《Mirrored Soul》
Chapter 0 :: Scripted in Spite
Blood splattered all across the garden. Her head landed softly on the grass, her black hair fanning out like a broken halo. Her lips, parted ever so slightly, trembled as if still trying to speak. But no words came. No breath followed. Dark, red blood, tainted with her sins, took the role of a brush, painting the last stroke of her life. Was she ''an unfortunate soul in search of a warm embrace'', or perhaps ''a demon that made others suffer for her entertainment"?
The men responsible for her rushed ending certainly believed the latter. One took her head, which was now staring with lifeless half-lidded eyes at the moon above. One twisted his sword in the headless body, shattering her still heart to pieces before taking the bloody blade back and sheathing it. One had cut the sword free by laterally slashing her waist from the inside and out. And a sole pair of regretful eyes watched it all unfold from the roof of the academy.
Pathetic and foolish. Sad and cruel.
That was how the author of the book wanted to portray the death of the main antagonist. The villainess. As she fell at the hands of the one she loved and at the ones she wronged. But the reality strays from what the author tried to convey, from what they expected, and instead, the ending of the book was nothing short of frustrating for the readers.
"Yes, keep pursuing the man who hates your guts and wants to kill you. See where that gets you," sarcasm and a sigh were spoken from the woman''s dry lips before the velvety covers of the book were closed. "She was so good, Anne," frustration tinged her voice.
"Until she wasn''t," a different voice, yet holding the same frustrating tone, rang in the bedroom suffocated by a multitude of plushies. So much so that the vessels of the voices, the two young women stood on the carpeted ground, as the whole bed was a kingdom of toys that were better left undisturbed, or so they reckoned.
''The blossoming white lily'' was a book that attracted attention among young adults. A xianxia book. That talked about the granddaughter of the Heavenly Sword Sect''s leader going to an academy to hone her skills with her childhood friend. Yet, as the academy accepted not only the orthodox sects but also the unorthodox ones, the villainess shone through as the antagonist coming from the Demonic Sect as the leader''s daughter. She was cunning and smart. But smitten with the female main character''s childhood friend and, like a typical female antagonist, she started bullying the main character who was always around her ''sweetheart''.
Ultimately, the villainess wanted to kill the main character for getting so much in the way of her plan to seduce her crush, and that led to nothing else but ending up beheaded by the person she oh so one-sidedly loved. In the same location where she planned to kill the main character. A turn of events, if nothing else.
"It could''ve been a much better book if the antagonist wasn''t so blinded by love." a heavy sigh, as Lyianne continued, her pink-colored hair falling in front of her face as she stared at the wall, her eyes vacant, unfocused, as her mind played the murder scene described by the author. She was trying to digest the final scene¡ªthe villainess''s death¡ªa brilliant character, ruined by poor writing choices.
"It''s not even love, Anne," the young woman said and looked towards her pink-haired friend, Lyianne, who was looking blankly at the wall, "she just liked how he looked. But that''s hardly a motive to pursue him after seeing that he doesn''t even see her as a person, but as a spawn of evil-"
"That she is. " Anne interrupted.
"That she is," Rhea supplemented with a nod, "but you see my point, right? I mean she was brilliant enough to outsmart anyone in the academy, but as soon as it comes to him," she sighed, unable to express her disappointment.
They both found it out of character, as if the author forced situations just for their presence. The book would have been wonderful without the ''love at first sight trope,'' but their complaining did not seem to stop only vocally; no, the very dissatisfied reader of ''The Blossoming White Lily,'' Rhea, quickly accessed the internet and found herself writing an unappreciative review of the book on as many sites that allowed reviews on the book. Her fingers were quick and her mind didn''t need a lot of time to exaggerate her thoughts on the book.
Rating: 0/5
I really wanted to enjoy this book, especially since the main villainess had so much potential. Her backstory and motivations were intriguingly complex; anyone could tell the author had put a lot of thought into crafting her as a character. Unfortunately, the execution fell flat¡ªso flat, in fact, I''m honestly wondering if the author forgot how to write halfway through.
