Wrong.
This was my first thought when I woke up from a coma.
I lay on a pile of soft cushions, and the tip of my nose was filled with the strong aroma of powder, mixed with the smell of alcohol. There was the sound of silk and bamboo in my ears, someone was playing the pipa, and someone was laughing. I struggled to open my eyes, and what I saw was a pair of snow-white legs with bells attached to them.
The bells jingled with the dance steps, making me dizzy.
I sat up suddenly.
The surroundings suddenly became quiet.
A dozen girls in gauze knelt down together, their foreheads pressed to the ground, not even daring to breathe loudly. The musician playing the pipa shook his hand and the string broke. The sound was particularly harsh in the silence. I saw a eunuch crawling towards him and shouting in a high voice: "Your Majesty is awake! Long live your Majesty! Long live your Majesty!"
Your Majesty?
My mind was buzzing.
Looking down at himself, he was wearing a gold-thread embroidered dragon robe, with wine stains on the cuffs. The hands are not mine, they are white and slender, with bright red nails painted on them. I touched my face, and my facial features were horribly unfamiliar—the high bridge of my nose, the narrow corners of my eyes, and the traces of lipstick that still remained on my lips.
This is not my body.
