He sat upright, robes immaculate, his face carved into that same handsome confidence. But his eyes—dark, sharp, and burning—locked onto her the moment she entered. The fury in them was so raw it almost startled her. Almost.
Her lips curved faintly. In her last life, that glare had made her heart stutter. She had shrunk under it, afraid of disappointing him, desperate to please.
Not this time.
Bai Lian lowered herself into a graceful bow to the elders. "Father-in-law. Mother-in-law." Her voice was smooth, respectful, without a hint of weakness.
The matriarch's fan fluttered open, hiding her mouth. "Sit."
When Bai Lian lifted her head, her eyes drifted to the empty place near Lu Zhan. Without hesitation, she walked across the hall and settled herself at his side.
The whispers started again immediately—muffled, scandalized.
Even though the man himself wasn't there, choosing that seat was no small statement.
Bai Lian smoothed her sleeves and lifted her chopsticks calmly, as though she hadn't just set the entire table buzzing. Then, finally, she looked up—straight into Lu Hao's livid gaze.
This time, she didn't look away.
Chopsticks moved. Bowls clinked. Yet the air was taut, stretched thin across the table.
Bai Lian ate quietly, every gesture precise. She didn't force conversation. She didn't need to. The longer she sat beside Lu Zhan's empty seat, the more restless the hall became.
Finally, Lu Hao broke.
His voice was smooth, almost lazy, but the sharpness beneath it was unmistakable.
"Cousin, you certainly have a talent for… surprising people. One might think you picked your husband by tossing dice."
Laughter rippled faintly from a few younger cousins.
Bai Lian set her chopsticks down carefully. Her eyes lifted to meet his, calm as still water.
"Dice? That would be too reckless," she said softly, a ghost of a smile tugging her lips. "No, I chose carefully. After all… one should avoid men who look reliable on the surface, yet spend their nights whispering another woman's name."
The table froze.
Even the elders glanced up sharply.
Lu Hao's face darkened, the confident mask cracking for an instant. His knuckles whitened around his porcelain spoon.
"You—" he started, voice low with fury.
But Bai Lian had already turned away, lifting her teacup as if his anger didn't exist. The delicate porcelain clinked lightly against the saucer, a sound somehow louder than his silence.
Her calm dismissal burned more than any open insult could.
Across the table, the matriarch's fan stilled mid-wave. A few younger cousins exchanged wide-eyed glances.
For the first time in years, Lu Hao had been left speechless.
The rest of breakfast passed in uneasy silence.
Lu Hao didn't speak again. The elders maintained their serene masks, but the air felt heavy, weighted with the shock of Bai Lian's words.
When the last bowl was cleared away, she rose, bowing politely. "Thank you, Father-in-law. Mother-in-law." Her tone carried no tremor, only quiet composure.
She left the hall with measured steps, her silk hem whispering against the polished floor.
Once outside, the hum of gossip rose behind her like a tide.
Two maids lingered near the veranda, their voices hushed but not hushed enough.
"Did you see her? Acting like she belongs beside Second Master."
"Hmph, poor thing. She thinks she's clever, but she's only clinging to a man who barely looks at anyone. Cold as ice, that one. She'll regret it soon enough."
Their laughter was soft, biting.
Bai Lian slowed, pausing just out of sight. The words should have stung. In her past life, they would have cut her to the bone.
Now, they only made her lips curve in the faintest smile.
Regret?
No. The only regret left in this house would belong to others.
She stepped away before the servants noticed her, her silk shoes whispering across the stone path.
Already, threads of memory stirred—faces, betrayals, secrets whispered in the dark. She remembered Lu Hao's schemes, the debts he had hidden, the mistress he had smuggled into the city while she had played the dutiful wife.
And she remembered one particular secret. A detail so small, yet sharp enough to slice open the first tear in his perfect mask.
Her fingers brushed the edge of her sleeve, and her eyes glinted.
Yes. That would do nicely for a beginning.