The oil lamp sputtered its last flame.
Mu Lan's scalp burned where her hair had been torn out, the metallic tang of blood invading her nostrils.
"Your Majesty, these dreadful sights will haunt my dreams," cooed Mu Zhihua with venomous sweetness veiled beneath her delicate facade, nestled in Emperor Li Shiyuan's embrace.
The emperor's fingers tightened around his concubine's waist. "Fear not, my jewel. Once we bind this sorceress' soul here and eradicate her remaining followers, none shall threaten your peace again."
Bound to a bloodstained pillar, Mu Lan's fading consciousness watched coldly through the haze of pain. In the dungeon's darkest corner lay the tiny corpse of her newborn son - the royal heir reduced to medicinal ingredients by Mu Zhihua's whispered suggestion. She had never even held her child.
Once the revered eldest daughter of Mu Manor and Empress of Great Zhou, she had become a pawn from the moment she returned home. Every step had been a trap, her misplaced trust costing Fengqing Palace's dozens of lives... and her own flesh and blood.
As darkness encroached, Mu Lan bit through her teeth, blood dripping as she vowed: "Mu Zhihua. Li Shiyuan. Your debts will be repaid in blood."
When consciousness returned, Mu Lan found herself in a secret tunnel behind a well shaft. Screams pierced the air, punctuated by the metallic song of drawn blades.
Her breath caught - she had returned to that fateful night at sixteen, the turning point of her previous life. Closing her eyes, she counted the dying screams until silence fell.
"No survivors in the Gu Mansion."
"The young lord requires confirmation of Mu Lan's death."
"All thirty household members accounted for. None escaped."
In her past life, thirty lives had been extinguished like candle flames - all orchestrated by her cousin Mu Zhantian, simply to prevent her return to Mu Manor. Her adoptive parents had hidden her in this well tunnel, begging her to await rescue while they faced the slaughter.
Now, as footsteps echoed above the well, Mu Lan rose like a vengeful spirit. A pebble shot from her palm with lethal precision, severing the first guard's throat before he touched ground. The second guard met worse fate - tendons severed, a stone embedded between his eyes while still alive enough to witness Death's visage in her blood-splattered form.
"Ghost... It's a ghost!" The remaining guards above trembled, fleeing with tales of vengeful spirits.
At dawn, the Gu Mansion reeked of decaying flesh. Steward Chen gagged as he approached the courtyard's center.
There sat a girl amidst thirty corpses, her calm more terrifying than the carnage. Though caked in grime, an unearthly aura clung to her like funeral shrouds.
"You... Mu Lan?" The steward recoiled.
"Last night," she spoke with deathly composure, "my adoptive mother said Mu Manor would collect me. Then came the black-clad killers." In her past life, Steward Chen had burned this evidence to ashes.
His expression hardened. "His Lordship is occupied with greater matters." To guards: "Burn everything."
Mu Lan's laughter froze the spring air. As guards moved to force her into the sedan, her command snapped like a whip: "Thirty lives deserve proper burial."
When blade met throat, blood beaded against steel. "Shall I join them in death to atone?"
Steward Chen capitulated, ordering full funeral rites. Only when the last grave was marked did Mu Lan enter the battered sedan - a prisoner's transport masquerading as noble conveyance.
That night at the inn, Mu Lan feigned sleep as a bamboo tube pierced her window paper. Snuffing the hallucinogenic smoke, she dragged the would-be assassin inside, dagger at his throat.
"Who sent you?" The man's shock mirrored her realization - this wasn't Mu Zhantian's work. When he bit through his tongue, Steward Chen arrived to find another corpse.
"Your oversight, Steward," Mu Lan observed coolly. "This 'suddenly available' superior room was meant for another target."
Three days later, Mu Manor's vermilion gates remained shut, only the servants' entrance ajar. Steward Chen led her through winding corridors to the western wing - a glorified storage room overlooking the ancestral hall.
"Your quarters, miss." The steward avoided her gaze. "I'll send a maid."
When sixteen-year-old Hexiang arrived, Mu Lan's composure cracked. This loyal maid had been beaten to death before her eyes in the past life. "Rise," she whispered hoarsely. "Where I prosper, you shall thrive."
The confrontation came at sundown. Mu Zhantian blocked their path, demanding obeisance from the "lowly servant."
Mu Lan stood unbowed. "Does the Emperor's adopted nephew require his trueborn cousin to kneel?" Her words carved through pretense like scalpels. "Or does Concubine Chen's bastard son overreach?"
Mu Zhantian's slap never landed. Before guards could strike, Mu Lan continued: "Strike the Emperor's recognized bloodline, and see which of us keeps our head."
As her cousin retreated fuming, Steward Chen observed the exchange with dawning realization - this was no frightened country mouse, but a blade honed by hellfire.
At the ancestral hall, Mu Zhihua's poisoned sweetness curdled upon seeing Mu Lan's unblemished composure. When an "accidental" stumble sent the favored concubine kneeling, Mu Lan's whisper cut deeper than blades: "Mind your performance, sister. The audience watches."
Through the ensuing chess game of veiled threats and Fourth Prince Li Shiyu's probing gaze, Mu Lan maintained her mask - the perfect blend of innocence and calculation. Even when "saving" the injured prince later that night, her hands remained steady while her mind raced.
The true game had begun.