Morning poured softly through the pale curtains of the Lu family's master bedroom. The air was warm, scented faintly with cedar and jasmine, yet the light felt foreign to Li Meiyun—as if she were seeing it from someone else's dream.
Her lashes fluttered. For a second she thought she was back in the darkness of that burning villa, hearing her sister's laughter and the slow, cruel rhythm of her cousin's footsteps. But when her eyes opened, the world was spotless: ivory walls, polished marble, a vase of white orchids breathing quietly in the corner.
She sat up too fast. The sheet slipped from her shoulders.
The wedding ring on her finger caught the sunlight.
Her wedding ring.
Her breath caught. That ring had been thrown at Lu Shenyang's face six years ago—right before she walked out with the papers that ended their marriage. Yet here it was, gleaming on her hand as if none of it had happened.
Her gaze snapped toward the framed portrait at the end of the bed.
Four smiling faces looked back at her: a tall man in a dark suit, herself in pale silk, and two small children—Lu Heng and Lu An'an—nestled between them.
She remembered that picture. She had ripped it from the wall and fed it to the fire the night she left. The glass had shattered under her heel. The smell of smoke and bitterness had filled the room.
Now it hung untouched.
Her hands began to shake. "No… this isn't possible."
She stumbled to the mirror. A woman of twenty-eight stared back—smooth skin, clear eyes, none of the sharp lines carved by years of resentment and exhaustion. Her throat tightened. The last time she had looked in a mirror, her face had been pale with fear, smeared with blood.
So I really died.
The thought dropped into her chest like a stone. Images exploded behind her eyes: the knife, the heat, the disbelief when she saw who was holding it.
---
Memories
It had been raining that night.
Zixian's arm was around her shoulders, guiding her through the dark corridor of the villa they had bought together. She had been trembling—not from fear but from excitement. "Once the transfer is complete," he had said softly, "everything will be ours. No more Shenyang, no more Lu family."
She had smiled through her tears, thinking she was finally free.
Then she heard another set of footsteps. Her half-sister, Li Ruo, appeared from the shadows, holding an umbrella and wearing that familiar, gentle smile.
"Meiyun, you should rest," Li Ruo had said. "You look tired."
"I'm fine," Meiyun had answered, brushing past her. "After tonight, everything will be fine."
She had gone to pour wine. When she turned back, the world tilted. Pain burst in her chest, bright and searing. She looked down and saw the knife buried between her ribs.
Her own sister's hand held it. Zixian was behind her, calm, his eyes empty.
"I—I don't understand…"
Zixian's voice was soft, almost pitying. "You were useful, Meiyun. But you never learned to shut up. The company will run better without you."
And Li Ruo had whispered near her ear, "You stole everything that should have been mine. Father's attention. His money. His name. But don't worry—your children will soon forget you."
The last thing Meiyun remembered was the sound of the rain hitting the roof and the faint metallic taste in her mouth.
---
The Present
A sharp knock pulled her back.
"Madam, breakfast is ready. The Young Master and Young Miss are waiting downstairs."
The voice belonged to Aunt Wu, the maid who had served her family since she married into the Lu household. In Meiyun's memory, Aunt Wu had left after the divorce—unable to stand the fights and coldness that filled the house.
Meiyun's pulse pounded. Her children… alive. Waiting for her.
She ran to the bedside table. The digital clock blinked: May 10, 2017.
Her knees went weak.
That date—one day before she filed for divorce.
The same day she had chosen to end everything.
She gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white. Tears welled, falling soundlessly onto the carpet.
"I'm back," she whispered. "Heaven gave me another chance."
---
The hallway outside smelled faintly of fresh paint and milk. As she descended the curved staircase, laughter and clinking dishes drifted from the dining room. Her steps slowed when she saw them: Lu Heng, sitting stiff and serious in his tiny chair, and little Lu An'an swinging her legs, humming to herself.
The moment they noticed her, both children froze.
Heng lowered his eyes to his plate. An'an's hum died in her throat.
They were afraid.
The realization struck like ice. Of course they were—she had never been gentle with them. In her previous life, every look she gave them had carried the resentment she felt toward their father. When they cried, she scolded them for being noisy. When they laughed too loudly, she told them to behave. She had been the mother who frightened her own children into silence.
Now she saw the fear she'd sown reflected in their eyes.
"Good morning," she said softly, forcing warmth into her voice.
Neither answered. An'an gripped her spoon tighter. Heng shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting toward the kitchen as if seeking escape.
Meiyun's heart ached so fiercely she thought it might split open. She wanted to kneel beside them, to beg forgiveness, to hold them until their fear melted away. But she knew sudden tenderness from her would only confuse them more.
She sat quietly, hands folded in her lap. Aunt Wu placed a cup of tea before her and retreated without a word.
