I was reborn on the eve of the bandit siege, the very night the whole village forced me to go and find my husband—the militia captain—in the back hills. My fists clenched, a cold laugh of refusal on my lips.

The Village Chief was sweating, his face pale as he jabbed a finger toward me. “Joan! Your man is the militia captain! The bandits are at our doorstep! If you don’t go get him back, do you want the death of this village on your conscience?”

I looked past him at the sea of terrified, angry faces. A cold hollow opened inside me.

On my conscience?

I’d already paid that price in my last life.

For that man, for this village, I died in the winter of my thirtieth year—shot through the chest by the hunting rifle of the husband I’d loved for a decade.

And all because the woman he truly loved was dead.

…

“Joan! What are you standing there for? Go!”

The Chief’s roar tore me from the bloody memory.

I lifted my gaze, letting it sweep calmly over him and the familiar-yet-strange villagers behind. Fear and accusation warred on their faces, as though *I* were the one about to bring ruin upon them all.

The corner of my mouth curled into a mocking smile.

“I’m not going.”

My voice was quiet, but it fell like a stone into a boiling pot, instantly stirring up chaos.

“What did you say, you heartless wretch?” shrieked the village gossip, a sharp-faced woman near the front. “Roger only went into town with the militia to buy you those pastries from the state bakery! Now the village is in trouble, and you won’t go call him back? What kind of heart do you have?”

I sneered inwardly.

Pastries. What a pretty excuse.

I’d believed it last time, too.

Back then, when news of the bandits came, I was three months pregnant. Without a second thought, I took the treacherous shortcut into the back hills—a path crawling with wild animals, steep and slick. I fell countless times, my body covered in cuts and bruises, but I finally found them before nightfall.

I found my husband. The boy I’d grown up with, the man I’d waited five years for to return from the army and marry.

He was standing outside the county cultural center with Nicole, the head of the Women’s Federation—the woman who truly held his heart. In his hands was a bunch of wildflowers.

As for the rest of the militia? He’d sent them off to wander nearby.

My arrival had interrupted his little romance.

He was furious, but I dragged him back anyway.

That battle was brutal. Yet because the militia returned in time, the village was saved.

Nicole, however—that delicate city girl—was snatched by the bandits in the chaos. By the time we found her, her clothes were torn, and she hung from a gnarled tree in a mountain hollow.

Roger lost his mind.

He cradled her cold body like a wounded beast.

He believed I’d killed her.

If I hadn’t forced him to come back, if they’d stayed in town, Nicole wouldn’t have died.

From that day on, he never spoke another word to me.

All his tenderness, all his guilt, went to the cold slab of stone over Nicole’s grave.

And me? And the child we couldn’t save? We became thorns in his side.

Until that day. The mountain passes were sealed by snow. He came home blind drunk, eyes bloodshot, and pointed that gleaming, polished hunting rifle at me.

“Joan,” he slurred. “Go apologize to Nicole.”

The cold muzzle pressed against my heart.

I could even smell the liquor on him, mixed with the familiar scent of Nicole’s rosewater.

So. He’d been visiting her grave.

So. He’d never forgotten her.

The searing agony of the bullet tearing through my chest swallowed me whole.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back here. Back at the moment before the tragedy.

This time, I wouldn’t play the great, foolish hero.

“You go find him,” I said, meeting every pair of eyes, enunciating each word clearly. “I’m not taking that back-hill path.”

Roger, and his precious Nicole—if your love is so earth-shattering, then face the bandits’ guns yourselves.

Don’t drag me down with you. Don’t drag all of Greystone Village down.

The moment I finished, the crowd erupted.

“Have you lost your mind? Roger’s wife, are you trying to get us all killed?”

“You always seemed so meek! Who knew you had such a vicious heart!”

“That’s right! Captain Roger treats you so well, and you…”

The accusations and curses crashed over me like a tidal wave.

I clenched my fists tighter, nails digging deep into my palms.

Treats me well?

Sure. So well that when I was pregnant, the woman on his mind, the name on his lips, was always someone else.