The dialogue was painfully awkward; her actions were wildly inconsistent with her established personality, and the pacing of her story arc was all over the place. How am I supposed to believe this is a "brilliant and cunning" villain when her decisions are as sharp as a wet sponge? The narrative kept telling us how clever she was, but everything about her screamed amateur hour.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Honestly, even I could have done a better job. It doesn''t take a genius to realize you need to show her brilliance through actions, not lazy exposition. And maybe the author should try writing dialogue that sounds like a real person, not a poorly programmed chatbot. With some consistency and better pacing, she could have been a phenomenal character. But no, instead we got this mess.
It''s disappointing because it feels like the author fumbled what could have been a standout villain. Maybe next time they''ll spend less time thinking about the character and more time learning how to actually write one.
Harsh. But when there are no clear consequences to one''s words and actions, even the mice think of themselves as cats. Rhea was an introvert, but with the safety of the internet, there was no fear of confrontation, no one that would see her true self behind the screen. Yet her friend, Lyianne, thought of being polite even on the internet. She read the comment with a slight furrow of her brows.
"Now there was no need to be that rude. "It sounded like scolding, the words directed at her friend who thought she was just being honest. "I''m sure the author would have gotten your message if you simply said that the villainess''s personality was inconsistent or that it fell flat sometimes."
"Oh, come on. To be an author means to learn to take mean comments as helpful critiques and try to improve. Why would I bother sugarcoating my words when I can say them as I think them?" Rhea said and put the phone aside, "not everyone is as sensitive as you when it comes to taking constructive criticism from others." The black-haired jabbed, but the words were not said to truly hurt.
"Your words are anything but constructive," Lyianne sighed, brushing past the comment of her friend; she was already used to all the remarks the black-haired could make.
Truth be told, the two girls fit together like 2 puzzle pieces, each piece with a totally different color, but fitting perfectly nonetheless. Anne was Rhea''s softness, while Rhea was Anne''s boldness. Sometimes their personalities complemented one another; other times they headbutted together in a loose argument about morality. The situation at hand was slowly treading towards the latter, but at 1 in the morning both of them were too tired to argue over a rude remark at the author being posted on the internet.
Anne got up from the ground and took the book that was in pristine shape, putting it in it''s rightful place near the second volume that was the next on their reading list, up on the shelf that was yet to be stacked fully before looking around the room, and noticing that, as much as she didn''t like moving the plush figures from their rightful place ¨C the bed ¨C she didn''t exactly fancy sleeping on the ground again.
"You...don''t think the author will really read the comment themselves, do you?" Rhea asked with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Come on, don''t they have editors who pick and choose what criticism to present to the author?" she added. "You''re worrying too much."
"I guess that makes sense...maybe, but still it was far-fetched," Lyianne insisted. Walking towards the bed and starting to slowly move the plushies on the small sofa in the corner of the room, giving them another, smaller '' kingdom ''. "Come on, let''s get some sleep," she said, her voice dropping the frustration and taking a more soft, tired edge. She was never an adept of sleeping late into the night, but the book truly hooked her, despite the frustrating parts of it, and she had insisted on finishing it with her friend during the sleepover. An inspired choice she will suddenly regret as soon as the sun begins to shine in 6 hours.
At the lack of reply from her friend, the pink haired said again " Rhea. Sleep. " or else she would become quite cranky, and it wouldn''t be a pleasant experience for either of them.
"Sleep then. You know I need another handful of hours in order to sleep. " the black-haired said and turned her head to watch her friend finish the rearrangement of the plush kingdom.
"No. We have somewhere to be in the morning. Come on, I don''t want to have to drag you out of bed again."