Then another presence filled the doorway. Calm, tall, precise.
Lu Shenyang.
He wore his usual black suit; his tie was flawless, his gaze unreadable. He was thirty-two then—handsome in a way that seemed carved from restraint. He had always carried a quiet authority that made people instinctively lower their voices when he entered a room.
"You're awake early today," he said, tone even.
Meiyun's lips parted. Her mind spun back to their last conversation in her previous life—the shouting, the slammed door, the look of cold disappointment in his eyes when she declared she loved someone else.
Now, sitting across from him, all she could do was whisper, "I… couldn't sleep."
He nodded once. "In that case, you should eat before your lawyer calls."
Her stomach twisted. The lawyer. The divorce papers were supposed to arrive in two hours. She had once believed filing them was her liberation. She had never realized it was the beginning of her ruin.
She swallowed hard. "Shenyang… about that—"
He raised his gaze slightly. "What about it?"
"I…" Her throat closed. The words I want a divorce felt like poison. She forced herself to smile faintly. "We can talk later."
His expression didn't change. "If you wish." He finished his coffee, straightened his jacket, and turned to leave. As he passed behind her chair, the faint scent of cedar brushed her senses—the same scent that used to linger on their pillow long after he was gone.
For a heartbeat, she wanted to reach out, to tell him everything: that she had died, that she finally understood his silent love, that she wanted to start again. But her hand stayed frozen on her lap.
When the door closed, the house grew still again.
---
She wandered through the corridors afterward, touching the furniture, the walls, the details she had once ignored. Every orchid he had ordered because she mentioned liking them. The children's drawings pinned neatly on the hallway corkboard. The faint scratches on the banister where little An'an had once tripped and cried, and Shenyang had carried her upstairs.
How had she never seen any of this before?
How had she convinced herself that she was unloved, when love had been everywhere—quiet, constant, waiting for her to notice?
She stopped before the tall window overlooking the garden. Her reflection stared back, eyes wet, trembling.
In her past life, she had believed that affection must be loud to be real. She had mistaken patience for indifference, restraint for coldness, duty for distance. And in chasing the illusion of passion that Zixian offered, she had destroyed the one man who would have crossed fire for her.
A laugh, low and bitter, escaped her. "I was such a fool."
The phone on the table buzzed, shattering the quiet. The screen displayed a name that once made her heart race: Zixian.
Her breath went shallow. The snake had already begun his game.
She stared at the glowing name for a long moment before sliding her finger across the screen.
"Hello?"
"Meiyun," the smooth, familiar voice drawled. "You sound distant. Did you just wake up?"
She clenched the phone. "No. I was remembering."
"Remembering what?" he asked lightly. "That you deserve better than Shenyang?"
There it was—the same line he'd used the first time. Back then, she had believed every word, mistaking pity for love. Now she heard only venom beneath the silk.
"You're right," she said softly, lips curving into a smile he couldn't see. "I really do deserve better."
He chuckled, unaware of the storm brewing on the other end. "Then let's meet tonight. I'll drive you—"
"I can't tonight," she interrupted. "But soon, Zixian. Very soon."
Her tone was sweet, almost playful. He hesitated, sensing nothing. "All right. Call me when you're ready."
When the call ended, she set the phone down gently and stared at her reflection in the black screen.
"Soon," she whispered, "I'll make sure you pay for everything."
The scent of rain hung in the air. It was faint, sharp, and clean — the kind of scent that carried the chill of early spring. Li Meiyun's eyes fluttered open to a ceiling she thought she would never see again.
White plaster. The faint pattern of a chandelier.
And the sound — that low hum of an air conditioner she once complained about every night.
Her breath caught in her throat.
This… wasn't possible.
She sat up slowly, fingers clutching the silk sheets. Her heart pounded as her gaze swept across the familiar room — the same ivory curtains, the same cream-colored walls, the same wedding portrait of her and Gu Yichen hanging above the headboard.
It was their bedroom.
The same one she'd left behind the morning she demanded a divorce.
"No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "This can't be real…"
Her hand flew to her chest, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath her palm. It was there — her heartbeat. Real. Steady.
And yet, every memory that followed her last breath burned like acid in her mind.
Blood. Betrayal.
The face of the man she'd once thought she loved — Gu Zeyan, her husband's cousin — smiling as the knife glinted in his hand.
And beside him, her sister Li Wen, smirking through painted red lips.
"You really thought he'd love you, Meiyun? You were just a convenient fool."
The memory slammed into her like a blade, sharp and cruel. She gasped, clutching her temples. Her vision swam — flashes of crimson, of pain, of her children crying somewhere far away.
Her last words before everything went dark:
"If I could go back… I would never choose you."
And now — she was here. Back in the house she once despised. Back before everything had burned.
