AWAKENING BETWEEN PAGES
The scent of sandalwood reached Shen Qingyi before pain did.
It lingered faintly in the air—warm, bitter, and unmistakably old—curling into her senses as though she had breathed it for years. When consciousness finally returned, it came not gently but with a crushing weight, as if her body were pressed into silk-lined stone.
This isn't my room.
That realization struck before panic could take shape.
Shen Qingyi opened her eyes.
A canopy of pale gauze hovered above her, embroidered with phoenixes stitched in muted gold thread. The fabric swayed ever so slightly, stirred by a breeze she could not feel. Beyond it rose dark-red wooden beams carved with intricate patterns—solemn, regal, and terrifyingly familiar.
Too familiar.
Her heart lurched.
"No…" she whispered.
The voice that escaped her lips was soft, clear, and composed—nothing like her own.
Qingyi pushed herself upright. Silk sleeves slid down slender wrists, the motion fluid and instinctive, as if this body had always belonged to her. Her heart thundered violently, yet her breathing remained steady, disciplined, almost trained.
That frightened her more than the surroundings.
She lowered her gaze.
A pale-blue palace robe wrapped her figure, layered and elegant, embroidered with restrained cloud motifs. The fabric was real. Heavy. Cool beneath her fingers.
No cotton sheets.
No phone.
No ceiling fan humming overhead.
Her fingers trembled.
"This isn't possible…"
The last thing she remembered was lying on her bed, legs crossed, phone glowing faintly in the dark. It was nearly two in the morning. She had just reread the final chapters of Feng Suo Shen Gong—The Phoenix Locked in the Deep Palace.
She remembered crying.
She remembered cursing the author.
She remembered saying aloud, half-joking, half-bitter—
If I were inside this book, I'd never let it end like this.
Then came a sharp pain behind her eyes.
And darkness.
Qingyi swung her legs off the bed. Her bare feet touched cold stone flooring, the chill slicing straight through her nerves.
This wasn't cosplay.
This wasn't a lucid dream.
Her gaze snapped to the bronze mirror across the chamber.
She crossed the room in three unsteady steps and stared.
The woman reflected back at her was unfamiliar and achingly familiar all at once.
Oval face. Delicate brows. Dark eyes—calm, lucid, carrying a quiet intelligence sharpened by restraint. Lips naturally pale, pressed tightly together as if holding back words unsaid.
Shen Qingyi.
The female lead of the novel.
The woman fated to endure everything—betrayal, manipulation, bloodshed—only to lose the man she loved most in the end.
Her knees weakened.
"No… no, no…"
Memories surged forward, not hers yet undeniably real: kneeling in falling snow; blood staining white jade steps; a man in imperial robes turning away without once looking back.
The ending.
She grabbed the edge of the dressing table to keep herself upright.
I transmigrated.
Before she could fully process the weight of that truth, hurried footsteps echoed outside.
"Miss Shen! Miss Shen!"
The door flew open.
A young maid rushed in, her expression pale with relief. "Thank heavens—you're awake! You collapsed during morning rites. His Highness has already been informed."
Three words struck harder than a slap.
His Highness.
Crown Prince Xiao Yichen.
Qingyi's throat went dry.
"What… what day is it?" she asked carefully.
The maid blinked, surprised by the question. "The sixth day of the Third Month, miss."
Qingyi's blood ran cold.
That date.
This was the beginning.
The opening chapter of the novel.
The day the Crown Prince first truly noticed Shen Qingyi.
The day the plot began to deviate from kindness into cruelty.
A sharp, humorless laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it.
The maid stiffened. "Miss…?"
Qingyi raised a hand. "Leave me."
"But—"
"Please."
After a moment's hesitation, the maid bowed and withdrew, closing the door softly behind her.
Silence settled.
Qingyi exhaled shakily and pressed both palms to her face.
Okay. Think. Breathe.
If she was here, then the rules applied. The plot. The fate lines. The unavoidable tragedies.
And—
Her chest tightened.
I'm not alone.
She spun toward the door, heart hammering.
"Ruoxue."
The name tasted like home.
Lin Ruoxue—her best friend. Her roommate. The one who stayed up late reading with her, raging about unjust endings, furious over how the novel treated its villainess.
The second female lead.
The woman who, in the original story, was framed, abandoned, and executed without mercy.
If Qingyi was Shen Qingyi…
Then Ruoxue was here too.
The door creaked open again, this time slowly.
A girl stepped inside.
She wore a crimson palace dress embroidered with gold-thread peonies, her posture proud, her expression sharp and guarded. Her eyes—dark, bright, and furious—locked onto Qingyi's.
For a single heartbeat, the world went still.
"…You," the girl said hoarsely.
Qingyi's vision blurred.
"Ruoxue."
Lin Ruoxue laughed, a brittle sound edged with disbelief. "So it's real. I was hoping I'd gone mad."
They stared at each other, taking in unfamiliar clothes, unfamiliar faces, and the same soul-deep recognition.
"You're Shen Qingyi," Ruoxue said flatly.
"And you're Lin Ruoxue," Qingyi replied.
The villainess.
The doomed second female lead.
Ruoxue's jaw tightened. "So you got the good role."
"That's not true," Qingyi said immediately.
Ruoxue scoffed. "In this book? The female lead lives. I die."
Qingyi stepped forward, grasping Ruoxue's hands without hesitation. "Listen to me. We know the plot. We know what happens. That means we can change it."
Ruoxue looked down at their joined hands, then back up, eyes dark with something dangerously close to hope.
"…We promise," Ruoxue said slowly, "not to let a man come between us."
Qingyi nodded without pause. "Never."
Outside the palace walls, bells rang.
Far away, Crown Prince Xiao Yichen turned his head, as if sensing something shift in the threads of fate.
And deep within the palace, a story that was never meant to change began to rewrite itself.