[After becoming a substitute, I tore up the first-love script with my own hands]
Seven cycles, seven agonies of having my heart carved out.
When the regent presses a dagger to my heart again, I finally hear the bloody annotation the original story never revealed: “He who kills his wife to attain the Dao will be trapped in reincarnation forever.”
This time, I don’t beg for mercy. I turn the blade and drive it into his palm. “Ling Lie, it’s time for someone else to take charge of your fate.”
Later, the long-suffering strategist rips open his robe to reveal the dragon insignia of the former dynasty; the ailing young lord burns his betrothal contract in open court; even the violent general kneels at the hem of my bloodstained skirt. “Will one hundred thousand iron cavalry be enough to win your heart?”
What they call fate is nothing but a lie that bullies the weak and cowers before the strong.
When puppet strings tighten around every pawn’s throat, the one moving the pieces will become the blade in my hand.
