The journey was devoid of the joyous clamor of drums or the rhythmic beat of gongs. There were no flickering dragon-and-phoenix candles, no vermilion cosmetic cases, and no grand Liyi [formal wedding rites] to sanctify the union. Instead, a solitary, nondescript sedan chair carried her like a ghost into the rear estates of the Yongxi Hou-fu [Mansion of the Marquis of Yongxi].
Above, the sky was a bruised charcoal, heavy clouds pressing down with the suffocating scent of rain and rot. Bai Wan stood before the gaping maw of the manor doors for a long time, her shadow stretching thin against the stone.
“Now that you have crossed this threshold, discard those baseless fantasies of yours,” a voice rasped from behind. It was Li Mama [an elderly high-ranking maidservant/wet nurse], her tone dripping with the cold arrogance of those who serve the powerful. “You promised the Tai-tai [Legal Mother/Main Wife] you would wed. To weep now is to invite E-yun [bad luck]. If the Hou-ye [The Marquis] takes offense, this old servant will not be the one to bear his wrath.”
The Master of this house, Marquis Ming, was a man of sixty winters with a voracious appetite for flesh. His Hou-yuan [Inner Rear Court] was a revolving door of tragedy; women were discarded and replaced every fortnight like wilted lotus blossoms.
“Er Xiao-jie [Second Young Miss], do not just stand there. Enter.” Li Mama seized Bai Wan’s arm. Her long, sharp nails bit through the thin silk of her Ruqun [a traditional wrap skirt and top], dragging her into the gloom. The doors slammed shut with a finality that swallowed the last thread of daylight.
Li Mama caught the shimmer of tears in the girl’s eyes and sneered. Such a seductive, delicate grace, the old woman thought with disdain. Truly the mark of a Shu-chu [child of a concubine].
As the old woman turned to leave, Bai Wan caught her sleeve. Her voice was a fragile thread, earnest and low. “I do not know which physician Mu-qin [Mother] has summoned for Yiniang [Aunt/Concubine Mother], but Yiniang only responds to the herbs I prepare. Please, tell him to read my medical journals before altering her prescriptions.”
With a practiced, humble motion, Bai Wan slipped several silver Liang [taels] into the old woman’s palm. “I am told Mama enjoys a fine vintage. This is but a small token. I only pray you might bring me word of my mother’s health from time to time.”
Li Mama weighed the silver, her expression softening into a greedy mask. “The Tai-tai bade me tell you: now that you have entered the Marquisate, your fate is bound to the honor of the Bai clan. Marquis Ming is a military official of the Er-pin [Second Rank]; serve him well, and you shall know opulence. So long as you remain obedient, Aunt Feng shall remain safe.”
As Li Mama stepped back into the courtyard, a young Yahuan [maidservant] stumbled toward her, face ashen.
“Something has happened! The one in Zimei [Purple Plum] Garden… she is gone!”
Li Mama’s face twisted. She clamped a hand over the girl’s mouth, glancing sharply at the closed door of the bridal chamber. Pulling the maid into a shadowed corner, she hissed, “So she is dead. Why the hysterics? Speak!”
“The moment the Er Xiao-jie departed in the sedan,” the maid whispered, trembling, “she hanged herself!”
Li Mama’s heart sank. “Keep this secret! Not a breath of this must reach the Second Miss. She may look as gentle as water, but she has a spirit of iron. If it weren’t for the Tai-tai holding Aunt Feng’s life over her head, she never would have submitted. If she learns the truth, there will be blood.”
Inside the room, Bai Wan did not move. She leaned against the cold wood of the door, sliding down to the dusty floor. She pressed her palms against her mouth to stifle the jagged sobs, her tears falling silently into the dark.
Suddenly, the sky split. Blinding cracks of lightning illuminated the room, followed by a roar of thunder that shook the foundations of the mansion. Bai Wan sat in the strobe-light of the storm, her face a mask of pale despair.
She rose eventually, wiping her eyes and smoothing her hair before a tarnished bronze mirror. Outside, a voice announced the arrival of the master.
“This old servant greets the Hou-ye and congratulates him on his nuptials!”
“Is the prize inside?” a gravelly, aged voice asked with a lecherous chuckle.
“She is. The Guangling Bo [Earl of Guangling] and his wife have trained her well. She will not disappoint.”
Bai Wan listened as the footsteps approached. With a trembling hand, she drew a small white porcelain vial from her sleeve—a tincture of Fuzi [Aconite poison] she had prepared for her own end. She swallowed it in one desperate draught.
As the bottle rolled across the floor with a hollow clink, the door creaked open. Bai Wan collapsed onto the Ta [daybed], her senses beginning to fray. She saw a bulky, looming figure in the doorway, but before he could cross the threshold, the air changed.
The scent of gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood suddenly drowned out the incense. A roar rent the air, followed by a scream that didn’t sound human.
The vermilion gates of the mansion were smashed open. Men in Kaijia [heavy iron armor] flooded the courtyard like a black tide. With a single, silver flash of a blade, the leader struck. The head of the Marquis of Yongxi severed from his neck, rolling across the stone until it hit the threshold of Bai Wan’s room, leaving a grisly trail of red.
