In the twelfth lunar month, Ye City had just seen a snowfall.
Under a tea shed by West Market Street, several porters hunched their shoulders against the cold, cradling rough bowls of hot soup. One of the older men wiped the moisture from his beard and jerked his chin toward the direction of the Imperial City.
“Have you heard? That little lunatic from the Palace is coming back.”
The younger one beside him froze. “Little lunatic?”
“The Princess of Lin’an!” another lowered his voice. “Forgot already? The one who babbled nonsense at five years old—said her whole family would be killed by the Zheng Family. That crazy Princess!”
“She was exiled to Lingyang for thirteen years!”
The tea shed fell silent for a moment.
Someone let out a dry laugh. “That’s old news. Why bring it up now?”
“Besides, His Majesty and the Crown Prince are both sitting just fine in the Palace, aren’t they? Our Great Xian has had good weather and peace these years.”
“Good weather and peace?” A dark-faced man squatting in the corner sneered, glancing around. “That’s the ‘peace’ of those noble families!”
“Open your eyes and look—who’s sitting in the Secretariat? The Cui Clan of Qinghe! And the Zheng residence that takes up half a street east of the city—where does its main gate face? Do you really think the one on the Golden Throne can make his own decisions?”
Before he could finish, someone tugged at his sleeve.
“Quiet!”
The sound of carriage wheels grinding over broken snow approached from afar.
Everyone looked up.
A carriage rolled slowly past the street corner. It wasn’t lavish, but it was large enough. A wooden plaque hung from the shaft, swaying slightly, with a faint “Ming” character visible.
Someone in the tea shed sucked in a breath.
“This is… her?”
Inside the carriage, Cuiguo carefully nudged the figure wrapped in a thick fox fur cloak.
“Princess, Princess? Wake up. We’ve entered Ye City.”
The fur cloak shifted, revealing a face.
Her face was small, her skin pale from long absence of sunlight, her chin delicate and pointed. Her eyelashes were long, tightly shut, as if she were trapped in a deep nightmare.
Suddenly, those lashes trembled violently and her eyes snapped open.
Cuiguo met her gaze.
At first, her eyes were empty, unfocused. But the next instant, they filled with fear and pain. The beauty before her breathed rapidly, cold sweat forming on her forehead.
“P-Princess?” Cuiguo was shaken by that look, her voice trembling.
Princess Ming Zhao did not respond. She slowly turned her head and looked out through the gap in the carriage window.
Familiar streets. Snow-dusted rooftops. The towering palace walls in the distance.
Yet a metallic taste of blood surged up her throat.
She closed her eyes.
What she saw was not the carriage walls—but rivers of blood. Her Imperial Father stood in front of her, a gaping hole in his chest.
Her younger brother was dragged away, still shouting, “Elder Sister, run!” The cold blade pressed against her neck…
“Hah!”
Her fingers dug hard into the soft cushion beneath her, nails whitening from the force.
This was not a dream!
She had come back.
Back to thirteen years ago—to the very day she returned to Ye City.
She had transmigrated into this world at birth, into the body of a newborn infant. At five years old, her memories had returned—she realized she had died from overwork in the modern world and crossed over here. Along with that realization came a flood of chaotic memories.
Only then did she understand—she had entered a devouring story.
And she was nothing more than a cannon fodder Princess, destined to die early.
Her Imperial Father, though Emperor in name, had actually been a puppet in the hands of the great aristocratic families.
The late emperor had died suddenly without leaving a son. Those powerful clans—the Cuis, the Zhengs, the Wangs—had looked around and pushed her father, who was distantly related to the imperial line, onto the throne.
They had thought him easy to control.
But her Imperial Father had ambitions. He promoted scholars of humble origin, trying to wrest power away from the aristocracy.
That stirred a hornet’s nest—especially the Zheng Family.
And the result?
She remembered the ending of her previous life—
A palace coup. Her Imperial Father was murdered. Her younger brother was poisoned. And she, the “mad” Princess, was cut down with a single blade.
The other noble families watched coldly, perhaps even blaming her Imperial Father for breaking the “rules.”
Rules?
To hell with those rules!
Heaven had toyed with her once more and given her another chance.
In this life, she refused to be cannon fodder.
The noble families were powerful, deeply rooted, obsessed with rules?
Fine.
Then she would follow their rules.
She would climb the tallest tree, find the hardest shield, borrow their power—and protect the people she wanted to protect.
She raised her hand and flung off the fox fur cloak.
She had just broken out in a cold sweat—she felt stiflingly hot!
“Where are we now?”
“We’ve just passed Yongning Gate. In about a quarter hour, we’ll reach the Palace Gate.”
Cuiguo answered quickly, then hesitated before adding, “Princess, should you change clothes before entering the palace? This color might be too bright… The noble ladies in the Palace prefer more subdued tones in winter.”
