I closed my eyes and took a long, steadying breath.
There had to be a way back.
Somewhere, somehow, I had to stay alert—ask the right questions, find the right crack in this beautiful, terrifying reality, and slip through it before anyone noticed I didn't belong.
But I was tired. My brain felt like an overworked hard drive and my body felt like it had been run through three different timelines. As the carriage rumbled on, the soft rhythm of marching feet and creaking wheels blurred into white noise. I drifted into a light, restless sleep—full of jumbled fragments: flashes of blue robes, guqin strings, a scorpion tail dripping with venom, and a voice whispering my name in a language I didn't understand.
I startled awake at the sound of Lan Wangji's voice, crisp and clear.
"We've arrived."
The carriage jolted to a stop.
I blinked, still half in dreamspace, trying to orient myself as the door creaked open. Sunlight flooded in, blinding and golden. Soldiers moved like clockwork, rushing to support Wei Wuxian with such quiet precision it made my heart twist.
Lan Wangji followed immediately, and I scrambled after them, legs wobbly and sleep-heavy. But the moment I stepped out—everything stopped.
I couldn't breathe.
The palace was a vision straight out of a high-budget period drama. Except this wasn't a CGI rendering or a cleverly built set.
Wooden beams carved with flowing script and phoenix patterns soared above us. Curved roofs shimmered with glazed tiles that caught the sun like a thousand tiny mirrors. Gardens spilled with color on every side, blush pink peonies, crimson camellias, delicate orchids nodding in the breeze. The air smelled of blossoms, sandalwood, and something faintly medicinal.
Somewhere, water gurgled from a hidden fountain. It should have been peaceful.
But my heart was racing.
The moment barely lasted. Soldiers swept past us, their armor clinking softly, focused only on one thing—getting Wei Wuxian help. Lan Wangji turned to me, and whatever softness might've been on his face earlier was replaced by that sharp, unreadable steel.
"Follow me," he said. Not unkind. Just… absolute.
I nodded and fell into step beside him. My feet barely touched the ground.
The palace interior was no less breathtaking, rich tapestries lined the walls, embroidered in gold thread. Lanterns with painted glass swung gently from the ceiling. Every corner whispered wealth, history, reverence.
I'd seen places like this in movies.
This one had guards with swords, people who bowed, and not a single exit sign in sight.
Lan Wangji led me down a winding series of hallways, silent as a ghost but moving with purpose. Finally, he stopped at a set of large double doors carved with lotus blossoms and celestial cranes. Without hesitation, he pushed them open.
The room beyond was filled with low tables, woven mats, stacks of medical supplies, and people in healer's robes already setting down basins of water and preparing instruments.
"Prince Wei needs immediate attention," Lan Wangji said. His voice didn't raise, but it might as well have been thunder.
Everyone moved at once.
Wei Wuxian was laid gently on a wide cushioned platform. The healers sprang into action, their movements seamless and skilled, their hushed commands overlapping in a language I only half-understood but fully trusted.
I stood at the edge of the room, frozen.
I had done everything I could. Now it was in their hands.
Lan Wangji lingered near Wei Wuxian for a breath longer, then turned to me. His expression had softened again, though the edge hadn't left it entirely.
"Stay here," he said quietly.
Then, to the nearest servant girl, he added, "Go and call Madam Hui."
The girl bowed and rushed out.
I watched her go, my curiosity piqued. Madam Hui must be someone important.
A commotion by the bed pulled my attention back. One of the healers had removed Wei Wuxian's top layer of robes, and my makeshift gauze bandage was suddenly very... visible.
Several of them froze mid-motion, staring at the clean white wrap around his torso like it had just started glowing.
"What is this?" one of them whispered, as if the cloth itself might answer.
I stiffened. "Oh. Uh. That's... mine," I said brilliantly. Helpful. Informative.
They all looked at Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji didn't say a word. He didn't have to.
He simply leveled them with his best piercing, glacial stare, the kind of look that could silence a thunderstorm and the healers, wisely, went right back to work like they had never opened their mouths in the first place.
I gave them a sheepish smile. They avoided eye contact.
