Curse of the Jade Throne

The first thing I registered was the smell. Stale tea leaves, cheap incense, and something sour I couldn’t place. The second thing was the weight.

Not metaphorical. Actual, physical weight. My arms felt like they were pinned to the bed by an invisible force. I tried to lift my hand and watched five thick fingers, each one a small sausage, rise into my field of vision. The skin was pale, almost gray, and the nails were chewed to the quick.

I screamed. Or tried to. What came out was a wet, strangled croak that sounded like a dying frog.

A girl’s face appeared above me. Young, maybe fifteen, with round cheeks and worried eyes. She wore a plain blue robe and her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Servant. I knew that much from the countless period dramas I’d binged after my last breakup.

“Miss Lin, you’re awake!” Her voice was high and breathless. “I’ll fetch the doctor. Don’t move, please don’t move.”

She was gone before I could ask a single question. Not that I knew what question to ask. My last memory was the subway platform. The rush of air before the train. A hand on my back. A push.

I sat up. It took effort. Real effort, the kind that made my stomach strain against my ribs. Except they weren’t my ribs. These ribs were buried somewhere under layers of flesh I didn’t recognize. I looked down at my body and felt my brain short-circuit.

This was not my body.

I was a size zero back in my real life. Size zero, twenty-four years old, fresh out of law school with a job offer from a firm that handled corporate mergers. I ran five kilometers every morning. I ate kale salads and pretended to like them. I had plans.

This body had none of that. This body was built like a dumpling. Soft, round, and apparently very, very unloved.

A bronze mirror sat on the dressing table across the room. I swung my legs over the side of the bed. My feet hit the cold floor and I stood. The floorboards creaked under my weight. Each step felt like carrying a sack of rice. I reached the mirror and looked.

The face that stared back was not mine.

It was round. Full. The cheeks were so plump they pushed the eyes into narrow slits. The lips were thick but pale. A small mole sat beside the left nostril. The hair was a tangled mess of black, falling past shoulders that seemed to slope under their own burden.

I looked like a steamed bun that had been left out too long.

But the eyes. Those were the worst part. Behind the puffy lids, behind the swollen flesh, there was something familiar. Something sharp. Something that did not belong in that face.

Those were my eyes.

I touched my cheek. The skin was soft, almost doughy. I pressed harder and felt the bone underneath. The structure was there. Hidden, but there. Whoever this woman was, she hadn’t always looked like this.

The door slammed open.

A woman swept in, and I mean swept. Her robes were silk, deep green with gold embroidery that caught the lamplight. Her face was narrow, elegant, with eyebrows so perfectly arched they looked painted on. Behind her came the servant girl, who was now visibly trembling.

“So you’re awake.” The woman’s voice was cold. Not cold like winter. Cold like a blade that had been sitting in a drawer for years, waiting. “What a pity.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. I had no context. No backstory. No script.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Who are you?”

The woman’s eyes widened. Then narrowed. Then she laughed. It was not a kind laugh. It was the laugh of someone who had just watched a pigeon fly into a window.

“Have you hit your head that hard, Lin Chuyue? Or is this another one of your pathetic tricks?” She stepped closer. Her perfume was jasmine. Heavy. Suffocating. “I am your future sister-in-law. Or I would be, if you hadn’t managed to ruin that too.”

Lin Chuyue. That was my name now. I filed it away.

“I don’t remember,” I said. “I hit my head. I don’t remember anything.”

The woman’s expression flickered. For a split second, I saw something real. Something like concern. Then it was gone, replaced by that cold mask.

“Convenient,” she said. “Very convenient. You eat yourself into a coma, and when you wake up, you have amnesia. How dramatic.”

She turned to the servant. “Bring the doctor. And inform the master that his daughter has finally decided to rejoin the living.”

The servant ran. The woman turned back to me. Her eyes traveled down my body, then back up. The disgust was not subtle.

“You know,” she said, “when I first came to this house, I felt sorry for you. A girl without a mother, raised by servants, ignored by her father. I thought I could help you. I tried to teach you manners. I tried to teach you how to dress, how to speak, how to be a woman worthy of the Lin name.”

She tilted her head. “But you refused. You ate. And ate. And ate. As if food could fill the hole where your dignity should be.”

The words should have hurt. They would have hurt the real Lin Chuyue. But I wasn’t her. I was a lawyer from the 21st century who had been pushed onto subway tracks and woken up in a body that felt like a prison.

“Thank you for your concern,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The woman blinked. She hadn’t expected that. Neither had I, honestly. But something in me refused to cower. Maybe it was the ghost of the real Lin Chuyue. Maybe it was just stubbornness.

“Concern?” She laughed again. “Child, I am not concerned. I am counting the days until I never have to look at you again.”

She left. The door stayed open. I stood there in front of the mirror, staring at the stranger who was now me.

