Fire scorched her skin, the crackling sounds of flames consuming fabric and flesh clear in her ears. The smell of burning meat mixed with the stench of char was the scent of death drawing near.
Song Xilou opened her eyes again, finding a hand rubbing her forehead. Her neck hadn't moved in a long time, and every inch of movement sent pain through the muscles within.
"Awake." A cool voice sounded, yet the hand rubbing her forehead still didn't withdraw.
But Song Xilou's body stiffened. Hadn't she been burned to death by Niohuru's fire? Lowering her gaze to her raised hand, the skin there was so fair and delicate—where was there any trace of burning?
Could it be… that was all a dream?
She suppressed the shock deep in her eyes, turned her head, and yanked down the hand that had been rubbing her forehead. The calluses on the fingertips were too thick, rubbing her skin raw.
"Your courage has grown since waking." After she pulled his hand away, he reached up again, tracing a few strokes across Song Xilou's face before letting go: "Remember, be good. I'll come see you again."
After those words, she soon heard the sound of a door closing, leaving Song Xilou alone in bed to process everything. She roughly knew what time this was.
The forty-second year of Kangxi. Song Xilou had been pushed down from the attic by the younger members of her family, breaking her leg.
But no one in the Song family took it seriously. They simply had someone carry the unconscious her back, without even calling a doctor.
Even so, back then she hadn't suspected she wasn't truly a child of the Song family. Weak-willed as she was, she didn't complain even though her leg hurt terribly, enduring it all.
That illness kept her bedridden for two full months before she could get up. After recovering, it left a lasting ailment—whenever the weather turned cold, her bones would ache sourly, tormenting her endlessly.
"Serves me right for being so foolish." She had lived for over a decade yet willingly played the clown, letting them toy with her in the palms of their hands, unable to see through their hidden intentions.
The Song family, Niohuru… and also—Song Xilou touched her flat belly, her eyes filled with hatred—Niohuru Lianxin, who had cut open her abdomen, taken her child, refused to let her die, kept her alive with ginseng, and subjected her to the agony of being consumed by fire.
That Niohuru Lianxin, who had stolen her identity, enjoyed her privileges, taken over her child, and burned her to ashes with a single fire.
Her hands clenched tightly, long sharp nails digging deep into her flesh, blood from her palms dripping drop by drop: "I'm back. What you owed me in my last life—now, I'm going to take it all back."
She propped up her weak body and crawled out of bed. Having gone so long without food, she had no strength at all. Her elbows gave way, and she tumbled from the low bed, leaving Song Xilou dizzy and dazed for a while before she came to her senses.
Dragging her broken body, she moved step by step to the dressing table and sat down. The bronze mirror reflected her face still covered in that mystical birthmark, so ugly it was frightening. In her past life, she would have angrily overturned the mirror and burst into tears. But after experiencing life and death, looking at this face again, she could only sigh that it was good to be alive.
She reached out and stroked the birthmark back and forth. Before, she had never dared to look at this face, secretly despising her own ugliness, too self-conscious to ever examine herself closely.
She parted the hair covering her face and leaned toward the mirror, wanting to see clearly what this birthmark—deemed inauspicious by the Niohuru family, mocked in the Song family, and shunned like a viper by everyone in Prince Yong's household—actually looked like.
Strand by strand, she pushed the hair aside. The red birthmark spreading across half her face was shaped like a lotus. Blood from her palm smeared onto it, making it look even more gruesome.
But moments later, she felt the spot her hand had touched growing hot and burning.
In her daze, she thought it was an illusion, but then her face grew increasingly hot, as if it might set her skin ablaze. Song Xilou cupped her face, momentarily at a loss for what to do. But when her palms pressed against her cheeks, she felt the pain ease slightly.
Only after the burning sensation passed did she lower her hands, quickly looking into the mirror at her face. The red birthmark was slowly fading, vanishing without a trace in the blink of an eye.
"What's happening?" Even after her face was clean and fair, Song Xilou still couldn't believe it. "The birthmark? Where did that big red birthmark go?"
She reached for the bronze mirror but saw a patch of red in the center of her palm. Bringing her hand close to her eyes, she found a small red lotus on her palm. "Is this… the birthmark moved to my hand?"
Before she could think further, she saw the red birthmark in her palm slowly split open. Then a hint of green poked out, swaying its leaves as it grew upward.
All of this was far too surreal. Song Xilou stared at her palm, hardly daring to breathe. Having something grow out of her hand had completely blown her mind—even her return from the dead hadn't been this bizarre.
Her palm itched, and before long, the small green sprout grew thick and sturdy. Song Xilou tentatively closed her hand, only to find the sprout blocking her palm. It even scraped against her skin, and she inexplicably felt it was expressing displeasure.
Helplessly, she tried opening her palm again, watching as the sprout happily swayed its leaves a few times before wrapping around her finger. On a whim, she tapped its green bud—the plump texture felt wonderful.
"What are you? You've grown so thick and strong."
"…"
"Chirp."
"You can talk?" Song Xilou's eyes widened in astonishment.
The moment she said this, the little leaf that had been clinging to her finger immediately let go—was it… shy?