Princess Ming Zhao looked down at herself.
She wore a bright red robe with wide sleeves and a crossed collar, tied at the waist with a matching brocade sash. The fabric was thick brocade from Lingyang, embroidered with trailing honeysuckle patterns outlined in gold thread.
It was indeed eye-catching.
“No need.” She pushed open the carriage window.
Cold wind mixed with snowflakes struck her face. She didn’t dodge it—she leaned into it, taking a deep breath.
“The Palace has too many rules. It’s suffocating.” She turned to Cuiguo and tugged at the corner of her lips, though there was no real smile in her eyes. “I’ll wear what I want. They can look—or not.”
Cuiguo opened her mouth but didn’t dare say more.
This master of hers had grown wild over more than a decade in Lingyang. Forget rules—even sitting still for a full meal was rare.
Sighing inwardly, she could only quickly tidy Princess Ming Zhao’s windblown hair.
Her long hair was loosely tied at the back with a simple white jade hairpin, many strands falling over her shoulders, lifted by the wind.
The carriage stopped at the Palace Gate.
Court eunuchs were already waiting. Seeing the carriage, they hurried forward and bowed.
“This servant greets the Princess of Lin’an.”
“By His Majesty’s order, the Princess is to transfer to a sedan chair to enter the palace.”
The carriage door opened, and Princess Ming Zhao stepped out.
Several eunuchs glanced up—and froze.
Red robes. Black hair. Snow-pale skin. Peach blossom eyes. Standing beneath the palace walls, she was striking to the extreme.
Yet her expression was cold—completely unlike the gentle, graceful noblewomen they were used to.
“I won’t take the sedan chair.” She stepped down from the stool. “I’ve been sitting all the way here—my bones are stiff. I’ll walk.”
“Princess,” the leading eunuch said with difficulty, “the palace roads are long, and it has just snowed. Your shoes may get wet.”
“If they get wet, so be it.” She had already begun walking into the Palace Gate. Her voice drifted back. “Where is Imperial Father?”
“In the Golden Throne Hall.”
“Lead the way.”
The eunuchs had no choice but to hurry after her, with Cuiguo following behind.
The snow on the palace road had been cleared, but the stone slabs still carried a damp chill.
Princess Ming Zhao walked quickly, her steps large and urgent. The hem of her red skirt brushed the stones, picking up dark wet stains.
“Princess, slow down—watch your step!” Cuiguo called breathlessly from behind.
But Princess Ming Zhao didn’t seem to hear.
Her mind was filled only with her Imperial Father.
That face, always carrying worry yet endlessly indulgent toward her—the face she had failed to save in her previous life.
Almost there.
Just past that wall ahead—cross the open courtyard—and she would see him.
Her pace quickened—she was nearly running toward the corner.
And just as she was about to turn—
A tall figure in black robes stepped out from the other side at the exact same moment.
Bang!
They collided solidly.
Princess Ming Zhao felt her forehead strike something hard and cold, sending her staggering backward.
An arm reached out, steadying her elbow.
The hand was strong. Even through layers of fabric, she could feel the length of the fingers.
She steadied herself and looked up.
First, she saw the solemn black of court attire.
A crimson gauze robe, dark-edged inner garment, a gold-hook belt at the waist, with intricate seals and ribbons hanging from it.
Then higher—sharp jawline, pale lips, a straight nose, and a pair of exceptionally beautiful eyes. Their corners lifted slightly, a shape that should have been affectionate—but there was no emotion within them.
He looked down at her, expressionless—neither surprised nor angry.
Princess Ming Zhao’s heart tightened.
This face. This attire…
“My apologies,” she spoke first, trying to pull her arm from his grasp. “I was walking too fast. May I ask who this lord is?”
He did not release her immediately. His gaze lingered on her face.
It swept over her vivid red robes, her warm breath, and her loosely tied hair.
Clearly someone in a hurry.
Palace rules strictly forbade rushing. It had been a long time since he had seen someone break them.
A long time…
Why did he think that? Who was the last?
He released her, stepping back slowly, every movement measured, even the sway of his robe perfectly controlled.
He raised his hand in salute—each gesture precise, as if measured by a ruler.
“Your servant, Cui Weijin.”
His voice was cool yet gentle, low and pleasant—just like the man himself.
“I have startled the Princess. The fault is mine.”
He paused slightly, his gaze shifting toward the depths of the palace road.
“Is the Princess heading to the Golden Throne Hall?”
“The snowy path is slippery,” he said, looking back at her.
Though the words were of concern, none showed in his eyes.
“Please take care.”
[ Author’s Note: This story is set in an alternate world, loosely inspired by the Wei, Jin, and Northern-Southern Dynasties (mainly clothing and official systems—please don’t nitpick!). The background features a declining imperial power and dominant aristocratic clans. If this bothers you, read with caution! ]