Lin Chuyue. Overweight. Unloved. A joke.

And somehow, I had to survive.

The doctor came. An old man with shaky hands and breath that smelled of garlic. He checked my pulse, looked at my tongue, and declared that the bump on my head had caused temporary memory loss. He prescribed rest, herbal medicine, and a strict diet.

“No more sweets,” he said, looking at me with something that might have been pity. “No more late-night eating. The body must be purified.”

The servant girl, whose name was Xiaoling, nodded vigorously. She was the only one who seemed genuinely relieved I was awake. She helped me dress, helped me walk to the garden, helped me sit on a stone bench under a plum tree that was just starting to bloom.

“Miss,” she whispered, “are you really okay?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Tell me about myself.”

She hesitated. “Miss, I don’t want to upset you.”

“I need to know.”

Xiaoling sat beside me. She was small, birdlike, with nervous hands that kept smoothing her robe.

“You are the eldest daughter of the Lin family,” she said. “Your mother died when you were young. Your father remarried. Your stepmother has two daughters of her own. They are... very beautiful. Very talented. Everyone says so.”

“And me?”

She looked down. “You were not always like this, Miss. When you were young, you were normal. Pretty, even. But after your mother died, you started eating. And eating. And the more you ate, the more they mocked you. And the more they mocked you, the more you ate.”

A vicious cycle. I knew it well. Not from personal experience, but from case files. Depression. Self-destruction. The slow, quiet death of a person who had been told they were worthless so many times they believed it.

“There is also the engagement,” Xiaoling said quietly.

“Engagement?”

“To the eldest son of the Wei family. Wei Chen. He is a general. Very famous. Very powerful.” She paused. “He came to visit last month. To see you for the first time.”

“And?”

“He left after ten minutes. The next day, his family sent a letter. They wanted to break the engagement. They said... they said you were not suitable.”

I felt a strange pang in my chest. Not my pain. Lin Chuyue’s pain. The ghost of her still lived in this body, still remembered the humiliation, still carried the wound.

“But the engagement was not broken,” Xiaoling continued. “Your father refused. He said a promise is a promise. The Wei family was angry. General Wei was angry. And now...”

“Now what?”

“Now he is coming again. Tomorrow. To discuss the marriage contract in person.”

Great. Just great. I was stuck in a body I didn’t recognize, in a time I didn’t understand, with a fiancé who apparently couldn’t stand the sight of me. And I had amnesia.

But there was something else. Something Xiaoling wasn’t saying.

“Tell me the rest,” I said.

She bit her lip. “Miss, there are rumors. About your mother. About how she died.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“That she was cursed. That the women in your family have always been cursed. That your weight, your appearance... it is not natural.”

I looked down at my hands. The thick fingers. The pale skin. I thought about the bone structure I had felt under my cheek. The sharpness that didn’t match the softness on top.

“Do you believe in curses, Xiaoling?”

She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, “I believe in what I see, Miss. And what I see is a woman who was not always this way, becoming something she was never meant to be.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together a puzzle I didn’t have all the pieces for. I was a modern woman trapped in an ancient body. I had a family that despised me, a fiancé who rejected me, and a curse I didn’t understand.

But I also had something else. Something the real Lin Chuyue never had.

I had a mind trained in logic. A heart hardened by betrayal. And a stubborn refusal to accept defeat.

The real Lin Chuyue had given up. She had eaten herself into a coma, hoping never to wake up. But I was awake now. And I was not going to let her story end this way.

I got up. Walked to the mirror. Looked at the face that was not mine.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” I whispered. “I don’t know if there’s a way back. But while I’m in this body, I’m going to make it count.”

The reflection stared back. For a moment, I thought I saw something shift in the eyes. A flicker of gratitude. Or warning. I couldn’t tell.

Then I heard it. A sound from outside. Soft. Deliberate.

Footsteps.

I turned. The window was open a crack. Moonlight spilled through, silver and cold. I walked over and pushed it open wider.

The garden was empty. The plum tree swayed in the breeze. But on the ground, right below my window, was a single white flower.

Jasmine.

I picked it up. The petals were fresh, still dewy. Someone had placed it there. Recently.

I looked up. On the wall that surrounded the estate, a shadow moved. Just for a second. Then it was gone.

Someone was watching me.

I didn’t sleep that night. I sat by the window, the jasmine flower in my hand, waiting for the sun to rise.

The morning came too fast.

Xiaoling burst in before dawn, carrying a tray of food I had no appetite for. She was nervous, fidgeting, her eyes darting to the window.

“Miss, the general is here. He arrived early. He’s in the main hall with your father.”

I looked at the tray. Plain congee, pickled vegetables, a single hard-boiled egg. The diet the doctor had prescribed.

“Help me dress,” I said.

