Rain hammers the roof tiles, seeping through the cracks onto my bare shoulders. I shiver, but not from cold—I know this day. Eight years old. Coming-of-age ceremony downstairs. Laughter echoes from the banquet hall, where she wears my mother’s phoenix crown.

My stomach clenches, empty for three days. Last time, I died tonight. Starved, forgotten, erased.

But I remember. I remember my real name. My fire. My throne.

A key turns. The door creaks open—Mama’s handmaiden, holding a single dumpling. 'Eat quietly,' she whispers. 'Don’t make noise. You’re not supposed to exist today.'

I stare at the food. Enough to keep me alive. Enough to keep me silent.

Or I could throw it at her feet. Scream that I am Princess Jiang Li. Risk being locked in the cellar again—this time, maybe, not surviving.

The dumpling trembles in my hand.