With scoffs and sighs and some slight bickering about how Rhea didn''t want to sleep at this hour, the two ended up tucked in the bed regardless, Lyianne turning and sleeping with her back facing her friend. And said friend could only do the same, using her phone in hopes of getting sleepy with the help of cute videos of animals or babies or whatever she could find. Yet in the middle of her doom scrolling, a notification appeared on her screen, a response to her rating. Clicking on the notification directed her to the website, where she was met with a single link.
https://theblossomingwhitelily.neocities.org/invitation
No context. No explanation. At first, Rhea thought it was a site where she could further review the book, or something related to the book, but when she clicked on the link, all that she could see on the website was the big text of ERROR 404.It made her scoff. Was the author such a petty person? The kind that just needed to have the last word no matter what? Immature. Though Rhea hasn''t considered that her own actions were immature as well, but it didn''t matter did it? As it stood, the author didn''t mind it, if they could make a joke like that. Now with the mood completely ruined, the young woman shut down the phone and placed it on the nightstand, closing her eyes and trying to do the only thing she could control, somehow.Sleep.
Unbeknown to her, that the link had invited her to write her own ending of the book as she sees fit. Despite the error having shown initially, the link began to retrieve her data as she tried to sleep. Next thing she would know would be that she could do exactly what she wrote in the review, write it better than the author. That she could replay and dissect every scene and every arc of the book, starting with the very first one, as the villainess herself.
P.S ::The link used is not harmful and can be opened without any fear. It redirects the user to a 404 error page with a user count, the code for the site was given to me by the AI and I have tested it with my friend.
Chapter 1 :: Same soul, new vessel
Spacious. Red. Minimalist and efficient. That¡¯s how the villainess¡¯s room was summarized in the book. Never quite mentioning how the walls wore different shades of red from the blood that has been spilled from multiple traitors and spies over the decades. Never quite saying that the bedroom was a torture chamber during the youth of the sect leader, and that it changed with time, now comforting one of his many children. The villainess Ji¨¡ng Y¨¨l¨ªng (½Ò¹Áá)
The room was more than a blank space for Ji¨¡ng to sleep and spend her time when she was not out training. It had so much more personality. Despite the room thriving in the colors of dark red, that was not the only color in its aesthetic. The furniture were made of blackwood and crafted with subtleties of emerald green, as were the pillows that sat scattered on the bed, the rims of tables, sofas and couches, the accessories around the vanity mirror¡¯s desk. Pointing towards something the author had never thought of mentioning. The symbolism of jade and the rank of it within the sect; how the outline of jade appears on every clothing in the closet despite the color or material.
So it was no wonder that at such a huge discrepancy between fiction and reality, Rhea has not had the faintest idea of where she woke up. Surveying the room left her with nothing but an elegant and tidy impression ¨C save for a few scrolls on the table fully painted in ink and characters. Telling a story her eyes could not notice due to the distance. What she could notice however was how soft the sheets were, the pleasant touch of silk on her body and the warm blanket full of silver colored fur.
It was all out of place. And in her unusual drowsiness, the panic in her mind was something almost inexistent, if it weren¡¯t for the thumping heart against the cage of her ribs and the small breathings that left her lungs in a rush. The design of the room was an oddity in a bustling city filled to the brim with towers and crossroads where she grew up. In fact the place was .. silent.
Rhea could only groan as she tried to seat herself on the bed. She was curious. Deranged enough to consider this kidnapping ¨C as she thought it, even if not probable ¨C interesting, perhaps even thrilling, once her breathing calmed down and her heart stopped drumming in her chest. Yet the dull throbbing in her lower abdomen kept the young woman from wondering and exploring her surroundings. Making her eyes look down upon her body after tossing aside the warmth of the blanket. Coming to a quick realization that something is not right. For a couple of reasons.
The first reason would be the sudden size increase of her chest as she looked down on her body, she could clearly see the flesh through the cleavage of the silken clothing, molded by her silhouette. If it could be said that it was still her silhouette. The breast size was not the only difference she could find. The fingers of her hands were longer, slimmer ¨C the nails were longer and sharper, painted with red and black. Her skin color was different. It was like she had swapped bodies with someone, or was dreaming still. But ..