It really was like a child. Song Xilou closed her palm, and the small green sprout vanished once more.
Before she could process what had happened, she heard a "thump thump thump" at the door. Just as she was about to go answer it, she noticed a sticky black substance coating her skin.
"What's going on?"
"Miss, miss." The voice sounded like Nanny Wu, who had always followed her. Song Xilou's heart lifted, and when she opened the door, she indeed saw a kind-faced elderly woman holding a tray with two steamed buns and a bowl of pickled vegetables.
Nanny Wu wore a grayish-brown jacket and a pair of black cloth shoes whose edges had worn thin. Though only around fifty, her face was so lined she looked like an old crone. All these years, following this unfavored young miss, she had endured no small amount of hardship.
"Nanny." Tears welled in Song Xilou's eyes as she recalled the last time she had seen Nanny Wu in her previous life. Back then, deceived by Niohuru Lianxin's sweet words of "elder sister," she had brought Nanny Wu into the Fourth Prince's estate, willingly becoming a rough servant in Niohuru Lianxin's courtyard.
But one day, the Fourth Prince casually praised her as "a lotus rising from the water," and Niohuru Lianxin bore a grudge against her for it.
The very next day, she claimed her gold hairpin had gone missing, and her personal maid Chunxing stepped forward to testify that Nanny Wu had taken it. Without even completing the charade, she ordered twenty strokes of the board for Nanny Wu.
Poor Nanny Wu—she didn't even survive half the strokes before she passed.
"Miss, what's wrong with you?" Nanny Wu set down the tray and waved her hand in front of Song Xilou, then grabbed her, looking her over from head to toe. "Miss, why are you so… so foul-smelling?"
She was holding her breath, nearly gagging on the stench—it was like falling into a cesspit as a child.
The room had no lamp lit. Song Xilou lowered her long lashes, her hair falling to cover her face now devoid of the birthmark. She herself didn't know how to explain it, her fingers tracing back and forth across her palm. "Nanny, I don't know how to explain it either. For now, just get me some water."
Nanny Wu was from the same hometown as the cook in the kitchen, and without drawing attention, she brought Song Xilou several buckets of water. But the black substance on her body was extremely sticky—it took three washes before she was finally clean.
After washing and dressing, Song Xilou paused on her way out, turning back to look at the bronze mirror. She was astonished to discover her skin looked like a new layer had replaced the old—pale, translucent, almost glowing.
"Miss." Hearing Nanny Wu calling from outside the curtain, Song Xilou snapped back to reality. She sat down again and used rouge to paint the birthmark back onto her face. She was still in the Song household—she couldn't let anyone discover the birthmark had vanished.
Only after confirming she looked the same as always did she go out. Seeing Nanny Wu setting out bowls and chopsticks by the table, Song Xilou quickened her steps, sat down, and cupped the bowl in her hands. "Nanny, it smells wonderful."
"M-miss." The chopsticks slipped from Nanny Wu's hands as her eyes roamed over Song Xilou. "Miss, your leg—how, how is it healed?"
Song Xilou stretched out her leg and kicked a few times. Only now did she realize her leg didn't hurt at all. She thought of the filth that had been expelled from her body—it must have been because the birthmark had disappeared.
Her eyes darted for a moment before she covered it up: "Nanny, it was never a serious problem. After lying down for so long, I've mostly recovered."
Nanny Wu was half-convinced. "As long as you're fine, as long as you're fine." She picked up the bowl from the table. "Miss must be hungry. Have some plain congee for now, and when dinner comes, I'll go to the kitchen and get you some meat."
Though the Song family was a prominent household, Song Xilou was extremely unfavored within it. She lived in the worst, most remote run-down courtyard, ate the same food as the maids, and couldn't even compare to the favored maids serving her other sisters.
On the table sat only a bowl of plain congee and two steamed buns, with a small dish of pickled vegetables—that was Song Xilou's lunch for today. She was used to this fare, picking up a bun and stuffing it into her mouth. "This is already plenty, Nanny. Look, the congee is still warm."
She scooped up a spoonful of congee and was about to bring it to her lips when she felt the lotus in her palm suddenly grow hot. Song Xilou's hand froze mid-motion, her lowered eyes flickering with confusion.
She sensed the little sprout radiating a message of "danger."
"Nanny," she set down the bowl in her hands and looked up, "where did this porridge come from?"
Nanny Wu wiped her hands on her clothes a few times, looking somewhat uneasy. "You were just bathing, so I went to the kitchen to help out for a bit. That's how—" She pointed at the porridge. "My old acquaintance slipped it to me secretly."
Song Xilou said nothing, only carried the porridge to the window, where a pot of orchids bloomed brilliantly. She tipped the bowl over, and all the white porridge poured into the flowerpot.
Before long, white smoke began to rise from the orchid's roots, which then rotted and turned black.
"This… this, this." Nanny Wu's hands began to tremble. "Miss, it wasn't me, it wasn't me." She waved her hands, starting to babble incoherently.
"I know." Song Xilou firmly grasped Nanny Wu's hands. "Nanny, don't panic. I know it wasn't you." Her eyes darkening, Song Xilou's tone turned cold.
"In the Song family, there are too many people who want me dead."