I liked to think I was sensible. Life wasn’t fair, so I never expected it to be. People befriended me because of my father’s wealth, people insulted me for it, and it often did feel like the world revolved around him. I grew up learning to be silent unless he spoke to me, to be present when he came home or left, to wear the style of clothes he wanted me to, to play the piano, to study classical art—to do anything and everything he wanted me to.

In the end, I even became engaged to the man he wanted me to marry. However, as alluring as my father’s wealth was, young men apparently had other things on their mind.

“Don’t listen to her, she’s crazy!” he said, beckoning over the restaurant’s staff.

“Enjoy your meal,” I said and stood up.

“Lian!” He tried to follow, but the woman who had turned up was rather insistent on getting between us, easy for me to leave without him stopping me.

It was funny, I should have been upset. He’d said so many sweet things: that he didn’t care about who my father was, that he loved me for who I was, that we could run away from all of this and just be ourselves. All the things I’d wanted to hear.

Yet, the moment the “other woman” turned up, I just felt relieved. I didn’t have to marry him. My father wouldn’t accept that kind of disrespect, not that he cared about me, but that he cared about what others would say about him.

What a relief.

It was funny, I should have felt glad, so why was I tearing up?

Stopping, I went to wipe my eyes. So much was going on, people and cars going past, my eyes closed—no warning, a sudden shove sent me staggering.

“Lian!”

And I died with a deep and intense feeling of life being unfair in my soul.

However, my story didn’t end there. I ended up in a queue of souls, shuffling towards a cleansing which would remove all my memories, ready to be born again. Not a particularly quick wait, either.

“It sounds like you loved him,” said Granny Lu, having nagged me about what such a young lady was doing here.

Granny Li nodded so vehemently I worried her dentures would fall out. “Even if you know he’s lying, women are romantic at heart, so it can’t be helped.”

“Men have always married up and women down. A cheater is nothing, at least he’ll leave you alone,” Granny Liu said, face in a perpetual scowl.

Granny Lu waved off Granny Liu, leaning in to whisper, “Ignore her, her husband just liked to drink a bit too much.”

I politely smiled, keenly feeling the difference in generation. Well, the world was a very different place when they were young, especially if they lived out in the countryside rather than the big cities.

Behind us, a woman cleared her throat. I turned around and lost my breath. Tall, with a cold face, narrow eyes and thin mouth, a few fine wrinkles at their corners as if drawn with a brush, hair tied in a neat bun, jade hairpin matched by a jade bead hanging off each ear.

“If you had feelings for him,” the woman said, her voice rather deep for a woman, yet smooth, flowing like water, “did you ever touch yourself while thinking of him?”

Lost in her voice, it took a moment to realise what she’d said, freezing up. The grannies all tutted behind me, but her gaze pulled me back in. Inky eyes, such a deep black, like I’d fall in if I got too close.

After a long second, she let out a chuckle, thin, red lips settling into a smirk. “Well?”

“Well what?” I said, hoping she wouldn’t push the issue.

Leaning in, she whispered, “Did you think of him when you pleasured yourself?”

I shuddered, surely out of disgust. “Really, I wouldn’t ever think of him if I could help it,” I mumbled, looking away.

“Then who did you think of?”

I glanced back, only to see her walking away. My gaze lingered, watching her sway, the dress clinging to her curves.

“Ignore her, dear, she’s probably one of those other women,” Granny Li said, patting my shoulder.

But I couldn’t forget her as if possessed. Every time I blinked, I saw her smirk, the amusement in her eyes. However, I didn’t dare think about her question. Didn’t dare admit my answer.

So it felt like no time at all had passed before I was at the front of the line. Just as the worker was about to send me on, a familiar voice spoke behind.

“Ah, if I could have a moment?” she said.

I turned around only to see her looking at the not-quite-human worker beside me, who instantly stood up straighter at her attention. “Of course, ma’am, how may I help?”

Her lips slipped into that smirk once more, then her gaze met mine and, gesturing with her eyes, bid me on. It took me a moment to understand that, but hesitated.

“Don’t you think it would be a shame for someone to pass on without having lived?” she said, the question directed at the worker, yet resonating inside me.

“Oh yes, certainly, but everyone has to drink the forgetfulness tea before reincarnating,” he said.

The woman raised her hand to her mouth, then flicked her finger.

I felt it, my hesitation breaking, and looked ahead. Beyond the soup cauldron, a bridge and, at the end of it, a veil, both bright and dark, glittering and dull, welcoming and foreboding.

And I ran. I didn’t know why she was doing this, but her words stayed pierced into my heart.

I hadn’t lived, so why did I have to die?

“Wait! You can’t!”