So well that for her sake, he killed our child. And then he killed me.

“Sis…”

A timid voice came from behind the crowd.

I turned and saw my sister-in-law, Dorothy—Roger’s younger sister.

A few years younger than me, her hair in two braids, she looked at me now with pure worry.

She was the only one in this family who had ever shown me a shred of warmth.

“Sis, are you feeling unwell?” She pushed through to my side, taking my arm and whispering, “Did… did my brother upset you again?”

Looking into her clear eyes, the ice in my heart thawed just a little.

“I’m fine, Dorothy,” I said, shaking my head.

Just then, a frantic, piercing gong sounded from the watchtower at the village entrance.

“Bandits! The bandits are at the pass!”

The crowd fell dead silent for a second before exploding into even greater panic.

“Quick! Close the Great Stone Gate!” the Village Chief bellowed, his voice shaking.

Greystone Village got its name from the two massive stone gates carved right out of the mountain face at its entrance—our ancestors’ final defense against bandits, incredibly thick. Once shut, they were nearly impossible to breach from the outside.

A dozen strong men rushed forward, straining together at the winch. The heavy gates groaned with a deafening *creak* as they slowly began to swing shut.

***THUD!***

The moment the gates sealed, the ground shuddered.

The world felt cleaved in two.

Outside: impending slaughter and pillage.

Inside: a temporary reprieve and endless dread.

“Take cover! Women and children, into the tunnels!” the Chief continued to direct.

The village’s network of tunnels, also passed down from ancestors, was extensive but cramped, meant only for the elderly, weak, women, and children.

Dorothy tugged my hand urgently. “Sis, let’s go to the tunnels!”

I shook my head, gripping her hand instead. “Dorothy, listen. The tunnels aren’t safe.”

In my last life, the bandits had used explosives to blow open the Great Stone Gate. Then they filled the tunnels with thick smoke, flushing everyone out.

Dorothy stared, confused. “Then… where do we go?”

“To the ancestral hall in the back hills. The ground is higher there, and there’s a back door we can escape through,” I whispered.

Though she didn’t understand, she trusted me and nodded.

Holding her hand, I moved against the current of people surging toward the tunnel entrances, slipping quietly toward the ancestral hall at the village’s rear.

Along the way, I heard someone wailing, “Where’s Captain Roger? Where’s our militia?”

“It’s all that witch Joan’s fault! She wouldn’t go get them!”

“When Captain Roger gets back, he’ll skin her alive!”

I kept walking, my resolve unshaken.

Skin me alive?

Roger, when you return, all you’ll find is a living hell.

And you’ll have built it with your own two hands.

I wonder if you’ll regret it then—regret abandoning your duty, abandoning the village that raised you, all for Nicole today.

A few timid elders had already taken shelter inside the ancestral hall. When Dorothy and I entered, they merely flinched, saying nothing.

Thick planks boarded up the doors and windows, leaving only a few narrow peepholes. I moved to one and peered cautiously outside. The village lay deserted, every door tightly shut. A deathly silence hung in the air—so oppressive it was hard to breathe.

Suddenly, a massive explosion boomed from the village entrance, shaking the entire hall.

***BOOM!***

Explosives. They were blowing the gate!

A collective gasp rose from the elders. Dorothy’s face instantly drained of color. “Joan, the stone gate… they’re going to blow it open!” Her voice trembled.

I gripped her hand tightly, keeping my own voice low. “Don’t be afraid.” But my palms were slick with cold sweat.

I knew the plot. I knew the bandits would break in. Yet when it actually happened, that soul-deep terror was impossible to suppress.

Explosions came one after another, growing more frequent. Each blast hammered against my chest.

Finally, after an ear-splitting detonation, triumphant jeers echoed from the village entrance.

The gate was breached.

“Joan, I… I have to find my brother!” Dorothy shot to her feet, determination etched on her face.

“Are you insane?” I yanked her back. “Going out there is suicide!”

