Chapter One: I Am a Supporting Character
Jiang Zhuo had long ago realized that she was not the protagonist of her own world; that role belonged to Shen Guan Zhi.
When had this begun? Jiang Zhuo pondered in a haze. It must have happened many times.
The first was when she smiled and listened to Shen Guan Zhi recount how she outwitted her sisters at home.
The second was when Jiang Zhuo, whose family had been confiscated, watched from the back courtyard as Shen Guan Zhi married her former fiancé in a grand ceremony.
The third was now: Jiang Zhuo, gravely ill and near death, lay on her bed as the old woman by the door gossiped about the new emperor’s impending coronation, and how the newly appointed empress was the eldest daughter of the Shen family.
“Cough, cough, cough!”
Jiang Zhuo could not help but fall into another fit of coughing.
She clutched, then unfolded, the yellowed old handkerchief, now stained with fresh blood, vivid as azaleas.
“…What a harbinger of death, coughing her life away—such a nuisance,”
The old woman at the door covered her nose and mouth, cast a disdainful glance at Jiang Zhuo, and closed the door, continuing her idle chatter with the servants outside.
“They say this Empress Shen was quite something back in the day…”
Outside, the night rain fell ceaselessly, and had for over three months.
Jiang Zhuo, once counted among the twin beauties of the capital alongside Shen Guan Zhi, was now little more than a shadow of her former self, her beauty ruined by a jagged scar that marred her delicate features, making her appearance shockingly pitiable.
The region of Shu was plagued by endless rain. Since coming to the Xie family estate, Jiang Zhuo had seldom seen the sun. Now, stricken by illness, she was confined all day in this musty servant’s chamber, suffocated by the damp air.
How she yearned for sunlight.
Jiang Zhuo suddenly remembered the spring outing after her coming-of-age ceremony at fifteen, standing among the noble girls.
The warm sunshine of the capital set their new hairpins and dresses aglow.
“Hey, have you heard? At the upcoming Qionghua Banquet, the Empress Dowager plans to select a bride for Prince Jing.”
“Hmph, what’s so great about Prince Jing? I’d rather marry Lord Ling—he’s so dashing.”
“Come off it! The lord you pine for already has more concubines than his chambers can hold. If you really married him, he’d surely drive your father mad.”
“Shh! We’re adults now; don’t speak so carelessly, like a child.”
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“All sisters here! What harm in a little jest? By the way, do you know if this year’s new top scholar has a wife?”
“What’s the point of marrying a sour-faced, penniless scholar? A military man has more backbone.”
Beside her, Shen Guan Zhi tugged lightly at Jiang Zhuo’s sleeve and laughed. “A Zhuo, do you have someone in mind?”
Jiang Zhuo’s father, holding the post of Vice Chancellor, had only one cherished daughter. With her remarkable beauty, Jiang Zhuo was the leader among the noble girls.
“Of course—I, Jiang Zhuo, will marry only the finest man in the capital.”
She lifted her face, proud and radiant, dimples blooming on her rosy cheeks, the gold hairpin in her chignon highlighting her dark tresses.
Prince Jing was the first royal son to be ennobled, and many noble families speculated that the emperor intended to make him crown prince.
Jiang Zhuo had set her sights high; naturally, she aimed for the position of Prince Jing’s consort.
And indeed, she acted accordingly.
At the Qionghua Banquet, Jiang Zhuo took first place with her pipa performance, and the emperor himself granted her marriage to Prince Jing—a moment of unmatched glory.
Yet shortly afterward, her father Jiang Dun was ensnared by a faction’s downfall and her entire family was exiled.
Rushed into Prince Jing’s manor by night, Jiang Zhuo escaped disaster, but the marriage was never mentioned again.
The once-celebrated noble girl became a concubine, forced to watch her friend Shen Guan Zhi marry into the prince’s manor with a grand procession.
Prince Jing Zhao Ming Jing, exalted above all; Lord Ling Heng, powerful and illustrious; Hanlin scholar Su Yan Qing, who passed three imperial exams in succession; and the formidable Commander Xie Guan Lan.
Jiang Zhuo, daughter of a disgraced official, burdened with beauty, was passed among these nobles like an object unfit for daylight.
Those mocking glances, contemptuous sneers, harsh scoldings, painful whippings…
The weight of her memories nearly crushed Jiang Zhuo, keeping her eyes shut.
In the darkness, only her ragged breaths could be heard; but as the final mouthful of blood welled up, even those breaths faded.
The silence was terrifying.
At dawn, Jiang Zhuo opened her eyes to find herself strangely light, while her sick body still lay on the bed, lifeless.
“What a cursed wretch—sick for days and dies today of all days.”
The old woman, arriving in the morning to feed Jiang Zhuo her medicine, discovered the corpse and complained bitterly.
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“The Jiang girl was rather unlucky. I heard her father was an official once, but he got into trouble. With the new emperor ascending and a general amnesty, if she’d survived this illness, perhaps her family could have been reunited.”
A servant who came to help with the burial sighed softly.
“Bah! What noble lady? Born with a life, but never blessed enough to enjoy it. The general never liked her anyway. No need to waste a coffin—just bury her anywhere.”
The old woman, grumbling incessantly, wrapped Jiang Zhuo’s corpse in a straw mat.
The servants hurriedly stuffed her body into a sack, dragged it up the back hill, and covered it with a handful of yellow earth.
Jiang Zhuo, now a lingering soul, stood dumbfounded at the bedside, watching others bury her. It felt strangely marvelous.
Even the general amnesty meant nothing now.
Jiang Zhuo gave a bitter laugh. On the road to exile, her father was killed by bandits.
She herself remained in Prince Jing’s manor; Prince Jing, to keep her calm, concealed the news. By the time Jiang Zhuo learned of it, her father had been dead for more than half a year.
No proper burial, no coffin, no rites, not even the chance for reincarnation.
Jiang Zhuo’s soul wandered the land of Shu: sometimes swinging from branches, sometimes blowing cold wind behind the gossiping old women, sometimes moving stones so the guards who once beat her would trip and fall in public.
Being a ghost wasn’t so bad.
Jiang Zhuo mused quietly. When alive, she feared pain, scolding, filth, exhaustion, cold—everything. In death, she feared nothing.
Just like her fourth husband, Xie Guan Lan, famed as the “Hell General”—a ruthless killer with a perpetually grim and sullen face.
In life, she was terrified of Xie Guan Lan, always careful to avoid him in the corridor. Now, she dared to scatter the pages he’d just written with a gust, right before his eyes.
But no one remembered Jiang Zhuo, the sickly concubine who died.
When the first snow fell in Shu, a nobleman in a black fox-fur cloak arrived at the Xie estate’s back hill. He ordered the mountain excavated, collected Jiang Zhuo’s decayed bones into a sandalwood box, built a new grave at the summit, erected a blank tombstone, and before leaving, burned some paper offerings.
What a truly good man!
Having spent months haunting Xie Guan Lan’s dreams, tugging his sleeve nightly to beg for paper offerings in vain, Jiang Zhuo was moved to tears by this act of kindness, and at once prepared for reincarnation, ready to embrace a new life.
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