Pain. It wasn't the fleeting ache of a skinned knee or the sharp sting of a blade—it was a deep, gnawing agony that clawed at her lungs, a suffocating weight that pressed her chest into the void. Aurora opened her eyes, gasping for air as the phantom sensation of her last moments in her previous life faded. Death hasn't been as mericful as she'd hoped. She had been surrounded by darkness then, a cold hand pressed to her neck, and betrayal burning through her veins.
But now? She had died, hadn't she?
Now, sunlight streamed through a gauzy veil of curtains, the soft hum of cicadas in the distance filling her ears. The sterile smell of medicine and faint incense lingered in the air, utterly alien to the blood and gunpowder she was accustomed to. A hospital bed, she realised. Did she somehow surivive? Her body felt weak, fragile, as if one wrong move might shatter her bones.
Her eyes darted around the room. Delicate furniture carved from fragrant wood. It wasn't the cold, metallic confines of the organization's chambers in the West.
She wasn't supposed to be alive.
"You've finally woken up."
The voice was soft yet disinterested, its tone brushing her off as if her very existence was an inconvenience. Aurora—or whoever she was now—turned her head slowly, the movement sending a sharp ache down her neck. A beautiful woman stood at the foot of the bed, dressed in a cheongsam embroidered with golden lotus flowers. Her expression, however, was as cold as winter frost.
"Your recovery is… unexpected," the woman said, her lips curving into something that might have been a smile if it weren't so hollow. "The doctor said you were practically dead just a few days ago. A miracle, they called it. Let's hope you don't waste it."
Aurora frowned, her mind racing. This woman—her mother? Her head spun with flashes of images like a scrambled film reel and with emotions not hers accompanied with it . Before Aurora could respond, the woman straightened, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in her dress. "Rest well. Don't embarrass the Xia name further." With that, she turned and swept out of the room, leaving Aurora to the deafening silence.
Her hands clenched the thin blanket covering her body. The Xia name? Who the hell were the Xias? And why was she in this body?
A soft knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts. A boy stepped inside, around ten or eleven, with bright eyes and a nervous expression. He carried a tray with congee and steamed buns, his footsteps hesitant as he approached.
"Jiejie, you're awake!" The sound of the word, so familiar and yet foreign — startled her. The boy's face was a mixture of relief and tears. "The doctors said it was a miracle, but I… I thought you'd never—" He stopped, no longer able to contain his soft sobs. Something entirely foreign to Aurora stirred in her heart. He quickly set the tray down on the bedside table and took a step back, his tone shifting to one of awkward politeness. "Eat something. You need to recover." She admired the boy for his attempt to mask his overwhelming emotions.
Aurora tilted her head, studying him.
"Zhihao" she rasped, the name rising unbidden from her inherited memories.
The boy blinked back another onslaught of tears, "Yes, jiejie. It's me. Your Zhihao."
The name sounded delicate, like it belonged in the kind of idyllic life she'd never known. She blinked at him, disoriented. The memories told her she had always been closest to this boy, the only person who had ever looked at Xia Yan with warmth instead of disdain or indifference. He was the light in the otherwise cold Xia household. And yet, the fierceness in his eyes was new.
"Thank you for the food." she said quietly.
His ears turned pink, and he shifted awkwardly. "Jiejie, don't thank me. Just get better, okay?" He hesitated, then added, "You were always sickly, but now that you've… recovered, maybe you can… play with me more." His voice faltered. "Not that you weren't good before. I mean—"
Aurora waved a hand weakly, silencing him. "It's okay Zhihao. I will try to play with you more." Pure unbridled joy exploded on the tear stained face of Xia Zhihao. She weakly told him that she needs to rest more, the boy darted out of the door instantly to give her space. What a good brat, maybe she could train him to become an assassin. The thought amused her before she shook her head in humour. She needed time to think, to plan, and to figure out how she—a woman trained to kill, someone who had once been the most feared assassin in the world—ended up here, in the body of Xia Yan.
Xia Yan sank back against the pillow, her mind racing. The memories she'd inherited painted a clear picture of her new reality. She was the only daughter of the Xia family, a wealthy merchant dynasty with shallow roots in Z city's business circles. Xia Yan's father, Xia Tianhai, valued reputation above all else. Her mother, Lin Meifen, was a trophy wife more invested in socialites than her children.
And her brothers?
The eldest, Xia Haoran, barely acknowledged her existence. To him, she was an afterthought, a useless sister who contributed nothing to the family.
The second eldest, Xia Jianyu, wasn't cruel, but his concern was lukewarm at best. He treated her decently out of duty, but the look in his eyes always carried faint disappointment.
But Zhihao… Xia Zhihao, the youngest of the three brothers, loved her fiercely. Even when she'd been bedridden, weak and sickly, he'd stayed by her side, defending her against their family, a brave thing to do considering he is barely a teen.
Aurora—or Xia Yan, as she supposed she now had to call herself—stared at her reflection in a mirror brought by a maid at her request. The girl in the mirror was pale and frail, her hair dark and glossy but lacking the luster of health. Her eyes were a bit sunken, cheeks hollow. But even with the weak thin appearance, her ethereal beauty couldn't be concealed. She gave others a feeling like they want to protect her. Her eyes, however, burned with a sharpness that didn't belong to a sickly rich heiress.
"I don't know who you were," Xia Yan whispered, her voice steady now. "But I will make use of this second chance."
Her past life was gone, stolen by betrayal and greed. But her instincts hadn't left her. Her mind was still sharp, her determination unshaken. Whoever had killed her—and for what reason—would pay.
But first, she needed to learn the rules of this world, to blend in, and to grow stronger.
The weak Xia Yan was dead.
The door opened again, this time revealing Xia Jianyu. He stepped inside with a careful expression, a gift bag in his hands. His suit was neatly pressed, his demeanor as polished as ever, but the furrow in his brow betrayed his concern.
"You're awake," he said, his voice calm but distant. "How do you feel?"
"I'm fine," she said, her tone neutral.
He set the bag on the table, then studied her for a moment. "You gave everyone quite the scare. Even Zhihao hasn't been eating properly."
"I noticed," she said, glancing at the door.
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it faded quickly. "Rest. Let Zhihao handle his excitement for now. I've got you a pair of earrings as a recovery gift. If you need anything, call me."
With that, he left, his footsteps brisk and measured. She didn't even bothered to glance at the bag placed at the bedside table.
The night stretched on, but Xia Yan couldn't sleep. She stared at the city lights outside the window, the hum of life served as a sharp reminder that this was no dream. She was alive, but not for the reasons anyone thought.
Her memories of her assassin life were intact—the years of brutal training, the betrayal, the faces of the men and women she had killed.
The Xia family wouldn't know what hit them. What rose from the ashes now was a phoenix, and she would burn anyone who stood in her way.