Rain battered the stained glass windows of the Lin family mansion, each drop echoing the chaos in Feng Yiran's heart.
Her fingers tightened around the bloodied wedding veil clutched in her fist. Once white, it was now soaked crimson—the same veil they had draped over her broken body when they tossed her into the cold river like yesterday's trash.
But that was a year ago.
And she wasn't dead.
Not anymore.
Feng Yiran stood at the gates of the elite Yanshi Academy, her school uniform pristine, her new identity flawless. Gone was the pampered heiress, sweet and trusting. In her place stood Lin Yiran, the mysterious transfer student with eyes like razors and secrets stitched beneath her skin.
Let them try to betray her again. This time, she would bleed them dry.
Inside the Academy, whispers followed her like perfume.
"Isn't she the one from the southern province? The Lin conglomerate's lost daughter?"
"She looks like a doll… but creepy. Like she's been reborn."
"Don't get involved. Yanshi only keeps the strong. The rest? They vanish."
Yiran ignored them all.
Her target wasn't the gossiping crowd.
It was him.
Shen Zhihao.
The man who had once held her hand and promised the world—then sold her soul for a crown he didn't deserve. He had laughed as her name was erased, her family torn apart, her life shattered.
Now he sat comfortably as Yanshi's rising star. Student council leader. First in class. Fiancé of her dear cousin, Lin Rou.
She smiled to herself.
Let the game begin.
Lunch hour. Yiran strolled through the academy gardens where the council usually met. She made no effort to hide her approach.
Shen Zhihao looked up.
For a moment, his expression faltered. Just for a moment.
Then it returned: cool, composed, detached.
"You're… Lin Yiran?"
She tilted her head, voice light and sweet. "You remember me?"
"No. Should I?"
His lie stung like acid—but she smiled anyway. "No. But you will."
Lin Rou appeared beside him, clinging to his arm. Her eyes widened when she saw Yiran. Then narrowed.
"Is this the transfer student everyone's whispering about?"
"I suppose I am," Yiran said, her gaze boring into Rou. "You look familiar. Like someone I should have buried."
"What did you just say?"
Yiran leaned in. "Nothing, cousin. Just admiring how fast you stole my life."
Rou's face paled.
Zhihao stepped between them. "Don't start trouble."
Yiran's eyes gleamed. "Trouble? I haven't even started."
That night, in her private dorm, Yiran opened the small jade box hidden in her suitcase. Inside lay a single pendant—her mother's. The only thing they hadn't taken from her.
She traced its edge, murmuring an old family vow under her breath.
"For every drop of blood spilled, a fire shall rise. For every betrayal, a reckoning."
Behind her, the shadows moved.
A figure stepped out.
Tall. Dressed in black. A familiar presence.
"Back already?" Yiran asked, without turning.
A deep voice replied, "You stirred the hornet's nest on your first day. Impressive."
She smiled. "Keep watching, Mo Chen. This is only the beginning."