The rain poured in torrents, night pressing down thick and heavy like ink that refused to fade. Water cascaded from the eaves like waterfalls, veiling the courtyard lanterns in a misty blur.
Inside, shadows flickered dimly. The window shutters banged incessantly against the frame, the sound grating and restless.
Shen Zhiwu stood before the intricately carved canopy bed, clutching a slender golden hairpin. Its tip had pierced her palm—blood trickled down her pale fingers and stained the embroidered skirt of her dress, blooming like a vivid, jarring flower.
The man half-reclining before her was her husband in name—Li Cheng'an.
At this moment, Li Cheng'an's face was ghostly pale, his brocade robe in disarray. Blood spread from the wound on his shoulder, where her hairpin had slashed through. His eyes were wide with fury and disbelief as he rasped, "Shen Zhiwu, are you mad? You dare hurt me?"
Shen Zhiwu looked at him, unnervingly calm, her eyes cold as frost.
She hadn't struck to kill. That thrust had not been her full strength. But as her hand moved, there had been no hesitation in her heart.
She had only gone out to tell the kitchen not to reheat the soup.
But as she rounded the corridor, laughter drifted from the back of the house.
A voice she knew too well—her own maid, coy and scornful: "The lady really thinks she's won the young master's heart. Has she looked in a mirror lately?"
Then came Li Cheng'an's low chuckle: "She's just spoiled—Shen family's one and only little pearl, thinks she's special."
"And if she finds out—"
"So what?" he said lazily, laced with disdain. "She's just a woman. However clever, still only Shen daren's daughter."
Shen Zhiwu stood in the shadows, her fingers curling without thought.
Rain lashed her face, but couldn't match the sharp pain stabbing her chest.
She stood there for a long time before quietly turning back, as if she'd heard nothing at all.
She had thought—she could endure one more night.
But as she stepped through the doorway, Li Cheng'an leaned casually against the bed, looked up at her, and smiled. "What's this? Patrolling the courtyard at night?"
His tone was amused, as if even her endurance was just another joke.
She stared at him—and in that moment, the last sliver of restraint inside her snapped.
She walked forward slowly, took the golden pin from her hair. Her fingers tightened. The point broke her skin again.
Her hand did not tremble. Her heart did not waver.
As the pin sliced across his shoulder, her mind was deathly clear.
She had finally had enough.
She had been the only daughter of the Shen family, spoiled and cherished. Her father, Shen Ziyuan, was Minister of War, revered in court. He had raised her like a son—taught her to read, to debate, to sit beside him during official business. He often laughed and said, "If only you were a boy, you'd be a pillar of the empire."
But she was a girl.
So, to secure her peace, her parents chose Li Cheng'an, the well-mannered heir of a lesser noble house. Her father said, "He may not be the best, but he will treat you kindly for a lifetime. That's enough."
She had believed it—completely, naively.
And now, it was a ridiculous, cruel joke.
Her world of glittering light had collapsed.
She had tried to endure. She'd waited for him at night, sewn him winter robes he never wore. She hadn't dared reply to her parents' letters, terrified they'd sense something was wrong.
She had even convinced herself: maybe all marriages were like this—distant, cold, loveless.
But tonight, she knew: this wasn't marriage.
It was a cage.
She came back to herself, still gripping the pin, standing before him.
When she struck, she felt no regret—only cold, hard finality.
There was no going back.
Li Cheng'an snarled, "Apologize now, and maybe I'll forgive you."
She gave a faint, icy smile. "You're right. I'm just a woman. Just the Shen family's daughter."
She reached to his waist and tore off a piece of smooth white jade—a betrothal gift from her father. She had once treasured it. Now, it was cold as bone.
Li Cheng'an stared at her, stunned.
She didn't look back. She turned and walked into the storm.
Rain soaked her instantly. Her skirt dragged, hair clinging to her face. She staggered forward through the mud, pain stabbing from her side where she had struck the corner of a table.
She didn't know where she was going. Only that she couldn't stay.
As she passed the screen wall, a figure dashed from the shadows, an umbrella catching her just in time.
"Miss!" The figure caught her as she nearly collapsed, voice low and furious. "Are you out of your mind?"
It was Xiaoxia.
She had been waiting outside all along.
She looked at Shen Zhiwu's blood-soaked clothes and her eyes turned red.
"You already hit him—why run out here alone?"
Sure enough, torches flared in the distance. The Li estate guards were already searching.
Xiaoxia was strong. She hoisted Shen Zhiwu up and moved toward the back garden, muttering, "Couldn't you wait two more hours? Now we have to climb walls and sneak out in the rain. I'm tired just thinking about it."
Shen Zhiwu gave a ghost of a smile. "Early strike, early escape. Aren't you the queen of night routes?"
"I'm good at sneaking, not carrying my lady through the night!" Xiaoxia growled, adjusting her grip. "Are you hurt bad? What if you faint again?"
"Just a knock on the table. No fainting," Shen Zhiwu replied as if stating the weather.
"Keep pretending. See if I don't throttle you." Xiaoxia tightened her hold, fixing her damp collar. "If your parents saw you like this…"
"They can't know," Shen Zhiwu said quietly.
Xiaoxia paused, then said nothing more, just quickened their pace toward the back mountain path.
"Careful!" Xiaoxia slipped on a slope, but yanked them both upright with sheer strength.
"Let's hide for the night—"
"No." Shen Zhiwu's breath was short, but her voice was calm. "Li family's dogs are behind us. One step slower, and we'll never get out."
At last, they crested the slope. Hoofbeats echoed ahead—sharp, fast, not like pursuers, more like a royal escort.
Voices behind shouted, torches brightening the trees. Shen Zhiwu clenched her jaw and kept going.
She knew she could never turn back—not to the Shen family, not to the Li household. One would be ruined by her presence, the other would devour her whole.
There was only one road: escape. Farther, faster.
Rain blurred her vision and tears. The once-prized daughter of the Shen family was now soaked, filthy, falling apart.
Then—open ground.
Hoofbeats galloped nearer.
Shen Zhiwu froze, eyes narrowing.
"Royal guards," she whispered.
Through the mist, she saw a man on a white horse, cloak trailing. A jade ring on his right hand shimmered faintly—a mark only princes wore.
Her heart seized.
"The Third Prince… Xiao Jingming."
She bit her tongue hard, using the pain to force clarity.
This was her only chance.
She looked at Xiaoxia and whispered, voice nearly drowned in the storm: "This is it, Xiaoxia. You must help me—beg him. Beg him to save us."
Then she stumbled out of the bushes and fell before the horse, voice weak but unwavering:
"Your Highness… save me…"
"Shen Zhiwu! You trying to die?!" Xiaoxia shouted, right behind her. "If you're dying, I'm dying with you!"
Darkness swallowed her before she could hear anything more.
She felt herself lifted gently, a warm cloak wrapping around her trembling body. The scent of sandalwood filled her nose. The storm faded to a distant murmur.
And just before she lost consciousness, she whispered to herself:
If I live…
I still have a chance to rewrite my fate.