A moment later, the servant girl returned with a woman who immediately commanded the space with her presence. She walked like she knew the palace was hers to manage. Her hair was pulled back in a simple but elegant style, streaked with silver. Her eyes were the kind that saw too much, judged quickly, but maybe—maybe—could be kind.
This had to be Madam Hui.
"Madam Hui," Lan Wangji said, bowing his head slightly. "This is our guest. She needs rest and appropriate attire. See to her needs."
She gave a small bow in return—respectful, but measured. Her sharp gaze turned to me, assessing everything from the way I stood to the way I clutched my sleeves like a freshman in a school hallway.
"Of course, Hanguang-jun," she said. Her voice was smooth, firm, no-nonsense but not unkind. Then she turned to me and softened a little. "Come with me, Miss. We'll see that you're made comfortable."
I nodded, following her out with only one backward glance at Wei Wuxian. The healers were still working. Lan Wangji hadn't moved an inch from his side.
The palace unfolded around us like a dream I hadn't realized I'd been carrying my whole life. Carved wood. Silk banners. Candlelight flickering over jade screens. The air smelled like lotus, incense, and old paper. Every hallway seemed to whisper: you don't belong here, but I followed anyway.
Eventually, Madam Hui led me to a serene, sunlit room. Polished floors. A modest but elegant bed. A small writing table, and one of those beautiful dressing screens like you always see heroines pacing behind in dramas.
"Please use this room for now," she said, opening the door with a practiced grace.
I stepped inside, stunned. "Thank you," I said, overwhelmed by both the beauty and the weight of not knowing how long I'd be allowed to stay here.
"You must be exhausted," Madam Hui said, with a more maternal tone this time. "Rest. I'll send someone with more suitable clothing."
As she turned to leave, I couldn't help but ask, "Madam Hui, how long do you think it will take for Wei Wuxian to recover?"
Her expression immediately turned stern. "It is Prince Wei," she corrected sharply. "You must address him with respect due to his title."
I flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Madam Hui. How long do you think it will take for Prince Wei to recover?"
She paused, her expression thoughtful. "The healers here are skilled. Prince Wei is strong, but it will take time. We must be patient."
I nodded, grateful for her honesty. "Thank you, Madam Hui."
With a tight, approving smile, she left, closing the door with the quiet authority of someone who could run an empire from a single hallway.
I sat on the edge of the bed, exhaling for what felt like the first time in hours. My thoughts were buzzing, but my body... my body was giving out.
Before I could decide whether to lie down or panic, the door opened again and a younger servant girl stepped in, carrying folded silk in her arms.
"These are for you, Miss," she said with a polite bow.
I stared at the clothes. They looked like they belonged to a noblewoman. Layers of patterned silk, embroidered details so fine they could've been painted. I felt like I was about to be dressed for a royal wedding I didn't remember agreeing to.
"Thank you," I said, almost reverently. "Um… where can I bathe?"
She smiled and gestured. "Follow me."
She led me through another corridor and into what could only be described as a historical drama fever dream. A square wooden tub, already filled with steaming water, perfumed with rose petals, sat in the center of a room tiled with polished stone. Carved panels lined the walls, and soft light filtered in through lattice windows.
I actually clutched my chest. "This is amazing," I murmured.
The girl chuckled. "Enjoy your bath, Miss. I'll be just outside."
Once she closed the door, I stripped quickly and slid into the water.
And for a moment—just a moment—I allowed myself to breathe. The hot water soaked into my bones. The rose petals floated around me like I'd wandered into some noblewoman's daydream. My hair spread around me like ink in water. It was surreal.
So surreal that I forgot, just for a few precious seconds, that I didn't belong here.
That I might never get back.
Once I was done, the servant girl returned. She helped me into the elaborate garment she had brought earlier. The outfit was beautiful but incredibly complicated, with multiple layers that wrapped and tied in ways I couldn't quite understand.
"How do people wear these every day?" I muttered, feeling slightly overwhelmed.
The servant girl smiled patiently. "It takes practice, Miss. You will get used to it."
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of folding, wrapping, tucking, and more tying than a boat dock in typhoon season, I was dressed.
