consciousness woke up fuzzy, like someone trying to climb out of a thick fog. The first thing that pricked her mind was the scent of damp earth and old wood. Not the cloying perfume of some fancy mansion, this. This smelled like... life.

Chen Qingxue blinked, the sharp pain of splitting open her eyelids making her grit her teeth. She tried to move, but her body felt heavy, like lead, and she couldn't lift a finger. A rough groan escaped her lips.

Where... where was she?

She slowly, painstakingly, opened her eyes again. The dim light filtering through a crack in the door was enough to make her squint. She was lying on a hard, narrow cot. The rough canvas was instantly familiar. It was the bed in the maid's quarters of the Chen estate. She was a maid? When had she become a maid?

"Ah—!" Chen Qingxue坐 bolted up, hitting her head on the low ceiling. She rubbed her temples, glaring around the room. It was exactly as she remembered it: a single window with a bit of grime on the glass, a small wooden table, two benches, and her cot. The air was musty, thick with the scent of dust and decay.