“Miss, are you sure? Maybe you should rest. The doctor said...”

“I’m going to meet my fiancé.”

Xiaoling’s face went pale. “Miss, please. He was very cruel last time. He said terrible things. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I won’t get hurt,” I said. “I’m not the same person I was.”

She didn’t argue. She helped me into a robe the color of faded lotus. It was too tight. The fabric strained at the seams. I looked ridiculous. I knew it. But I didn’t care.

I walked to the main hall with my head held high. Servants stared. Whispers followed. I heard the word “fat” more times than I cared to count. I ignored them.

The doors were open. I stepped inside.

The hall was grand, decorated with silk scrolls and carved furniture. My father sat at the head of the table, a thin man with gray temples and tired eyes. He barely looked at me.

On the other side sat a man I assumed was Wei Chen.

He was beautiful. There was no other word for it. Sharp jaw, high cheekbones, eyes like dark jade. He wore a black robe with silver embroidery, and his posture was perfect, the posture of a soldier who had never been defeated.

He looked at me. And I saw it. The disgust. The disdain. The barely concealed irritation.

“Lin Chuyue,” he said. His voice was deep. Cold. “You look... well.”

The insult was hidden but clear. I was not well. I was fat. I was ugly. I was everything he didn’t want.

“General Wei,” I said, bowing slightly. “I heard you came to discuss our engagement. How thoughtful.”

His eyes narrowed. He hadn’t expected me to speak first.

“I came to end it,” he said. “Your father and I have been negotiating. But I think it’s time you heard the truth directly.”

My father shifted in his seat. He looked uncomfortable. Guilty, even.

“Chuyue,” he said, “the general has made a generous offer. He is willing to provide for you. A house. An allowance. You would want for nothing.”

“In exchange for what?”

“In exchange for releasing him from the marriage contract.”

I looked at Wei Chen. He stared back, unblinking.

“You want to pay me to go away,” I said.

“I want to be fair,” he said. “I have no interest in marrying you. You know this. Everyone knows this. But I am not a cruel man. I will make sure you are taken care of.”

“How generous.”

“It is.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The absurdity of the situation hit me like a wave. Here I was, a woman from the future, being offered a bribe to disappear by a man who thought he was being noble.

“General Wei,” I said, “I don’t want your money.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I don’t want your house. I don’t want your allowance. I don’t want anything from you.”

“Then what do you want?”

I smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was the smile of a woman who had just figured out the rules of a game she never agreed to play.

“I want you to look me in the eye five years from now,” I said, “and regret every word you just said.”

The room went silent. My father’s mouth hung open. Even Wei Chen looked surprised, though he recovered quickly.

“Is that a threat?” he asked.

“It’s a promise.”

He stood. He was tall. Taller than I expected. He looked down at me with those cold jade eyes, and for a moment, I saw something flicker. Curiosity, maybe. Or suspicion.

“You’ve changed,” he said.

“I hit my head.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

He walked toward me. Slow. Deliberate. He stopped when he was close enough that I could smell him. Sandalwood. Leather. Something sharp underneath.

“The Lin Chuyue I met a month ago would have cried,” he said. “She would have begged. She would have made a scene. But you...” He tilted his head. “You are calm. Too calm.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“Maybe I don’t.” He paused. “But I intend to find out.”

He turned and walked out. The doors closed behind him. I stood there, my heart pounding, my hands trembling.

My father cleared his throat. “Chuyue, that was... unexpected.”

“I know.”

“He’s not a man who likes being challenged.”

“I know.”

“He might make your life difficult.”

I looked at my father. This man who had ignored me for years. Who had let his wife and stepdaughters humiliate me. Who was only now looking at me like I was a person instead of a burden.

“Father,” I said, “my life has been difficult since the day I was born. A little more difficulty won’t kill me.”

He didn’t have a response to that.

I walked back to my room, my heart still racing. Xiaoling was waiting, her face anxious.

“Miss, what happened? The general looked angry.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“But Miss, he’s powerful. He could destroy our family.”

“He could try.”

I sat down at the dressing table. Looked at my reflection. The same round face. The same puffy eyes. But something was different. Something had shifted.

I touched my cheek. The skin felt warmer. Tighter.

I leaned closer to the mirror.

The mole beside my nose. It was smaller than yesterday. Fainter.

I blinked. Looked again.

Definitely smaller.

I thought about what Xiaoling had said. The curse. The rumors about my mother. The way my body had changed so drastically from childhood to adulthood.

What if it wasn’t just overeating?

What if something else was at work?

I pulled the collar of my robe down. My neck. The skin was pale, but underneath, I could see the faint outline of something. A mark. Small. Circular. Like a brand.

I had never noticed it before. But then again, I had only been in this body for a day.

