Shang Shiyan was jolted awake by the whistling wind. Sunlight stabbed her eyes as she forced them open. The memory of her face being torn apart still lingered in her heart, and instinctively she raised a hand to her cheek. But this time, there was no blood, no shredded flesh—only smooth, tender skin.
She froze. Her mind cleared in an instant.
Sitting upright, she realized she was lying at the bottom of a cliff. She had landed on a patch of grass, narrowly avoiding the falling rocks.
This… wasn’t this the accident before her coming-of-age ceremony, when she and Shang Yunrou, along with the Crown Prince, left the capital to visit her aunt, only for the horse to panic and throw them over the cliff?
Had she returned to the past?
Her face was intact. She was still the legitimate daughter of the Marquis’s household. Shang Yunrou had not yet been written into the family genealogy. That illegitimate girl—raised outside by Father, deceiving Mother into believing she was Uncle’s bloodline—was still nothing more than a hidden shame. Mother, unaware, had raised her as her own, only to be destroyed by her later.
Hatred surged through Shang Shiyan’s chest. She didn’t understand what Shang Yunrou meant by “fate” or “fortune,” but if it could be stolen, then it could be taken back.
Heaven had granted her another chance. This time, she would reclaim everything that was hers, protect her mother, and… atone for her guilt toward Gu Peice.
She remembered clearly: after the fall, her injuries weren’t severe. She had saved the wounded Shang Yunrou and Crown Prince Shen Shian, carrying them up the mountain with all her strength. But when she returned to find her maid, Shen Shian had already taken Shang Yunrou back to the capital, leaving her alone in the wilderness. She had walked over a hundred li, her feet blistered and bleeding, only to arrive home on her coming-of-age day—just in time to hear that Shang Yunrou was to be entered into the family genealogy.
In the Great Sheng dynasty, only children of the principal wife could be recorded. How could Shang Yunrou, a concubine’s daughter, deserve such honor?
Once inscribed, she would be listed under Mother’s name, instantly elevated to legitimate daughter. Shen Shian then knelt before the Empress for three days and nights, begging to annul his betrothal to Shang Shiyan and marry Shang Yunrou instead.
The memory stabbed her chest with pain. She had risked her life to save him, only to hear later: “Shang Shiyan, I wish you had never saved me. Then you would have no right to stand between me and Yunrou.”
For the girl who once loved him wholeheartedly, those words were daggers.
Perhaps Shang Yunrou had stolen not only her fate but also Shen Shian’s heart.
Now, looking at the bloodstains on her hands, she realized she had already carried them up the cliff. She had fainted here while searching for her maid.
If only she had delayed a little longer—those two would have died at the bottom.
Shang Shiyan rose from the grass, disheveled and covered in scratches, but she didn’t care. She began climbing the mountain path with determination.
In her past life, she had searched endlessly for her maid Qiushui, only to learn later that Qiushui hadn’t fallen at all—she had returned safely with Shen Shian and Shang Yunrou.
As Shang Shiyan climbed, memories burned in her mind.
Once Shang Yunrou was inscribed into the genealogy, Father began plotting to bring Shang Yunrou’s birth mother into the household, paving the way for her to become the principal wife. Step by step, he schemed for their rise.
This time, Shang Shiyan swore she would never let them succeed. She had to rush back to the capital to stop Shang Yunrou from being recorded. Once Shen Shian and Shang Yunrou were betrothed, Father would move against her maternal family.
Her arms and legs were torn and bleeding, but she climbed relentlessly. At last, she reached the top, gasping for breath. The capital was still over 150 li away—too far to reach on foot in time.
She remembered Gu Peice once told her: on the day of the fall, he had seen her. He had been summoned urgently from the frontier, riding through this very place.
Just then, she heard a sharp cry: “Hyah!”
The pounding of hooves echoed. Dust rose as riders approached.
At their head was a scarred man—Gu Peice’s trusted aide.
Shang Shiyan’s eyes lit up. She stepped aside, and when she saw Gu Peice himself astride the horse, she cried out instinctively: “Gu Peice!”
The man tightened his reins sharply, turning to look at her. His gaze was fierce, filled with menace. The girl before him was ragged, bloodied, her clothes torn—like a beggar from the roadside.
“Where did this little beggar come from? How dare you call the Prince by name—you must be tired of living!”
The subordinate’s shout made Shang Shiyan flinch. Only then did she remember—at this point in time, she and Gu Peice were not yet acquainted.
“Forgive me! I am Shang Shiyan, legitimate daughter of Marquis Huainan. My horse panicked and threw me from the cliff. I beg the Prince to grant me a ride back—I would be eternally grateful!”
Marquis Huainan’s daughter… yes, he had heard of her.
Gu Peice’s eyes remained cold as he looked her over.
“There is no carriage.”
“I’ll sit behind you!” Shang Shiyan pleaded urgently.
“You dare? As a noble daughter, you should know men and women must keep their distance. To sit behind my lord would ruin your reputation.”
But Shang Shiyan no longer cared about reputation. If she delayed, Shang Yunrou would be inscribed, and everything would be lost.
“Please, my lord—I truly have urgent business. I will repay you.”
Gu Peice cared nothing for such promises. On the battlefield, he had shown no mercy even to kneeling enemies. Yet when he met Shang Shiyan’s clear, earnest eyes—bright with hope—he felt an unfamiliar hesitation. His brows furrowed. The thought unsettled him.
“Get on,” he said at last. He leaned down, extending his hand.
Shang Shiyan’s eyes shone as she grasped it. Though small and frail, she was lifted effortlessly onto the horse by his strong arm.
“Let’s go.” His voice was low, commanding. “Hyah!”
The horse surged forward. Shang Shiyan nearly slipped, clutching his waist tightly. The armor was hard, biting into her wrists.
Once, she had feared him deeply, never daring to meet his gaze. But now, knowing he had protected her in her past life, he seemed far less terrifying.
Her small hand slid against the armor, slipping beneath it to press firmly against his waist. For a moment, his body stiffened.