¡The second reason would be the source of the pain, the muted throbbing that was hidden behind the bloodied white robes with intricately sewn patterns of lines and laces was a sign that she was not dreaming. The place for the throbbing was accentuated with a deep red stain on the material. The color made her understand that she wasn¡¯t bleeding currently, rather, she had bled, and the bleeding had stopped during the night.
But who? Why?
And how come she didn¡¯t wake up from the pain? Other questions like: What happened to Anne? Where is her friend and is it possible that Anne would have stabbed her? flooded her mind like bees hurrying to their hive. But the last question has soon dispersed from her mind. No. That wasn¡¯t possible, the pink-haired she knew needed to be accompanied to social events, let alone hold a knife.
¡°What even.. ¡± a few words made the girl look around surprised at the sudden difference in pitch. Her voice no longer held the tone it used to, instead taking a more mature edge, slightly tired, a shade deeper but still feminine sound coming out of her lips with a strange accent, it sounded like a foreigner trying to speak english for the first time.
¡°Why does my voice.. ¡± Rhea said, but the voice didn¡¯t change, didn¡¯t revert back to the one she knew. Making the young woman doubt the body she was in was hers to begin with.
Surely one could kidnap someone and use anaesthesia and alter their appearance and stab them, and place them in a room that seems to come out of a movie set. But why? For what purpose and reason would anyone do that? To Rhea, someone who had a few friends and acquaintances to her name.
A mirror.
A mirror was bound to clear her doubts once and for all, if she could see herself ¨Cor what she had become ¨C surely the matter at hand would make more sense. Or that was her hope. Surveying the room once more, her eyes stopped at the vanity mirror, placed next to the drawers and closets, on the other side of the room.
¡°Great..¡± the voice appeared to be indifferent even if Rhea was a bit annoyed at the distance between the mirror and the bed. She had to, after all, walk all the way towards it with a wound strapped to her side. Wound which she had no courage in seeing, leaving it quietly hidden under the clothes and probably bandage, if whoever did this ¨Cif there even was someone that did it ¨C had some compassion and dressed the wound. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
With a groan, the woman took a seated position on the bed, letting her unusually long hair fall down to her sides. A breath held in the lungs to relieve the pain in her body at the movement, before she exhaled, and slowly, as if the body would break if she did one wrong step. One breath. One push. And she was on her feet, hunched and with a hand pressing against the bloody part of the clothing, providing some pressure to the wound ¨C something illogical that everyone does ¨C and she started to walk. One foot in front over the other, careful not to trip on the robes that were lagging in front of her feet.
Insistently throbbing. The wound. If the situation wasn¡¯t this uncertain and confusing, she wouldn¡¯t have bothered to get out of bed. But there was too much going on. Too much that couldn¡¯t be explained. So it¡¯s time for curiosity to kill the cat. Rhea didn¡¯t even know if in her mind was a storm of thoughts or completely devoid of anything as she trudged slowly past the furniture which she leaned upon for a few seconds before continuing. Her heart thrummed in her chest as she got closer and closer and closer to the vanity mirror until she could see the reflection of someone. Long straight black hair that reached the small of her back, an expression of discomfort painted across her face. Eyes with different colors. Moles that she was not familiar with. No. Rhea was convinced that she was no longer looking like herself.
That the face staring back is a stranger, but something about it made her mind mull over. Pale skin, albeit now sickly, due to the wound she reasoned. Eyes that held 2 different colors consisting of dark brown and light blue. Contrasting breathtakingly with the ink-black color of her hair that fell obediently down her figure. The first layer stopped two fingers above her chin which framed her face in straight, sharp lines while the rest of the hair cascaded down*.
¡°Long, black, silken strands..with eyes that saw into the very deep core of someone and an impassive, unreadable expression¡± she spoke, the voice noticeably straining at the pronunciation of the words, the tongue awkwardly moving as Rhea cited a description, her mis-matched eyes looking around the room. ¡°A red room. Spacious and lacking in both warmth and useless decorations, a room belonging to..¡± she stopped, her voice hushed, as if speaking a secret that no one else should know. Her eyes moved back to the mirror, back on the reflection of the person contained in it.
