The scent of burning pine drifted through the little yard, curling in the winter air.
In the center, an old woman lay still on a reed mat, her thin face finally free of wrinkles made by worry. Her skin was waxy in the pale light.
By the corner of the hut, a small figure stood, straight-backed and silent. Ten years old, black hair falling over her shoulder, her dark eyes steady on the flames.
Yue Zilan's fingers tightened on the clay cup in her hands.
The neighbors murmured soft condolences from the gate. "Ah, Old Granny Yue… she was a good soul. Raised that little one all by herself…"
Zilan smiled faintly, but it didn't reach her eyes.
Good soul? Yes. Granny Yue had been patient, stubborn, and foolishly kind. She had helped the village neighbours when she barely had enough rice for herself. She had shielded Zilan from the stares and whispers. She had told her bedtime stories about heroes who protected the weak.
And for ten years, Zilan had listened, nodded, and swallowed the cold steel in her blood.
Now the old woman was gone.
The relief was like a weight sliding from her shoulders.
She didn't have to pretend anymore.
---
Granny Yue had never been her real grandmother. She'd found Zilan half-dead in the forest outside the village — just a ragged child in blood-soaked clothes, clutching a broken dagger.
Zilan had woken in this frail little body, her past life memories crowding behind her eyes: the roar of battle, the wind over her mountain stronghold, the taste of victory after a raid.
Bandit Leader Yue Zilan — feared across the empire, her name a curse on every merchant's tongue.
She had died once, betrayed by the man she'd spared. The last thing she saw had been his blade sliding between her ribs.
sigh, there is no kindness in the world, just a little bit my heart softened it cost my life.
When she woke up here, she almost laughed.
Given a second chance in life… She might have seized her dagger and vanished into the hills that same night.
But then Granny Yue appeared — soft-spoken, warm-eyed, her hands were rough from years of labor.
Zilan could have left her without a second thought. Instead, she stayed. Not for love. Not for gratitude. But because something in that old woman's gaze made her… hesitate.
So she had hidden her edge. Played the role of a quiet, obedient child. She fetched water, chopped wood, and smiled at the neighbors.
For ten years, she kept her hands clean.
Now, watching the smoke curl into the sky, she felt the corners of her mouth lift.
Finally, there was nothing holding her back.
---
The villagers began to disperse. A few women lingered for a while, offering to bring food later.
"Poor thing… so young to be alone," one sighed.
Zilan dipped her head, voice soft. "Thank you, Auntie."
They left thinking she was heartbroken.
When the last shadow disappeared down the path, she set down the empty cup, brushed the ashes from her clothes, and stepped into the hut.
It was bare — a low table, a single chest, and the narrow bed where Granny Yue had slept.
Zilan knelt, pulling the chest toward her. The lock was simple; one twist of a hairpin, and it clicked open.
Inside was a cloth pouch of copper coins, a folded set of clean clothes, and a bundle wrapped in oilskin.
She unwrapped it slowly.
A dagger lay within — the dark blade with a familiar hilt.
Her lips curved in genuine amusement. "So you kept it for me, old woman."
She slid the weapon into her sleeve. It felt like an extension of her hand.
The copper coins in the chest barely weighed anything. Ten years, and this was all she had — not because she lacked the skill to earn more, but because she had played the role of a helpless child for Granny Yue's sake.
No hunting in the forest where the game was plentiful. No killings and plundering enemies, No demanding tribute from traders on the road. She had lived as the village pitied her — poor, harmless, and small.
Now, there was no need to pretend, and with that thought in her mind, she drifted into dreamless sleep.