The servant girl motioned for me to sit in front of the vanity. I obeyed, eager to be done, but the moment I caught sight of the mirror, everything inside me slammed to a halt.
My breath hitched.
That wasn't my face.
The reflection staring back at me was someone else entirely. She had delicate features, skin like porcelain, and large, luminous eyes that looked like they belonged to a heroine from a tragic love story. Ethereal. Too perfect.
My heart pounded. I raised my hand slowly. The reflection did the same.
No. No, no, no. This isn't—
"What… what is this?" I whispered.
The servant girl glanced at me, a hint of concern clouding her otherwise gentle expression. "Is everything alright, Miss?"
I snapped my mouth shut and forced a smile, the kind that cracked at the edges. "Yes. I'm fine."
She nodded and went back to arranging my hair, her fingers working with practiced grace, while my brain spiraled like a sinkhole opening under my feet.
That's not me.
That's not me.
Who the hell is that?!
I couldn't tear my eyes away from her—from me. From the stranger moving exactly the way I did. The same tilt of the head. The same widening eyes. Only they weren't my eyes.
They belonged to someone younger. Maybe eighteen or twenty. Maybe less. I was thirty-three. I knew what my face looked like in a fluorescent-lit office bathroom at 2:00 p.m. This wasn't it.
I swallowed hard, panic climbing up my throat.
Had I taken over someone else's body?
Was this what this world was? Not just a time slip… but a body slip?
Was she gone? Still in here somewhere? Watching me live her life like a hijacker with a smile?
"Miss?" the girl asked again, brow furrowed gently.
I stood up too fast. "I—I am tired. Can I rest alone for a while?"
The dizziness hit me immediately. I gripped the edge of the vanity for balance, the wood solid and cool beneath my fingers.
"Of course, Miss," the girl said, bowing and slipping out of the room.
As soon as the door clicked shut, I sank back onto the stool and stared at the mirror. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, blurring the already unfamiliar face.
I couldn't stop them this time.
"This is too much," I whispered. "This is too much."
Everything came crashing down in waves. The cave. The creature. Lan Wangji's sword. Wei Wuxian's fever. The palace. The reflection that didn't belong to me.
"What am I going to do?" I whispered, burying my face in my hands as the tears fell freely now, hot and heavy.
I looked up again. She was still there. That same girl. Beautiful. Young. Trapped? Or was I the one trapped inside her?
Then, instinctively, I looked down at my hands. Turned them over.
They looked like mine. They felt like mine.
I ran my palms over my waist, down my legs, my arms. I didn't feel different. Nothing was drastically off. Same limbs. Same weight distribution. Same faint ache in the ankle from where I'd twisted it in the cave.
But then again…
When was the last time I actually looked at my hands?
I mean, really looked? Do people memorize their own elbows? Their collarbones? Their knee-to-thigh ratio?
No. Not unless you're a dancer. Or a model. Or in the middle of a complete identity crisis.
And now here I was, realizing I could walk around in someone else's body for days and barely notice because—surprise!—I'd never paid that much attention to my own reflection unless a zit was involved.
The thought made me dizzy.
I sat back down in front of the mirror. Watching this stranger mimic my every move, my furrowed brow, my trembling fingers touching her—not-my cheek.
Eventually, I climbed onto the bed. The exhaustion won. My head hit the pillow, thoughts still clawing at the edge of consciousness.
But sleep was merciful, heavy and dreamless.
For now.
When I woke, the room was bathed in the soft light of late afternoon. I sat up, feeling groggy and disoriented. The events of the past hours came rushing back, and I was filled with a renewed sense of confusion and frustration.
But there was nothing I could do. I was stuck in this body, in this world, and until I figured out what had happened, I had no choice but to keep living as this girl.
With a sigh, I stood up and approached the mirror once more.
"Okay," I said softly, addressing my reflection. "Let's figure out who you are and why I'm here."
Determined to make the best of my situation, I decided to explore my new identity.
Maybe if I understood more about this girl and her life, I could find some answers.
I straightened my shoulders and took a deep breath, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.