The school gate loomed ahead, polished metal glinting in the morning sun like the grin of a wolf. It was the same gate she had passed through hundreds of times in her first life, never once realizing it was the threshold to her slow destruction.
Now, it felt different. She wasn't the same girl.
The chatter of students echoed around her—snapping gum, slamming lockers, shrill laughter. It all blended into a high-pitched noise she no longer responded to. She walked with her head high, back straight, steps calm.
The school was large, modern, expensive. Only the elite sent their children here. Children of businessmen, politicians, celebrities. And her. The legitimate ghost of the Lin household.
They had always treated her like something dirty clinging to the family name. A stain. An embarrassment.
She had once believed if she just worked hard enough, smiled sweetly enough, made herself small enough—they would finally accept her.
But now she knew: they never would. Because they never needed to.
She spotted the familiar gaggle of girls by the fountain. Lin Xue stood at the center, her half-sister, dressed in a perfectly pressed skirt and designer sneakers, her expression serene. To anyone else, she was the picture of elegance.
To Xiao Lin, she was death in lace.
The girl turned and locked eyes with her, just as she had every morning in their first life. But this time, Lin Xiao didn't look away. She didn't shrink. She simply smiled.
A small, knowing, polite smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Lin Xue blinked. There was a flicker in her perfect face—a flash of confusion that vanished quickly. But it was there.
One seed planted, Lin Xiao thought. Plenty more to go.
She was almost to the doors when it came—that voice. The one that used to send warmth fluttering through her heart like petals in the spring.
"Xiao Xiao!"
She froze mid-step.
Zhao Jian.
She turned slowly, watching him jog toward her. His black hair was slightly tousled in that effortless way he always wore it, his school blazer slung over one shoulder, tie loosely knotted. Girls swooned over this look. The perfect boyfriend. The golden boy.
He was beautiful, in the most dangerous way. Like a prince carved from marble with poison at the core.
And for five years of her last life, she had loved him like a fool.
"Why are you walking so fast?" he said breathlessly, falling into step beside her. "You weren't going to ignore me, were you?"
He smiled down at her. That same charming, lopsided smile that used to make her heart flutter.
Now it made her stomach turn.
"I didn't see you," she lied easily. "You blend into the crowd."
He laughed. "Me? Blend in? I must be losing my shine."
"No," she said softly. "You're just easier to overlook now."
He blinked, caught off guard, and she quickly added, "I mean—I wasn't paying attention."
He relaxed again, as she knew he would. Her words always meant more than they seemed. But not to him. He never listened closely unless it was about himself.
"You've been quiet lately," he said, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from her cheek. The gesture made her muscles go stiff. "Everything okay?"
"Perfect," she murmured. "Just… keeping my head down."
He nodded approvingly. "Good girl. That's what I like about you. You're not like the others. You're gentle."
Gentle. That word used to be a compliment.
Now it felt like a collar.
As they reached the classroom door, she heard the click of steps—sharp, deliberate. Lin Xue.
"Jie Jie," Lin Xue said sweetly. "You left so early this morning. Didn't you want breakfast?"
Xiao Lin turned to her with that same thin smile. "I wasn't hungry. I figured you needed the nutrition more. It must be hard juggling all those secrets."
Lin Xue's eyes narrowed a hair. Zhao Jian blinked between them, confused.
"You two are always teasing each other," he said, forcing a chuckle. "It's kind of cute."
Lin Xue took his arm and smiled up at him like nothing was wrong. "You're so silly, Jian. Always playing peacemaker."
Xiao Lin watched the two of them walk ahead into the classroom, their silhouettes close, too close. And she smiled to herself.
Let them hold hands. Let them whisper. Let them think they were still in control.
It's easier to gut a person when they're not watching the knife.
---
The hours dragged. She heard none of the teachers. Her notebooks were open, filled with perfect handwriting. But her mind was elsewhere.
Plotting. Observing. Storing every careless glance, every flirtatious whisper between Lin Xue and Zhao Jian.
In her past life, she had ignored it.
She'd told herself it was her imagination. That her sister was trying to be friendly. That Zhao Jian was just being polite.
She'd wanted to believe in something—anything—that made her pain feel less real.
But the truth had been sharper than any lie.
By the time she found them tangled together in Lin Xue's room on the night of her eighteenth birthday, it had already been years in the making.
This time, she would see the rot from the beginning.
---
At lunch, she sat beneath the tree at the edge of the courtyard, alone. Her bento box rested unopened in her lap. She wasn't hungry. Hunger was for the living.
Instead, she stared at the students around her—the cliques, the gossip, the performances.
Everyone wore a mask.
But only she had learned how to carve it into her skin.
---
When she returned home that evening, the mansion felt colder than usual. Madame Wu's shrill laughter floated from the lounge, and Lu Xue was nowhere to be seen.
Her mother was in the kitchen, kneeling by the stove, scrubbing something furiously.
"Ma," Lin Xiao called softly.
Mei Hua looked up, her face pale with exhaustion.
"You're home. Good. I saved some rice for you."
Lin Xiao stepped in and took the rag from her hands.
"You shouldn't be doing this," she said.
Mei Hua shook her head. "It's fine. I don't want to cause trouble. You know how your father is. Let's just keep things peaceful."
"Peaceful for who?" Lin Xiao asked, unable to stop the edge in her voice.
Mei Hua flinched. Lin Xiao softened her tone.
"I'm sorry. I'm just tired."
She helped her mother to her feet, ignoring the ache in her own chest. Her mother, broken and bent by years of silence. She had tried her best—but trying hadn't been enough to save either of them.
That night, Lin Xiao sat by the window of her room, staring into the darkness.
She reached beneath her bed and pulled out the small wooden box she'd hidden there after waking in this life. Inside was the old picture of her grandmother, and the letter.
She opened it again, even though she had read it a thousand times in her dreams.
> To my little Lin, who never asked for riches but always asked if I'd taken my medicine…
You were the light in my dimming world, and though your father won't see it, I always did.
This is my gift to you, not because of birthright… but because you're kind. And this world will try to break that. Don't let it. And if it does—rebuild yourself stronger.
All my love,
Grandmother
The inheritance had been left to her alone