“Xiaoling,” I said, my voice steady, “bring me a candle. And a knife.”

“Miss?”

“Just do it.”

She ran. I stared at the mark in the mirror. It was almost invisible, like a scar that had healed badly. But I knew what it was.

I had seen it before. In a history book. In a case file about ancient artifacts.

It was a seal. A binding seal. The kind used in old rituals to trap something. Or someone.

The candle arrived. The knife. I held the blade over the flame until it glowed red.

“Miss, what are you doing?”

“Trust me.”

I pressed the hot blade against the mark.

The pain was blinding. White-hot. I screamed. Xiaoling screamed. The world tilted.

And then I saw it.

A flash of light. A face. A woman’s face, beautiful, with eyes that looked exactly like mine.

My mother.

She was standing in a room I didn’t recognize. She was holding something. A scroll. A seal. She was crying.

And then she was gone.

I collapsed. The knife clattered to the floor. Xiaoling was crying, shaking me, calling my name.

But I couldn’t hear her.

Because in my mind, I heard my mother’s voice.

*They will try to bury you, my daughter. But you are not meant to be buried. You are meant to burn.*

I woke up in bed. The sun was setting. Orange light poured through the window, painting the room in gold.

Xiaoling was beside me, her eyes red from crying.

“Miss, you scared me. You scared me so much.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What did you do? What was that mark?”

I sat up. My head throbbed. But my body felt different. Lighter. I looked down at my hands.

They were still thick. Still pale. But the fingers were longer. More defined.

“The curse,” I said. “It’s breaking.”

“What?”

I looked at Xiaoling. “My mother was cursed. Someone put a seal on her. And on me. That mark was the seal. It’s been suppressing something. Suppressing who I really am.”

“Who you really are?”

I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know. Not yet.

But I was going to find out.

There was a knock at the door. Xiaoling opened it. A servant handed her a letter. She brought it to me.

The envelope was plain. No name. No seal. I opened it.

Inside was a single line of elegant calligraphy.

*The jasmine flower was a warning. Not a gift. Be careful who you trust.*

I read it three times.

The jasmine. The flower I found under my window. I had thought it was a sign of something. A message. But it was a warning.

Someone knew I was changing. Someone was watching.

And whoever it was, they didn’t want me to succeed.

I folded the letter and tucked it into my sleeve.

“Xiaoling,” I said, “who in this house grows jasmine?”

She thought for a moment. “The second young mistress. Your stepsister. Lin Meili.”

Of course. The perfect one. The beautiful one. The one everyone loved.

“She grows jasmine in her private garden,” Xiaoling continued. “She’s very proud of it. She says it represents her soul. Pure and fragrant.”

“Or poisonous and creeping.”

“Miss?”

“Nothing.”

I stood up. My legs were shaky, but they held.

“Tomorrow,” I said, “I’m going to visit my stepsister’s garden.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to see her face when I tell her I know.”

Xiaoling looked terrified. “Miss, please. She’s dangerous. Everyone knows she’s dangerous. She has the support of your stepmother. She has the support of the household. If you challenge her...”

“Then I’ll be challenging the entire household.”

“Exactly.”

I looked at Xiaoling. This girl who had stayed by my side despite everything. Who had risked her own safety to help me.

“Xiaoling,” I said, “why do you stay?”

She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “Because I knew your mother. Before she died. She was kind to me. She told me to take care of you. And I promised.”

My chest tightened. “You knew my mother?”

“Yes, Miss. And I know she was not cursed. She was poisoned. Slowly. Over years. By someone she trusted.”

The room felt colder.

“Who?”

Xiaoling looked at the door. Checked the window. Then she leaned close and whispered a name.

I felt the ground drop out from under me.

The person my mother trusted most. The person who had been closest to her.

My father.

I spent the rest of the night in silence.

I sat by the window, watching the moon rise, trying to piece together a puzzle that kept getting bigger. My mother was poisoned. My father did it. I was cursed. My stepsister was threatening me. My fiancé hated me.

And somewhere out there, someone was watching. Waiting. Sending jasmine flowers as warnings.

I should have been terrified. I should have been broken.

But instead, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Alive.

The real Lin Chuyue had given up. She had let the world bury her. But I wasn’t her. I was someone else. Someone who had been pushed onto subway tracks and survived. Someone who had been given a second chance.

And I was not going to waste it.

I stood up. Walked to the mirror. Looked at the face that was slowly becoming mine.

“Mother,” I whispered, “I don’t know if you can hear me. But I’m going to find out the truth. I’m going to break this curse. And I’m going to make everyone who hurt you pay.”

The reflection stared back. And for a moment, I could have sworn I saw her. Standing behind me. Smiling.

Then she was gone.

I turned around.

The room was empty.

But on the pillow, where there had been nothing before, lay a single white flower.

Jasmine.