The white funeral banners in the mourning hall were stirred by a draft, just like the last thing I saw before I died in my previous life. Sandalwood mingled with the insincere sobs of my stepmother, Madam Lin, filling my nostrils. I stared at the crescent-shaped marks my nails had dug into my palm. This body still bore the scars from the shards of porcelain that cut me when I knelt there on the day my father fell in battle.
