The cell smelled like mold, rusty blood, and hopelessness. The nook had been the rats' domain for a long time, and the straw bed was more of a thorn than a cushion. But none of that mattered now.
He had seven days left to live.
They told him yesterday. Not with ceremony or even with harshness. A guard who was bored just said it like he was giving the weather report.
"You'll be executed in a week. "Orders from the Emperor."
Lian—a nameless servant who had formerly worked in silence behind the crimson-tiled kitchens of the inner palace—was accused of a crime so vast it rang across the empire.
He had given the Emperor poison.
Except... he hadn't.
That day, he could remember every piece of ginger, every grain of salt, and every pot of stew that came out of the royal cooks. He remembered the eunuch who took the Emperor's food. He remembered how Minister Cao had a smug look on his face when the guards stormed in and pulled him out by the neck.
But no one cared what a servant recalled. In this planet, the truth was kept for nobles. Servants were designed to be shadows – unseen, unheard, and easily dismissed.
So he waited. Seven days.
And then… everything changed.
Six Days Until Execution
When he opened his eyes, it was not to the stink of death, but the gentle scent of cooking rice.
His heart raced.
The chilly stone was gone. In its place: a thin, familiar mat. The creaky wooden beams of the servant dormitories overhead. The hustle of morning prep in the palace kitchens beyond the wall.
His hands were clean.
His legs — not broken.
He sat up with a gasp. The boom scared a nearby youngster peeling garlic.
"Lian?" the boy asked, blinking. "You okay? You looked like you spotted a ghost."
"What day is it?" Lian asked, voice hoarse.
The boy laughed. "Still sleepy? The day before the Mid-Autumn Banquet, of course. His Majesty expects duck and lotus soup on the altar."
Lian's mouth ran dry. That was the day. The exact day before the poisoning. The last day before everything fell apart.
He stood up so rapidly he nearly fainted. His mind reeled, memories rushing in.
He had died. He had sat in that cell, waiting for death. He had yelled his innocence into stone walls.
And now… he was here again.
Seven days before the crime.
Back from the Dead
"This is real," he muttered. "It has to be."
There was a scar on his right hand - a tiny, faded line. It wasn't there previously. It shouldn't be there unless…
His final days. He had injured himself while cleaning a rusting pail in the prison.
"I came back... with the body, but not without the memory."
He didn't know how. There was no supernatural light, no second opportunity granted by a god of mercy. But somehow — he had returned.
He gazed around, eyes sharper than before. Servants bustled about, carrying baskets of spices and bundles of firewood. None of them realized what was coming.
In six days, he would be brought out as a traitor. In six days, Minister Cao would climb in power. And in six days, the Emperor would die – not from Lian's hand, but from a conspiracy that reached deeper than any kitchen plot.
He has seven days to unearth it. Seven days to prove his innocence. Seven days to change fate.
And He Would Begin in the Shadows
That night, Lian snuck from his quarters early, feigning to fetch water. He followed known roads — not as a frightened youngster, but as a man who had lived through fire. He hid behind pillars, listened behind doors, and watched faces he formerly overlooked.
He was a servant again.
And that made him invisible.
But this time, he would watch. He would listen. He would recall every lie, every smile, every thoughtless instruction.
Because seven days from now… the real poison would not be in the food.
It would be in the palace itself.