I wasn’t a fast runner, still wore the heels I’d died in, but I ran knowing my life depended on it. Couldn’t breathe, legs aching from the suddenness of it, ankles threatening to roll every stride, desperately clutching the railing for balance, tears rolling down my cheeks.

I didn’t want to die like this.

Heart pounding in my ears, I didn’t hear him catch up, only knew that one moment I was running, the next I was being jerked back. “Let me go!” I screamed, blindly kicking out.

“Ouch! Stop it—”

His voice cut out there and another familiar voice said, “Go.”

So I did, staggering the last steps to the veil, and I fell, fell, deeper and deeper and deeper, until it wasn’t like I was falling at all. Floating, dreaming, a baby, a child, a teenager, a journey.

Then I jerked awake, gasping for breath. Like I hadn’t breathed in a lifetime, I gulped down what air I could, the drowning-like panic slowly receding.

Calming down, I realised I was alone in a room. It was covered in scarlet from the sheets to the rugs to the paper fans hanging on the wall. Rather than lights, an oil lamp glowed on a table. In fact, glancing along the base of the walls, I couldn’t even see any sockets.

My heart pounded in my chest, yet that was just more proof of the important thing: I was alive. It didn’t matter where, I was alive.

Just as I was about to burst into laughter, the relief this time so sweet, the door swung open and a man strode in. What an outfit he wore, like he’d come straight from starring in a historical drama, his robes bright yellow, covered in countless dragons and phoenixes.

Already on the verge of laughing, I couldn’t hold it in. Breathless laughter flowed through my lips, ribs aching, light-headed.

“Pray tell, what does this one’s concubine find so humorous?”

Such an even voice, his smile polite, yet I felt a shiver down my spine.

That dream wasn’t a dream. All of a sudden, those years weighed heavily on my mind, pushing into the gap between my old life and now. Nineteen years of memories, of doing what I was told, being the perfect picture of virtue and elegance, culminating in my selection to join the Imperial Harem.

Not the past, but another world so similar to it.

In front of me stood, not an actor, but the Emperor. Thinking how I lived and died at his whim, my heart pounded. Then I realised that I had already lived and died at another’s whim.

Heart settling, I looked the Emperor in the eye and smiled. “Your servant shan’t lie: I laughed at the absurdity of the situation, that I have no interest in being Your Majesty’s bedfellow and yet here I am,” I said, the blasphemous words coming out so easily.

Although his expression didn’t change, I felt his anger in his words. “A concubine dares speak that way to this one?”

“Your servant wouldn’t dare lie to Your Majesty,” I said, bowing my head.

For what little it did to improve my chances of living, I did not dare look up. Second after second passed in complete silence, not even the distant sound of cars or buses, no phones ringing or beeping, just my slow and steady heartbeat.

Clicking his tongue, he turned around. “You slave think yourself untouchable, that your family shall protect you, know that you are here as prisoner and not the other way around. This one only needs you alive, pray learn that death is a comfort you shall be denied.”

With that said, he left, the door closing so softly that, if I were some hapless maid or eunuch in the hallway, I would think he didn’t want to wake the sleeping “bride”.

After a few seconds, I burst into laughter again. How pretentious he was, how arrogant, how dramatic. The ruler of such a grand country could be enraged by the merest slight he could perceive, such was why rational men had to rule and emotional women had to stay in the home.

I smiled bittersweet. How little things had changed, really, my father needing a child to adhere to his every criteria or else he would throw a tantrum. In charge of so many people—I could only say in the thousands, but really could have been as many as a hundred thousand—and yet a little girl choosing her own dress would have him screaming like a baby.

Looking down, I finally took note of my dress. Of course, it wasn’t my choice, had been chosen to appeal to the Emperor and to follow customs. Lifting up the skirt, feeling the silk run across my fingers, I thought it was such a pretty dress, so delicate, intricate.

And then I tore it.

Strip by strip, I reduced the dress to rags, tore off the ancient underwear, until I was completely naked. The night’s chill bit at my tender skin, a daughter raised in comfort. Before I started shivering, I began to wrap the long strips around me, tying them just enough to keep them from slipping. My memories of my old life were already becoming distant, feeling like twenty years ago rather than twenty minutes, but something lingered, trying to make a dress like that.

When I was finished, I carefully stood up. A few pieces slipped and came undone, but I fixed them, then went to the mirror. Rather than glass, it was polished bronze. I didn’t expect it to work as well as it did, but, sure enough, there I stood, my rag dress hugging my curves, only coming halfway down my thighs.

What meaning it had, I didn’t know. Something I needed to remember. Something I didn’t want to forget. Even if I couldn’t remember it, I could burn this memory of trying to remember it into my head.

A figure, a voice, a gaze.

No matter how hard I tried, nothing came to mind. However, when I finally gave up, I realised my cheeks were hot, a familiar ache just below my stomach.