For anyone else, the night was unremarkable. For Ren Lin, it was the night she finally dared to step out of her boundaries—and into a truer self.

  In the quietness of her shabby room, she put the stolen band around her wrist.

  The leather hugged her skin—dry, warm and smooth.

  Faintly woody and musky, it smelled like a forgotten corner of a secondhand bookstore.

  It was comfortable, even if the wristband sat too loosely.

  “Like back then,” Ren Lin commented to herself. “When I wore father’s watches.”

  Yet a watch alone never gave anyone rank. Clothes did. No one looked at a beggar with a diamond watch and thought it was his—though here no one would know what a watch was. Ren Lin found herself in that position. The bronze tag on her wrist wasn’t power. Rather a question mark. A reason to be watched, doubted, challenged.

  That, however, was tomorrow’s problem.

  Today, she had survived—and that was enough. One slip, one second of hesitation, and her story might have ended in the tavern. If she hadn’t controlled her emotions in that moment…

  She forced the thought away. No. She had controlled herself. She had made it through. Luck had been on her side. That was all that mattered.

  Her eyes drifted shut as she lay back on the straw mat. The bronze tag’s reflection of the moonlight darkened. Then sleep took her.

  The sun’s beam entered through the slit one could barely call a window. Pale, golden, indifferent. Ren Lin stirred. The straw mat beneath her was stiff, her back sore, but her mind clear. A new day.

  She rose without ceremony. Today, she would begin building the illusion.

  A quick stretch as outside, the street was already stirring. Vendors raised their canopies, carts rattled across uneven stone, and the air smelled of roasted millet and sweat.

  She caught sight of a young slave girl carrying a basket of washed linens. Skin darkened by sun, eyes lowered by habit. Ren Lin stepped into her path.

  “Excuse me.”

  The girl’s gaze rose up as she halted.

  “Where’s the nearest bathhouse for cultivators?”

  The girl blinked, then pointed east, past a row of tea stalls. “Oh, just go through the market square. Across from the lotus pond. Look for the red-tile roof. It’s called Rising Mist.”

  Ren Lin gave a slight nod. “Thanks.”

  The girl hurried off.

  Rising Mist.

  By the time Ren Lin found it, the bathhouse was alive with steam and laughter. Men and women passed in and out of its open archways in loose robes, their bronze and few silver tags glinting with status.

  After all, she was in a zone where mostly mortals and bronze cultivators lived.

  Polished pillars of red wood held up a gently sloped roof adorned with jade tiles. Water trickled from carved lion spouts into shallow pools flanking the entrance. Attendants bowed as cultivators entered—robes folded neatly in their arms, heads respectfully lowered.

  Ren Lin stepped forward, her tag not on her wrist, but held in her hand. She kept her shoulders back, her expression unreadable.

  An attendant approached. Young. Clean tunic. A mortal.

  “Welcome to the Rising Mist. How may I help you?”

  She held up the wristband, her fingers trembling just enough. “I came to return this to my master.”

  The boy’s eyes shifted to the tag, then narrowed slightly as he studied her face. “Did he forget it?”

  Ren Lin let her voice crack, just a little. “He’ll be furious. It was my fault—I forgot to hand it to him this morning.”

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  Her gaze dropped, a picture of humble distress.

  “I usually help him dress,” she added, voice almost a whisper. “But today, I rushed. I didn’t double-check his sash. He left without it…”

  The boy’s expression softened. He reached out and gave her shoulder a quick, awkward pat.

  “Calm down. These things happen.”

  She nodded quickly, eyes still lowered. “I just need to return it before he notices.”

  The attendant looked around, then leaned slightly closer.

  His eyes narrowed into slits. “Wait. First tell me your master’s name. I need to make sure you’re not inventing excuses—cultivators keep valuables in their cubbies.”

  “Of course.” Ren Lin didn’t flinch. She leaned against the desk as if for balance, her eyes flicking across the paper—names, a list, her chance.

  “My legs… forgive me, they’re a little weak,” she murmured, voice laced with just enough strain to make her lean seem natural. Then, she plucked a name from the page. “My master is Bendan Yuren.”

  The boy frowned. “You shouldn’t lean there. Even if you’re tired, it’s disrespectful.”

  Ren Lin drew back immediately, bowing her head with a quiet apology.

  He sighed. “Alright. Bendan Yuren… yes, I saw him today.”

  Relief flickered behind her calm expression. Mortals weren’t taught to read. Everyone here knew that, so no one would suspect her action.

