Everyone says I'm a witch.
He Zhiyuan dotes on me, favors me, and bears all the infamy for me. But I know - the small portrait in the dark room of his study looks exactly like me, but it is not me. I thought I was just a stand-in.
I thought he just loved this face.
When the poisonous arrow came, he pulled me into his arms and blocked it with his chest.
Blood flowed all over me. He died in my arms and said, "We met a long time ago. You would have laughed back then."
I saved him with the blood of the Oniji clan. I'm dead.
He burned all my portraits, imperial edicts, and daily notes. The historian asked him how to record the imperial concubine, and he said: There is no imperial concubine.
There is only one sentence left in the history books - Emperor Qing'an had no concubines and no children.
But he couldn't burn the back of the little portrait. There is a line of writing on it with my name and a date.
That date was a full four years before we first met.