“But if I don’t go now, it’ll be too late!” Tears streamed down her frantic face. “My brother and the others don’t know what’s happening! I have to warn them! I’m fast—I’ll go out the back. They won’t catch me!”

Looking into her stubborn eyes, my heart ached. In my past life, Dorothy had been slashed across the arm protecting the village doctor, nearly crippled for life. This foolish girl was nothing like her clueless brother.

“No!” I held onto her fiercely. “You can’t go!”

“Joan, let me go!” She struggled against my grip. “I can’t just watch everyone die!”

“Dorothy!” I snapped. “You going won’t change anything! Your brother, he—”

Before I could finish, the back door of the hall crashed open.

Several bandits swaggered in, machetes in hand, cruel grins on their faces. The elders screamed. Dorothy and I froze.

How? The back door had been barred from the inside.

*Run!*

The word screamed in my mind. I grabbed Dorothy and bolted for the front door.

But it was too late.

A bandit caught up in a few strides and seized Dorothy by her braid. “Hey, little miss. Where you off to in such a hurry?”

“Let me go!” Dorothy thrashed wildly.

“Dorothy!”

Blind rage tore through me. Without thinking, I snatched a heavy bronze incense burner from the nearby altar and, with all my strength, smashed it against the bandit’s head.

***THUD!***

The man grunted, released his grip, and crumpled to the floor. I grabbed Dorothy and ran, not looking back.

“Get them!” The furious shouts of the bandits chased us.

The village was chaos. Flames lit the sky. Cries, screams, and the crack of gunfire mingled into a living hell.

Dragging Dorothy through the chaotic alleyways, one thought consumed me: *Escape. Get to the Town Police Station and raise the alarm.* It was our only hope.

But just as we reached the mouth of an alley on the west side, several bandits blocked our path. Their leader was a one-eyed man. He licked his lips, his gaze crawling over us with brazen hunger.

“Two little beauties. Lucky find.”

Dorothy and I stumbled back in terror, our backs hitting a cold, unyielding wall. No escape. Despair washed over me. Was I really going to die here again, even in this second life?

Just then, a furious roar erupted from the alley entrance.

“Stop right there!”

My head snapped up. A familiar figure stood there—Bradley, the militia captain from neighboring Hillside Village. Behind him were seven or eight militiamen armed with hoes and clubs.

“Captain Bradley!” I cried, clutching at this lifeline. “Quick! Go get the police! The bandits are Joshua’s gang!” Joshua was the most vicious bandit leader in the area, a man with multiple murders to his name.

But Bradley frowned, looking at me with deep suspicion, not moving forward. “Joan? What are you doing here? Where’s Roger?”

“He—” I started to explain, but the one-eyed bandit suddenly burst into loud laughter.

“Well, well! The militia captain’s little wife! Saves us the trouble of looking for her!” He shouted at Bradley, “Bradley! Our boss says today’s business has nothing to do with Hillside Village. If you’re smart, you’ll clear out! Now! Unless you want trouble!”

Bradley’s face instantly darkened. He tightened his grip on his hoe and demanded harshly, “Joan, what the hell is going on? Did Roger send you to lead the bandits here?”

I froze.

What did he just say?

He thought I was working with the bandits?

Bradley’s words drenched me like a bucket of ice water, chilling me to the bone.

Now I understood why the latch on the ancestral hall’s back door had been open.

It was Roger.

He must have tipped Bradley off in advance—told him to keep an eye on me.

Afraid I’d ruin his plans, afraid I’d go looking for him, he had Bradley and his men block the mountain pass.

But for all his scheming, he never expected the bandits to strike early. He certainly never imagined they’d sneak into the village from the back hills.

By the time Bradley and the others saw the fire and rushed back, it was already too late.

And me, fresh from escaping the bandits’ den? In his eyes, I was the perfect scapegoat—the traitor who’d conspired with them.

“Bradley! How dare you talk nonsense!”

Dorothy was trembling with rage, her finger shaking as she pointed at him.