Her breath came out shaky, uneven. "I… I'm really alive."
The mirror across the room caught her reflection — pale skin, dark hair falling loose around her shoulders, and eyes wide with disbelief. She looked younger. Softer. Her face still untouched by bitterness and ruin.
The clock on the wall read 6:47 a.m., three years before the night she died.
The same day she had stormed into Gu Yichen's office, divorce papers in hand, ready to destroy her marriage once and for all.
A hollow laugh escaped her lips. "Heaven really has a cruel sense of humor."
She stood, her legs weak, and crossed to the window. Outside, the city was just waking — traffic beginning to stir, the sky still wrapped in dawn's gray veil. She pressed her hand to the cold glass and whispered, "I'm back…"
And with that whisper came the flood of everything she had thrown away.
---
The Past That Wouldn't Die
Li Meiyun had once been the perfect wife — elegant, gentle, and envied by everyone who knew her. Married to Gu Yichen, the aloof heir of the Gu family, she had wealth, status, and a life many dreamed of.
But happiness? That had been another matter entirely.
From the day she married him, Yichen had been distant.
He didn't shout. He didn't cheat. He simply wasn't there — his love locked behind a wall of silence and business meetings, of late nights spent at the office.
And Meiyun, foolish and hungry for affection, mistook his restraint for indifference.
That was when he appeared — Gu Zeyan, Yichen's charming cousin, all warmth and smiles. He said everything Yichen never did. He listened, praised, comforted. He made her laugh, made her feel seen.
It began innocently.
Tea after family dinners. Quiet conversations in the garden.
Then a lingering touch, a glance that lasted too long.
Until one night, the line was crossed — and her life began to unravel.
---
"Meiyun," Zeyan had whispered against her skin, his breath hot with lies, "Yichen doesn't deserve you. He only knows how to love his company. But me… I see you."
And she had believed him.
Believed him so deeply that she turned her heart cold toward her husband — the man who once carried her through storms, who stayed by her side when her health failed, who gave her everything and asked for nothing.
She pushed him away.
Every kindness from him became a target for her bitterness.
Every word he said was twisted by her resentment.
And worst of all, she ignored the small, frightened faces of her children.
Her son, Gu Tian, barely six, had learned not to speak when she was angry. Her daughter, Gu Xiaoxi, hid behind furniture whenever Meiyun raised her voice.
But she didn't see it then.
All she could see was Zeyan — sweet-tongued, false, and patient as he dug his way into her heart, and her destruction.
---
The Breaking Point
The day she asked for a divorce, it had been raining — hard.
Gu Yichen had just returned from a business trip, drenched, exhausted, and still reached to take her umbrella when she entered his office.
"Meiyun, you're here—"
"Let's divorce," she'd cut in coldly, her eyes empty.
"I've had enough."
His hand had frozen mid-air.
For a long moment, he said nothing — only stared at her, as if trying to understand when his world had started collapsing.
When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. "Is it because of Zeyan?"
Her heart had skipped a beat, but she forced herself to sneer. "Yes. He loves me more than you ever did."
He had gone silent then, pain flickering in his eyes — but he didn't beg, didn't plead.
Only nodded once and said, quietly, "If that's what you want."
She had left that office triumphant — thinking she'd won freedom.
But freedom had tasted like ash long before she realized it.
---
Now, standing in front of the same mirror years earlier, Meiyun pressed her trembling hands over her face.
She remembered it all — the divorce, her shameless affair, the scandal that broke her family.
How Gu Yichen had signed the papers without a word, only leaving the mansion quietly, giving her and the children everything.
How she'd thrown herself into Zeyan's arms — only to wake up months later to whispers, betrayal, and death.
She could still feel the knife slide beneath her ribs.
Still remember the taste of blood as her sister leaned close and said, "He never loved you, Meiyun. You were just the key to your husband's empire."
Her children's terrified cries echoed in her dying mind —
"Mommy! Mommy, please!"
Tears burned her eyes.
She had been a monster.
A fool.
A woman blinded by illusion until her entire world crumbled.
But not this time.
---
Li Meiyun wiped her tears and stood tall. The morning light washed her face, soft but unyielding.
"This time," she whispered, "I'll make it right. For Yichen. For Tian. For Xiaoxi."
Her gaze shifted to the wedding portrait again. Yichen's hand rested protectively on her shoulder in that frozen photograph, his expression calm, distant — yet now, for the first time, she saw the sadness in his eyes.
"I was blind," she murmured. "But not anymore."
She turned toward the door.
Downstairs, she could already hear the sound of breakfast being prepared — the same familiar clatter that once annoyed her.
She smiled faintly through her tears.
"Let's start over."
And for the first time since her death, Li Meiyun took a step toward redemption.