Then came the sound of hooves—steady, rhythmic, and terrifying.
A man in a charcoal-black Doupeng [cloak] dismounted, his presence commanding the very air. The soldiers dropped to their knees as one, their voices a thunderous chorus:
“Greetings to Ning Wang Di-xia [His Royal Highness, Prince Ning]!”
The man, Prince Ning, did not spare a glance for the corpse at his feet. He strode toward the burning manor as his subordinates reported the carnage.
“Your Highness, the Yongxi household has been purged… The Guangling Earl’s family was intercepted at the city gates… the eldest daughter, Bai Heng, was executed for her insolence…”
The door to the bridal chamber was kicked open. The heat of the growing fire rushed in. Through the haze of the poison, Bai Wan saw him—a man of cold, arrogant beauty, his eyes sweeping the room with the indifference of a god. He did not see her. To him, she was already a ghost.
“Your Highness,” a messenger called, “the Crown Prince is safe. The Grand Secretaries await you at the Palace to oversee the transition.”
The man turned, his cloak swirling like a shadow, and vanished. Bai Wan’s grip on the bedsheets failed. As the flames climbed the walls, consuming her body and her soul, she let out one final, silent scream into the void.
“Ah—!!”
Bai Wan bolted upright, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She was drenched in a cold sweat that turned to ice in the winter draft. The phantom pain of the fire still burned in her marrow.
“Ping’er? [A pet name/diminutive]” A lamp flickered nearby. A soft hand draped a heavy cloak over her shoulders. “My child, you’ll catch your death of cold…”
Bai Wan froze. That voice. She looked up and saw the face of Aunt Feng—her mother, who should have been a ghost. Tears erupted, and she threw herself into her mother’s arms, sobbing with a ferocity that shook her small frame.
“What is this? Such a big girl, still acting like a spoiled child,” Aunt Feng teased gently, though her eyes were worried.
As Bai Wan felt the warmth of her mother’s skin, a realization struck her like a lightning bolt: She had returned. She was back in the cold, lean days of the Guangling estate, before the wedding, before the fire.
The room was freezing. The maid, Zhuling, brought in a basin of tepid water, grumbling about the Tai-tai’s [Main Wife’s] stinginess.
“I asked for the winter charcoal, but they gave us two thin quilts and told us to wait,” Zhuling spat. “The Madam treats us worse than the stable hands.”
Bai Wan listened, her mind racing. She remembered this winter. Tomorrow, she was supposed to gather herbs, fall in the snow, and break her leg—an accident that would keep her bedridden while the fate of the Bai family shifted.
In her past life, the Emperor’s seventh son, Prince Ning, was dying. To “wash away the bad luck,” an imperial decree demanded a bride from the Bai family. The eldest legitimate daughter, Bai Heng, had been terrified. She eventually wed him, feigned her death, fled, and caused the ruin of their entire clan.
This time, Bai Wan thought, her eyes sharpening with a cold fire, the path will be different.
The following morning, Bai Wan stood before Mingchun Hall, the primary residence of Madam Zheng [The Legal Mother].
Inside, she heard the frantic wailing of her half-sister. Bai Heng was sprawled across Madam Zheng’s lap, her face blotchy with tears.
“I will not marry him! He is a dying man! Mu-qin, you cannot let me waste my life in a house of mourning!”
“My heart’s blood, I know you love Du Zhan,” Madam Zheng wept, stroking her daughter’s hair. “But an Imperial Decree is the will of Heaven…”
“Tai-tai, the Er Xiao-jie has arrived,” a nanny announced.
Madam Zheng’s grief turned instantly to venom. She looked at Bai Wan and snapped, “What are you doing here? Begone!”
Bai Heng snarled, snatching a celadon teacup and hurling it at Bai Wan’s head. The porcelain shattered against her brow, and a trickle of crimson blood ran down her pale face. Bai Wan did not flinch. She did not cry.
Instead, she sank into a formal Kowtow, her forehead touching the cold floor in a display of ultimate submission.
“Second Sister, why are you here?” Bai Heng mocked. “To gloat? Even if I cannot marry the Du family, a low-born creature like you would never be worthy of a Prince!”
Bai Wan rose slowly, her gaze meeting Madam Zheng’s with an unnerving calm.
“I am here to serve my family,” Bai Wan said, her voice steady and clear. “I am willing to marry into the Ning Wang-fu [Prince Ning’s Mansion] in my sister’s stead, to bring the luck of the Bai clan and preserve our honor.”
There was no music. No finery.
Bai Wan sat on the edge of the bridal bed in the Ning estate. She wore a simple, faded yellow Ao [jacket] and a bamboo hairpin. She was a “luck-bringer,” a sacrifice sent to a dying man’s room.
The matchmaker finished the Hejin-jiu [Ritual exchange of wine] and scurried away, leaving the room in a heavy, medicinal silence.
Bai Wan turned her head slowly. There, amidst the silken covers, lay the man who had haunted her final moments in her past life. Prince Ning was pale, his breathing shallow, he was a fallen god of war.
She reached into her sleeve, feeling for the white porcelain bottle. But this time, she did not drink. She looked at the man and whispered to the shadows:
“This time, Your Highness… we shall both live.”