“My brother left to escort that vixen Nicole to some cultural show! He abandoned the village for her! What does that have to do with my sister-in-law? She’s the one who saved me!”

Bradley clearly didn’t believe her. He stared at me, eyes filled with contempt and fury.

“Roger told me himself before he left. He said you’d been getting too close to one of the educated youths, acting improperly, and that I should keep a close watch. No matter what happened in the village today, I wasn’t to trust a word you said!”

The educated youth?

My mind went blank, ringing with a sudden, deafening hum.

That young man had only asked me for directions a few times. Nicole saw it, twisted the story, and fed it to Roger.

In my past life, that was one of the reasons Roger stopped trusting me—one of the justifications he used before he finally killed me.

He’d rather believe an outsider’s slander than trust the wife who shared his bed.

How absurd. How laughable.

“Hah… hahaha…”

I couldn’t help it. I started laughing, laughing until tears streamed down my face.

An invisible fist closed around my heart, squeezing the air from my lungs.

A sharp, twisting pain shot through my abdomen, followed by a warm rush of wetness down my thighs.

I looked down. Stark, glaring red stained my skirt.

My baby…

My baby…

This time, I’d been so careful. Why was this still happening?

“Grab her!”

Seeing my strange expression, Bradley thought I was about to run. He shouted and lunged forward.

My legs gave out. The world went black.

…

When I woke again, I was in the town clinic.

The sharp, sterile smell of disinfectant filled my nose.

Lying on a cold hospital bed, I felt an emptiness below.

The baby was gone.

The child I’d fought so desperately to keep in my past life, the one I hadn’t even realized existed this time—gone. Again.

I stared blankly at the yellowed ceiling, silent tears tracing paths down my temples.

Why?

Why, after being given a second chance, did I still have to endure this?

Heaven, did you bring me back just to make me relive the same despair?

The ward door creaked open. Dorothy walked in, eyes red-rimmed.

“Sister-in-law, you’re awake.”

Her voice was hoarse.

I didn’t move. I didn’t speak.

Dorothy sat on the edge of my bed, taking my cold hand in hers. Her voice hitched.

“Sister-in-law, I’m so sorry… This is all my fault…”

Slowly, I turned my head to look at her.

“The village… how is it?”

Dorothy’s tears overflowed.

“They’re dead… all dead… The Village Chief, Uncle Mark, so many of the men… gone.”

“More than twenty women were taken.”

“By the time Bradley and the others got there, the fire was already raging. The bandits grabbed what they could and ran…”

Each word was a knife, twisting in my heart.

Even though I’d expected it, hearing the outcome firsthand still stole my breath.

All those vibrant lives, those familiar, smiling faces—gone in a single night.

“And your brother?”

I heard my own voice ask, eerily calm.

At the mention of Roger, a complicated expression flickered across Dorothy’s face.

“He’s back. Him and Nicole… they both came back with Bradley.”

“When my brother saw the village… he just stood there, stunned.”

“He asked me how you were. I told him Bradley had hurt you, that you’d lost the baby…” She swallowed. “He knocked Bradley to the ground with one punch.”

The corner of my mouth twitched, empty of any smile.

So now he feels regret? Now he cares?

Too late.

All of it, far too late.

Just then, the ward door swung open again.

Roger burst in.

His eyes were bloodshot, his face covered in stubble. His clothes were rumpled and dusty, a picture of utter dishevelment.

He rushed straight to my bedside, grabbing my shoulders, his voice a ragged rasp.

“Joan! Why? Why didn’t you come find me! If you’d come sooner, none of this would have happened! Nicole wouldn’t have been so terrified!”

I looked at him quietly, this man I’d loved for ten years and hated for two lifetimes.

His face was a mask of anguish, fury, and… righteous indignation.

He was still blaming me.

Still worried about whether his precious Nicole had been frightened.

The last remaining ember of warmth in my heart guttered and died.

Mustering every ounce of strength I had left, I raised my hand and slapped him across the face with all my might.

“Roger,” I said, staring into his shocked expression, each word clear and cold, “I want a divorce.”