¡°Ji¨¡ng Y¨¨l¨ªng¡±
At those words, the voice no longer sounded like it was unfamiliar with the spoken words. On the contrary, everything sounded smooth. As if Rhea finally talked in her mother tongue. Rhea, who always butchered the names of the novel. Rhea, who could not pronounce mandarin words. But now they were flowing perfectly from her lips, as if she did that a lifetime before. Well surely enough, with a sigh and a relaxation of her shoulders. A tension she didn¡¯t even know she had until it disappeared.
What madness.
If the pain was not always felt in her bones and if she was not hunched as she walked back towards the bed, she would have thought herself a lucid dreamer. But in the current circumstance she had little options. The kidnapping was just not feasible. But how could one just possess a fictional character? Sure enough she read more than a handful of stories like this. Never has she ever questioned a ¡®why¡¯ or a ¡®how¡¯ before. She does now.
Y¨¨l¨ªng was first introduced in the story at the peak of her character. During the ¡®blood moon night¡¯ where the echoing screams of death reverberated through the ground and the walls as the main villainess killed her brothers and sisters. Everyone that had the blood of the sect leader and that could pose a threat to her desire to covet the role. Not a fan of useless bloodbath, the 18 year old spared anyone too young or not talented enough. Amongst the people she spared, 2 important plot figures: Zheng Xueqin (֣ѩÇÙ) and Ji¨¡ng H¨¢nm¨ªng (½º®Ú¤). Who, despite being 16 and 23 in age respectively, survived the massacre due to them not wanting the role of a sect leader and that they will not stand in her way.
Yet, despite her great planning and strategy, the last few half siblings of hers woke up by the rumors and the feeling of bloodthirst of the rampaging villainess and put up losing fights. One however succeeded in stabbing the villainess with a poisonous hidden dagger, which was exactly the wound that Rhea could feel throbbing under the silk robe. Surely enough Y¨¨l¨ªng finished the fight and returned to her chambers swiftly despite the pain and without leaving any blood marks along her way. Upon her arrival in her chambers, she quickly fell down from the poison that began burning her veins.
A blessing and a curse, having an overthinking and overbearing older brother who specializes in poisons waiting in her quarters as soon as he heard the screams and shouts, knowing something like this would happen. So her wounds were dexterously bandaged and her poison was neutralized in time for her life not to be in danger.
¡°A siscon..¡± she muttered and let out a sigh as she made it to the bed, sitting down and inhaling sharply, recalling what she knew about the brother of the villainess.
Ji¨¡ng H¨¢nm¨ªng. Also known as Zh¨¥n H¨¢nm¨ªng (Õ뺮ڤ), is another half-sibling of Y¨¨l¨ªng. A boy whose mother died to illness. A bright woman with a weak body who ran the medicine pavilion as its master, but was also the greatest poisoner. Supplying the sect with a variety of poisons, some known to the others, some unique to their own creations, recipes that she passed down to her son before taking her last breath. A mother who was a cherished friend of Y¨¨l¨ªng¡¯s mother and upon hearing the news of her friend perishing to illness, she took in the child and raised it alongside her own.
The complex started there.
And it developed over the time of their youth. As he felt the need to repay Y¨¨l¨ªng¡¯s mother by watching over and protecting her daughter. And that innocent and admirable seedling of ¡®taking care of her baby sibling and being a good older brother¡¯ blossomed into an obsession with keeping her safe. With needing to know her everyday schedule and eating habits, even stalking from the shadows or using skin reshaping techniques to walk alongside her when she goes outside on missions.
He knew her best. Perhaps even better than her mother. He needed to be persuaded not to kill the mother whose child stabbed his sister. Not at all minding the fact that the child was killed by Ji¨¡ng¡¯s hands. He was now¨C
¡°Y¨¨ l¨ªng m¨¨imei. (little sister y¨¨l¨ªng ).¡±
¨CHere.