The Swap
Song Rui's hands trembled as she gripped her phone.
She had won.
The proof was in her hands—undeniable, irrefutable evidence that Lin Cheng was a criminal, a man who had built his empire on manipulation, corruption, and possibly even murder.
And now, the world would know.
Her breath was uneven, her pulse still racing from the chase. She sat in a dingy motel room, far from the bright lights of the city, away from the men Lin Cheng had sent after her.
The air smelled of damp wood and cheap air freshener. The flickering ceiling light buzzed faintly, casting long, restless shadows against the cracked wallpaper.
Her laptop was open in front of her.
Her phone was charged, and ready.
One call. That's all it would take.
She had already written the message—an encrypted email with the video attached, set to go to every major news agency, every journalist she trusted, every watchdog organization that could bring Lin Cheng down.
She hovered over the send button.
Her fingers tingled. Her stomach twisted with anticipation.
But first, she had to make one call.
To Xiang Zhen.
She reached for her phone—
And then, everything changed.
The moment her fingers touched the screen, something shifted in the air.
A strange, unnatural pressure filled the room, pressing against her lungs.
Her ears popped as if she had been suddenly submerged underwater.
The fluorescent light above her flickered wildly, buzzing louder. The walls around her seemed to bend, warping inward like heatwaves rising from asphalt.
She gasped, jerking her hand back from the phone, but—
It was too late.
A force—cold, invisible, unstoppable—wrapped around her.
It wasn't physical, not something she could fight. It was inside her, around her, pulling at the very fabric of her being.
Her vision split, like staring at two realities at once.
She saw herself—her body—still sitting in the chair, still gripping the phone.
But she was no longer inside it.
She was being pulled away.
Song Rui's scream never left her lips.
She felt herself ripping away, a sensation like being torn in two and thrown into an abyss at the same time.
Memories flashed—her first byline, the feeling of holding a camera in her hands, the smell of fresh ink on a newspaper page.
They blurred, shattered, reassembled.
She tried to move—tried to fight—but she was weightless, bodiless.
She wasn't falling, and yet she was plummeting at an impossible speed.
The motel room dissolved, the city vanishing into a whirl of color and darkness, like ink spilling across the water.
For a brief, terrifying moment, she saw faces in the void—blurred, unfamiliar, whispering in a language she didn't understand.
And then—
Everything stopped.
Pain.
A crushing, suffocating weight pressed against her chest.
Her eyes flew open—
But they weren't her eyes.
The air was different. Heavier. Thick with something almost otherworldly.
A distant scent of incense and jasmine filled her nose, so strong it made her stomach turn.
She gasped, sitting up—but the movement was wrong.
Her limbs felt strange, her body unfamiliar.
Her hands—not her hands.
Slender fingers, paler than her own. Nails carefully trimmed, unblemished skin.
Silken fabric draped over her arms—flowing sleeves embroidered with golden patterns, soft against her skin.
She pressed a hand to her chest—her heartbeat was frantic, but the rhythm wasn't familiar.
Her breath quickened.
This wasn't her motel room.
This wasn't her world.
The panic rose like a tidal wave.
She stumbled forward, catching sight of something—
A mirror.
She turned toward it, dreading what she would see.
A woman stared back at her.
A woman with dark, flowing hair, dressed in silk robes embroidered with golden threads.
A woman who was not Song Rui.
And yet—
She was.
Her breath hitched. No. No, no, no.
Her hands trembled as she reached toward the reflection. The woman did the same.
The realization crashed down on her, suffocating in its impossibility.
She was somewhere else.
She was someone else.
And she had no idea how to get back.
Her knees buckled.
She clutched the edge of a carved wooden table to steady herself. Her breaths came out short, panicked.
She had woken up in a stranger's body.
No, not a stranger.
The longer she stared at the mirror, the more familiarity crept in—like an echo in the back of her mind.
She knew this woman.
Not personally, but… she had seen her before.
Her stomach twisted.
This wasn't just any woman.
This was Li Yue.
The missing princess.
The woman who had disappeared centuries ago.
A long-lost mystery that had baffled historians.
And somehow, someway, Song Rui had just become her.
Her mind screamed this isn't real—
But the weight of the silk on her shoulders, the scent of incense in the air, the frantic pounding of her unfamiliar heart—it was all too real.
She turned from the mirror, scanning the room.
A massive wooden screen divided the space, the golden patterns shimmering in the candlelight. The walls were decorated with intricate calligraphy scrolls, and outside the window, she saw lanterns glowing softly against the night sky.
This wasn't just another place.
This was another time.
The realization sent a shiver down her spine.
Footsteps Approaching
Then—
A sound.
Footsteps.
Coming closer.
Song Rui's breath caught in her throat.
She had no idea where she was, no idea how she got here—and now, someone was coming.
She turned wildly, looking for an escape, a place to hide, anything—
The doors slid open.
A woman stepped inside, dressed in robes just as elegant as the ones Song Rui now wore.
Her expression was unreadable, but her sharp eyes immediately narrowed in suspicion.
"Your Highness," the woman said slowly.
Song Rui swallowed hard.
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
She didn't know how to act, didn't know how Li Yue spoke, didn't even know who this woman was.
The woman stepped closer.
"Are you feeling unwell?"
Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—something dangerous lurking beneath the surface.
Song Rui's heartbeat thundered.
Think. Think.
"I…" she started, then caught herself. Her voice—Li Yue's voice—was softer than her own, smoother.
The woman studied her for another long moment.
Then, she bowed slightly.
"The wedding is tomorrow, Your Highness," she said.
"You must be well-rested for Warlord Feng Xuan."
Song Rui felt the blood drain from her face.
Wedding? Warlord?
Her stomach churned.
She had been pulled into a nightmare.
And if she didn't figure out what was happening fast—
She might never wake up.