  After his doubts cleared, he explained, where the robes were kept. Then he stepped aside, but even as she passed, her mind turned traitor. What if she was discovered inside? In this world, she’d be lucky if it ended with only her hands cut off.

  Ren Lin steadied her thoughts and slipped past him. To the steamy depths of the bathhouse—the entrance, past columns covered by rising steam and the low murmur of voices.

  The scent of herbal oils, wet stone, and warm cedar hit her in a wave. Women in soft cotton robes moved like drifting mist, servants washing their hair, massaging shoulders, or laying out trays of sweet rice cakes and fruit.

  Bathing here wasn’t just hygiene—it was status. Cultivators left their outer identities in folded piles, exchanged for soft linens and fragrant steam. Slaves bustled like bees, organizing garments with almost military precision, placing them in lacquered compartments along one wall under each tag’s emblem. Rich silks, embroidered robes, sandals of hand-stitched hide.

  Of course they guarded it.

  Two servants—women in gray hemp uniforms—stood nearby, chatting in low voices. One was folding a crimson robe. The other stored some.

  Ren Lin’s breath felt shallow. Still, she didn’t hesitate. Hesitation was how suspicion was born.

  She walked straight toward the pair, adopting the slight sway of someone returning from an errand—tired but focused. Not a thief, but a servant with a job.

  “Excuse me,” she said politely, lowering her voice. “My mistress felt she was being watched. Could you both check the outer wall for holes or cracks? She’s… unsettled.”

  The older servant narrowed her eyes. “Why can’t she check herself? Or send someone proper?”

  “She sent me, but my eyesight isn’t reliable enough,” Ren Lin replied, shifting awkwardly. “I… can’t see very far. And I don’t want her to know. Just please—she’ll blame me, and you might lose a customer if she doesn’t feel safe here.”

  The younger one exchanged a glance with the older. “We can’t just leave the racks unattended.”

  “I’ll stay,” Ren Lin offered quickly. “I won’t touch a thing. Just guard them. I’d rather stay than risk my mistress accusing us all of negligence.”

  The older woman sighed. “Always drama with those high orders.”

  “She said if she sees even a ‘speck of light’ through the woodgrain again, she’ll report it. I know it sounds ridiculous, but…”

  That did it.

  With a grunt of resignation, the older servant gestured to the younger. “Come on. Let’s get it over with before she invents another problem.”

  The two walked off toward the side wall, muttering.

  Ren Lin stood still for two long seconds—counting their steps.

  Then she turned. Quick. Precise.

  Her fingers slid open a few cubbyholes until she found it: a black robe, weighty with quality, its lack of embroidery making it blend in with a hundred others—still it was finer than anything she had ever worn.

  She hesitated—but only for a breath. There was no turning back. Ren Lin took it. Even the coin sack next to it.

  She slipped the robe under her arm, then crouched low. From the bottom shelf, she plucked a pair of bamboo sandals. Her breath caught as she glanced over her shoulder. Heart pounding. No alarm, no shouts. The corridor remained quiet.

  No one had noticed.

  Then, silent as mist, she slipped away—disappearing down the hall before either servant turned around.

  The walk back to her room passed in a blur. What had taken forty minutes before now felt like ten. She didn’t know if her legs moved faster or if her thoughts had simply outrun the clock.

  Back inside, the door grunted heavily as it shut.

  Relief settled over her like warm water.

  She peeled off the coarse slave’s rags, letting it fall to the floor like old skin. When she slid the stolen robe over her shoulders, it felt like a caress against her bare arms—a gentle, confident touch.

  The difference was survival and comfort.

  She stepped into the bamboo sandals.

  For the first time since waking in this world, her feet didn’t scrape against dirt.

  It wasn’t just comfort. It was a milestone.

  She had schemed—for nothing more than clothes.

  Back in her old world, she wouldn’t have dared to steal so much as a pencil. But here? Every lie, every risk, felt less like sin and more like truth. Like a shedding of someone else’s rules.

  She stared at the little pouch with coins, before opening it.

  Ren Lin took one coin. It was light in her hand, but not thin—circular and smooth, with a silvery gleam. Stars were engraved around the rim, orbiting a central number denoting its value. On the reverse side: a great castle—the symbol of this island, and the signature mark of the currency known as the celi.

  Though born here, the celi was accepted across the entire continent.

  The Celestial Archipelago.

  Now that Ren Lin had the basics of footing, it was time to stabilize her foundation.

  What had changed? At what point in time was she?

  All she knew for certain was that the protagonist’s father still ruled.

  But that detail meant little—it was too vague. Like a drawn line, not a fixed point.

  She needed clarity. She needed a fracture she could trace back.