Outside, in the courtyard, the birds that had been chirping suddenly dropped dead from the sky, their hearts stopping from sheer instinctual terror.
The wind itself seemed to freeze, afraid to blow across the roof tiles.
For a hundred meters around the West Courtyard, the world went deathly silent. Every servant, guard, and animal felt a sudden, crushing weight on their chests, an instinctual urge to kneel and press their foreheads to the dirt.
"Too heavy," Youran croaked, her voice sounding strange and high-pitched to her own ears.
She reigned it in instantly. She pulled the jagged, oceanic vastness of her soul inward, compressing it, hiding it deep within the shell of the eighteen-year-old girl.
The pressure vanished, leaving only a lingering sense of cold dread in the air.
The door to her room creaked open.
A small figure rushed in, carrying a copper basin of water. It was a young maid, perhaps sixteen, with round cheeks and eyes red from crying.
She wore the rough green robes of a low-ranked servant.
"Young Master! Young Master, you're awake!"
The maid nearly dropped the basin, water sloshing over the sides onto the wooden floor. She rushed to the bedside, her face a mixture of relief and panic.
Lu Youran turned her head slowly. The movement was stiff, mechanical. She looked at the girl.
Bing.
A name from the distant past floated to the surface. Bing. Her personal maid. The only person in the entire Lu Manor who hadn't sneered at her, hadn't poisoned her, and hadn't abandoned her.
In her first life, Bing had died shielding Youran from an assassin's arrow. It was a small death in a grand tragedy, but it was one Youran had never forgotten.
Strangely, Bing didn't seem to feel the terror that had just silenced the rest of the manor. To the maid, the terrifying pressure Youran had released was nothing more than a draft of cold air.
Youran's soul instinctively recognized Bing as "protected," wrapping her in a bubble of safety without Youran even consciously willing it.
"Young Master," Bing sobbed, reaching out to touch Youran's forehead with a trembling hand. "You... you had a high fever for three days. The physician said... he said you might not wake up. The First Madam didn't even send more medicine. I was so scared!"
Youran stared at the hand on her forehead. In the last thousand years, anyone who touched her without permission usually lost the limb.
But this hand was warm, rough. Calloused from scrubbing floors.
"Bing," Youran said. Her tone was flat, lacking the emotional tremors the maid expected. It was the voice of a general addressing a lieutenant.
Bing sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "Yes, Young Master?"
"What is the date?"
"The date?" Bing blinked, confused. "It is the 8th day of the 4th month. The Year of the Azure Snake."
Youran closed her eyes for a second, performing a mental calculation that would have fried a supercomputer.
Eighteen years old. Two months before the Grand Academy Entrance Exam. Four months before the Lu Family strips me of my inheritance. Six months before my death.
She was back at the precipice.
She opened her eyes again. The confusion and fear that had plagued her youth were gone. In their place was a glacial clarity.
Her dark pupils seemed to absorb the light in the room, sharp and intimidating. When she looked at Bing, the maid instinctively straightened her back, the sobbing stopping instantly.
It wasn't fear, it was the biological reaction to being in the presence of an Alpha.
"Help me up," Youran commanded.
"But... but your health! You are weak!"
"Up."
The single word held absolute authority. Bing moved before she could think, sliding her arm under Youran's shoulders and hoisting her up.
Youran's body felt light, malnourished. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet touching the cold floor.
She felt like she was piloting a meat-puppet made of jelly. Disgusting, she thought. I need to refine this body. At least to the point where I can walk to the kitchen without panting.
"Mirror," Youran said.
Bing scurried to fetch a bronze mirror, holding it up.
Youran looked at her reflection.
The face was pale, almost translucent. Delicate features, a small nose, and lips that had lost their color. But the eyes... the eyes ruined the image of the "sickly girl." They were cold, indifferent, and mocked the world.
And then there was the attire. Or rather, the lack of it. She was in her inner robes.
"Bing," Youran said, touching her chest. "Bind it."
Bing froze. "Young Master? But... you are still recovering. The binding cloth makes it hard to breathe..."
"I said, bind it." Youran stood up, her legs wobbling only slightly. She spread her arms. "And bring me the azure robes. The ones with the high collar."
"Yes, Young Master."
Lu Youran had spent her first life disguised as a boy. Her mother, the legitimate wife, had died in childbirth, and to protect her daughter from the vicious power struggles of a patriarchal clan that discarded useless daughters, her wet nurse and Bing had raised her as the "Young Master." It was a secret known only to a few.
In her first life, this disguise was a source of constant anxiety. She lived in fear of being discovered.
Now? Youran saw it for what it was: Convenience.
Men in this world had more freedom then woman. They could travel. They could enter the Academy.
They weren't expected to embroider or marry some fat merchant to secure a trade route. Even though ladies occasionally did those things, there were still limits to how much or what they can do.
Being a "Young Master" meant she could wear pants, which was infinitely superior for lounging in hammocks.
Bing worked quickly, her hands skilled from years of practice. She wrapped the white cloth tightly around Youran's chest, flattening the developing curves.
Then came the inner layers, and finally, the azure silk outer robe.