I trusted her.
That was my first mistake. And my last.
Hán MěiLíng was not my blood. Everyone in the Han manor knew it, but no one ever said it out loud. She was the adopted daughter my father, Prime Minister Hán ZhìXuān, brought home one winter when I was seven. Thin, quiet, with eyes too big for her face. She clung to my sleeve the first night and whispered, "Can I call you jiejie?"
I said yes.
For ten years, I said yes to everything.
Yes, you can borrow my hairpins. Yes, you can sit beside Father at dinner. Yes, you can cry on my shoulder when the tutors scold you.
I thought we were sisters.
The night I died, the manor was dressed for celebration. Red lanterns, sweet wine, the low hum of congratulations. My betrothal had been announced that afternoon — a good match, a secure match. Father had actually smiled at me. My brothers had teased me. It felt, for once, like I belonged.
MěiLíng had hugged me the tightest of all.
"Jiejie, I'm so happy for you," she said, her voice thick. "You deserve to be happy."
I hugged her back. "We both do."
She pulled away and looked at me, and something in her eyes flickered. I told myself it was just tears.
Later, a servant found me. "Young miss MěiLíng asks you to meet her in the east wing. She says it's important. And private."
The east wing was empty at night. The wind moved through the open balcony and made the lanterns sway. MěiLíng was standing there alone, my betrothal letter in her hands, the red seal already broken.
"MěiLíng?" I said, confused. "What are you doing with that?"
She didn't turn around at first. When she did, her face was calm. Too calm.
"Do you remember," she asked softly, "the first night I came here?"
"Of course I do."
"You gave me your blanket. Because I was cold. You said, 'Don't be scared, I'm your jiejie now.'"
I smiled, a little sad. "I meant it."
"I know," she said. "That's the problem. You always meant it."
She walked toward me, slow. "You were kind to me. You shared everything. And every time you did, Father looked at you like you were the good daughter. The real daughter. And he looked at me like I was a project. A charity."
"MěiLíng—"
"Don't." Her voice cracked, just once. "Don't say my name like you pity me. You got the name, JiāYì. The blood. The future. And now you get the marriage too. You get everything just by existing. While I have to smile and beg and be perfect every single second just to be tolerated."
My chest hurt. "That's not true. Father loves you—"
"He tolerates me!" she snapped, and the mask finally slipped. "And you don't even want it! You don't even care who you're marrying! You just say 'yes, Father' and 'thank you, Father' and everyone applauds you for being obedient!"
I took a step back. The balcony railing pressed cold against my spine. "MěiLíng, you're scaring me. Put the letter down. Let's talk tomorrow—"
"There is no tomorrow for you, jiejie."
She moved so fast I didn't even see her hand.
The push was hard. Deliberate. Not an accident, not a slip — a choice.
I went over the railing.
For one terrible second I was flying, the courtyard rushing up to meet me, the lanterns blurring overhead — and then the stone hit me.
Pain. Everywhere. White, screaming pain in my ribs, my head, my leg. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Blood filled my mouth, warm and metallic.
I heard her shoes on the stone as she walked to the edge and looked down at me.
I tried to lift my hand. Tried to speak. Help me. Please.
She came down the stairs and knelt beside me. Her hands, gentle, took mine. She arranged my hair off my face the way she used to when we were girls.
"Shhh," she whispered, stroking my cheek. "It'll be over soon."
Footsteps. Shouting. My father's voice, raw: "JIĀYÌ!"
MěiLíng's face changed instantly. Her eyes filled. Her bottom lip trembled. She was magnificent.
"Father!" she sobbed, throwing herself over my body as he ran in. "She slipped! I tried to grab her — I tried, I swear I tried—"
He dropped to his knees beside me, his hands hovering, afraid to touch me. "JiāYì? JiāYì, look at me—"
I looked at him. I tried to say the words. It was her. Father, please. It was her.
But only blood came out.
MěiLíng was crying into my shoulder, her body shaking with grief. To anyone watching, she was the devastated sister.
Only I could feel her fingers, tight around my wrist.
Not holding me.
Holding me down.
The last thing I saw was her face, half-hidden by my father's arm.
She wasn't crying anymore.
She was smiling.
And then the dark took me.
---
I died believing no one would ever know the truth.
I woke up sixteen years old again, on the day my parents divorced.
And I didn't remember any of it.