A Night of Memories, A Morning of Resolve

Kim Tae did not sleep.

The moon crawled slowly across the cracked roof, pale light spilling over the wooden floorboards like a thin sheet of silver.

Tae sat on the edge of the straw bed, knees drawn close, fingers clasped tightly together as she forced her mind to rewind every detail of the novel she once read… the very world she now lived in.

Her heart thudded quietly in the silence.

“The original Empress Jeon Tae… banished, betrayed, broken…”

The memories unfolded like pages in a book. Each detail was another weapon she could use.

She remembered the concubines—each dripping with honeyed smiles and venomous hearts.

She remembered their secrets, their ambitions, their alliances hidden beneath silk sleeves.

She remembered the Emperor’s late grandmother who had chosen the first Empress, binding the Emperor and Tae together in a marriage neither of them chose.

Most of all, she remembered the Emperor himself.

Jeon Jungkook.

Brilliant. Cold. Unreadable.

A man who loved power more than people.

A man who had once given the original Tae a single winter flower… then turned away from her for the rest of their married life.

Her lips curled into a faint, humorless smile.

But this time will be different.

This time she wouldn’t cling to him like the original Tae.

This time she would become soft, fragile, so harmless that even the Emperor would lower his guard.

She would play weak, innocent, delicate—the kind of woman men instinctively wanted to protect. And when the time came…

She would strike.

Outside, dawn slowly stretched into the forest, painting the horizon gold.

Tae rose, stretching the stiffness from her limbs—and instantly winced.

Her body… was weak. Thin. Underfed.

Her arms lacked muscle; even lifting the water bucket earlier had left them trembling.

“How did the original owner survive?”

she murmured bitterly, pressing a hand to her ribs.

But she didn’t have the luxury of being weak.

Not in a world where enemies hid behind every corner.

She glanced at the smaller figure curled on the floor beside her—Jimin, breathing softly, cheeks sunken, frame fragile like a windblown branch.

The child’s nose was red from the cold, and her little hands were covered in faint scars, signs of years of hardship and punishment.

A protective ache bloomed in Tae’s chest.

This girl… she only has me.

With renewed determination, Tae stepped outside. The forest greeted her with the earthy scent of dew, moss, and pine.

Birds chirped high above, and a chilly breeze brushed her hair, shaking loose strands across her face.

She scanned the ground until she found what she needed—a long, sturdy tree branch.

Pulling it free required effort; her arms wobbled, breath heaving, but she refused to give up.

She dragged the branch into the sunlight and knelt, picking up a sharp stone.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

Each stroke carved the branch thinner, smoother, shaping it slowly into a wooden sword.

Her hands blistered, her thin arms ached, and sweat dripped down her brow. But the repetitive motion steadied her mind.

She wasn’t just making a sword.

She was carving a new future.

When she finally held the finished wooden blade, she tested its weight, swinging it awkwardly at first.

Her movements were sloppy and unrefined, but determination glowed bright in her eyes.

“This is enough for today,”

she whispered.

A starting point.

Next came food.

Strength required energy, and energy required hunting.

She set out into the woods, moving cautiously, listening for rustling noises. Eventually she spotted a rabbit nibbling on clover. She crouched, breath shallow, and threw a stone sharply—

Thud.

The rabbit fell.

Her hands trembled slightly as she picked it up.

Soft.

Warm.

Still.

She swallowed hard—not because she was squeamish, but because her old life had never required her to kill anything.

Life in this world was not gentle.

She would have to learn to be harsher.

By the time she returned home, the sun had risen higher—only to find Jimin kneeling outside, tears streaming down her small face, hands trembling violently.

“M-Mother! Where did you go? I woke up and you weren’t there— I thought— I thought something happened—”

Jimin cried, voice cracking from fear.

Without thinking, Tae dropped the rabbit and pulled the girl into her arms.

Jimin clung to her desperately, tiny fingers digging into Tae’s back as if she were afraid she would disappear again.

“It’s okay… Jimin, I’m here,”

Tae soothed, gently stroking the girl’s hair.

“I won’t leave without telling you. I promise.”

Jimin sobbed quietly into her chest, her thin body trembling.

Tae’s heart tightened painfully.

This girl had lived her entire life with fear as her only companion.

But from now on—not anymore.

Tae pulled back, wiping Jimin’s tears with her thumbs.