The next morning, soft golden rays filtered through Song Mei's curtains, warming her face, but doing nothing to ease the chill gripping her chest.
She had barely slept. And when sleep finally came, it brought no peace—only torment.
In her nightmare, she was back in the cold marble hall of the Song mansion. Kneeling. Alone.
The shadows of towering portraits stared down at her—former patriarchs, matriarchs—reminders of a bloodline she barely belonged to. A line she had never been allowed to walk proudly.
Around her stood the Song family: Mr. and Mrs. Song, her three brothers, the household elders. Their eyes bore into her like knives.
"Unfilial child."
"Disgrace."
"She doesn't belong here."
Their voices melded into a chorus of contempt, echoing through the vast hall, each word a lash against her soul.
Song Mei tried to speak, to explain herself, to defend even the smallest sliver of her worth—but no sound escaped her lips. Her voice was stolen, caged inside a throat too raw from screaming in silence.
And then came the moment that shattered her—again.
She turned to the only one who wasn't glaring at her with hatred.
Song Ning.
The youngest. The precious daughter of the family. Standing a few steps away in her soft pastel dress, clutching her purse to her chest, looking utterly lost in the storm.
Song Ning approached her, eyes glimmering with hesitation. She knelt beside her and whispered softly, "Meimei, I think it's better if you rest somewhere far away… Maybe it's better for everyone."
She meant well. She always meant well. But her innocence cut deeper than cruelty.
There was no venom in her voice. Only innocent bewilderment.
But those words—those simple, unknowing words—crushed Song Mei like a collapsing wall.
One of her brothers turned to Song Ning, crouching to pat her head.
"Don't worry, Ningning. We'll take care of it. You don't need to understand."
And with that, they turned their backs. All of them.
Even Song Ning, hesitant and unsure, followed their lead.
Song Mei reached out, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her fingers clawed at the cold floor as the light around her dimmed.
"Please… don't leave me again…"
But no one turned back.
She was swallowed by the shadows, kneeling—forgotten—while their voices echoed once more:
"Send her abroad."
"Out of sight, out of mind."
"She was a mistake."
She gasped and shot upright in her bed, drenched in sweat, chest heaving, fingers clutching the edge of her blanket like it was the last thing tethering her to reality.
Her room was quiet.
Too quiet.
The silence rang louder than screams.
She rubbed her face, trying to wash the nightmare away, but the ache in her heart remained.
"Not again," she whispered to herself, staring into the dim morning light. "I won't let them break me this time."
Later that morning, she stood in front of the mirror with mechanical calm. Her face calm but unreadable. Today, she didn't want to hide behind oversized clothes or dull colours. She picked a sharp black skirt that hugged her waist and a crisp white blouse buttoned to perfection. Her tie was neat, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, emphasizing the sharpness of her jawline.
This wasn't just a look. It was armour.
She chose not to wear heavy makeup today. No masks. No distractions.
Only the truth of who she had become: a girl reborn through pain.
Downstairs, the house staff and lilac who are assigned there by Mr. Song greeted her more cautiously than before. There was a chill in her presence they couldn't place—a quiet fire behind her eyes.
As she walked to school, the streets blurred around her. Her mind still played the echoes of the nightmare—her family's scorn, Song Ning's innocent confusion.
Song Ning.
She wasn't evil. Song Mei knew that. She was just a child wrapped in layers of love and protection. Too delicate to understand the pain others bore. Too sheltered to see how sharp her innocence could be.
But that innocence, unchallenged, had still left scars.
At school, the atmosphere shifted the moment she stepped through the gates.
Her classmates turned to look, murmurs rising like ripples on still water.
"There she is…"
"She's so different now."
"I heard she nearly sent a guy to the hospital."
"Did you hear? She beat up five boys on her own."
"I heard one of them ended up with a dislocated shoulder!"
"No way! She looks like she wouldn't even lift a pen…"
"She used to be so… pathetic. Now she's terrifying."
"She works part-time, fights like a pro, and looks like that? What happened to her?!"
"But she's still gorgeous—like a blade wrapped in silk."
Even the teachers were talking behind closed doors. One of the male teachers frowned as she passed by, whispering to a colleague, "Keep an eye on Song Mei. With her past… this behaviour could be dangerous."
Another muttered, "Is she spiralling again? We need to report this if it escalates."
Their judgmental eyes didn't escape Song Mei's notice—but she gave them nothing to latch onto. No tantrums. No drama. Just silent, focused rebellion.
She didn't need their approval. Their gossip was like wind against steel.
She walked into her classroom, her heels clicking like a countdown. The moment she entered, conversations dropped. Even the rowdiest boys straightened in their seats. Some stared at her in stunned silence, others deliberately avoided her gaze.
Chu Shaojia rushed over, worried. "Meimei… people are saying things… That you beat up those guys last night. Is it true? Are you okay?"
Song Mei sat down, unbothered. "They tried to lay hands on me. I defended myself. Nothing more."
"But… everyone's talking about it. Even the teachers look scared."
"Let them talk," she replied. Her voice was soft, but there was a sharpness behind it like ice beneath silk. "I'm not here to please them."
Shaojia hesitated, not convinced. But the look in Song Mei's eyes warned her not to push further.
Shaojia looked at her, biting her lip. She'd seen her friend angry, bitter, broken—but never like this. Never this cold, this unreadable.
Throughout the day, Song Mei threw herself into her studies. Her concentration was razor-sharp. She asked questions, took notes, and ignored the whispers following her like shadows. She didn't glance up once during lunch or group discussions. When classmates hesitantly approached, she responded with clipped civility or silence.
Her wall was impenetrable.
To them, she was no longer the scandalous problem child. She had become something else entirely—an enigma with claws.
Even the teachers noticed her sudden discipline in class. One of them murmured quietly to another after she answered a difficult question:
"She's… improved. But it's unsettling."
At lunch, she sat beneath a tree alone, her notebook open, filled with scrawls of formulas, diagrams, and dreams.
A few boys from the basketball team passed by and paused, whispering to one another. One looked like he wanted to speak to her but turned back when he caught the cold flicker of her gaze.
"Untouchable," someone whispered behind her.
Yes. Let them think that.
Let them all keep their distance.
Because the old Song Mei—the one who wanted to be loved so badly she'd bend and break for crumbs of affection—was gone.
This version of her? She wasn't desperate. She wasn't weak.
She was fire. And no one would extinguish her again.
Later that evening, after her boutique shift, Song Mei walked the quiet streets. The wind tugged gently at her blazer, but her steps never faltered.
She thought of her dream, the marble floor, the cold eyes. Her family's disgust, Song Ning's well-meaning words—too gentle, too naive to be comforting.
They think kindness is enough to erase everything. But kindness without understanding is the cruelest thing of all.
Back at home, she peeled off her uniform and changed into soft loungewear. Her limbs ached from standing all day, but her heart was stronger.
At her desk, she opened her sketchbook and began designing again. Her hands moved swiftly, precisely. Each design was sharper than the last—dresses with bold cuts, jackets like armor, silhouettes that screamed "don't look away."
Each line whispered rebellion. Each curve demanded recognition.
She didn't want love anymore. Not from the Song family. Not even from Song Ning.
She wanted power.
Tomorrow, she would return to school again like nothing had happened. Let the rumors fly. Let the stares continue. She would walk through it all like a queen with fire beneath her feet.
This wasn't survival anymore.
This was evolution.