My Sin

In Red

He remembered, he who had once been the apple of his family's eyes, he who had every whim fulfilled, he who had to have everything and everyone bow to him, sitting silently on his wedding bed, waiting for the love of his life.

The candles had burned low. The scent of red wedding powder lingered in the air, the bed newly dressed in silk embroidery, the room decked out in red wedding decorations, but his groom never came.

When they finally relayed the news to him, trembling, unable to meet his gaze, he had not reacted. He simply remained there, still and proud, as if refusing to believe it. He stayed in that bed for three days, he sat there in stubborn silence.

It was the first time in his life that he had compromised. The first time he allowed himself to hope. He thought, perhaps halfway there, Hao Meng might remember him, might realize he was worth turning back for. He thought, just maybe, he would appear at the door, breathless from running, and say he had changed his mind.

But that moment never came.

On the third day, when he was too weak to sit up and the fever had begun to set in, the boy who had always been gentle and calm, who had never raised his voice at him, appeared before his eyes. He remembered it clearly even in the haze. For the first time, that serene and composed boy had cried. His eyes were red, voice hoarse, as he called out his name, "Yue'er," and reached for him just before he fainted in his arms.

When he woke, everything had changed.

He was disoriented, humiliated, and broken.

The man he loved, the one he had given everything to, had chosen ambition over love. Had chosen legacy over their life together. The fall from grace had been harsh, he went from a cheerful, prideful youth to a boy with a shattered heart, a boy who could no longer look at red silk without flinching.

And for four years, it was the gentle crown prince who had pieced him back together. Who was there when broke down, when he felt he couldn't breath. Who shielded him from venomous eyes. Who made sure he walked with dignity.

He had built him up. Piece by piece, warmth by warmth, day by day.

He had not expected it, had not trusted it at first. But the boy had never rushed him. He reassured him with actions, not promises. Spoke to him softly. Smiled at him patiently. Held him without asking for anything in return.

And somewhere along the way, fear softened into something warm. Into something sweet.

He was still scared. He couldn't deny that. But he couldn't lie either, he felt loved. Not the intense, fiery love that burned too quickly. But a steady kind of love. A love that made room for him to breathe.

His love wasn't as bright, not as consuming, but it was just as deep.

When he turned eighteen, they went to watch fireworks together. The night air was sharp and cold, but the warmth beside him made it bearable. That night, the crown prince had looked at him, eyes full of tenderness, and said, "I'll give you anything you want."

He had laughed, half joking, and said, "Then I want the moon."

The prince had tilted his head, looked at him with that same indulgent gaze, and said softly, "If the moon is beyond reach, then I'll give you my heart instead."

And he, he had looked into those eyes, and realized too late that his feet had already sunk too deep into this trap of love. That this time, he might not be able to pull himself out.

Needless to say, that night was heated. He remembered how the once reserved crown prince touched him with reverence, how every movement was a promise, how every breath was steady and sure. He remembered melting into it, letting go.

The next morning, he had woken up with panic in his chest. He wanted to deny it, wanted to pretend it hadn't happened. But the truth was growing inside him, literally.

And while his parents had always indulged him, this was not something they could brush aside. This was the royal family.

They married the two.

And he had lived, unexpectedly, a life filled with indulgence, warmth, and quiet joy.

His once-shattered heart had not only healed, but been framed by something tender. Something whole. They had lived peacefully, lovingly, for many years. No shouting, no fire. Just soft laughter in the evening light, steady arms around his waist, and someone who remembered even the smallest things he liked.

It stayed that way, until the daughter of the goddess was presented.

He had taken her in, unable to resist the implications. But she had remained in the rear palace, untouched, forgotten. He never once visited her chambers. She may have carried the name of consort, but he never let anyone forget that he had only one empress.

Still, it came with a price In order to maintain that position, his position, he had to consolidate power. He had to prove that he was worthy of being both ruler and husband. So when war broke out at the borders, when the court began to question, when the ministers raised their brows, bitter with their lack of power pressure the emperor into leading the troops, and he had no choice.

He had gone and come back victorious. But what awaited him was not the warmth of the home he had built, nor the family he had once held close. It was the dying body of his wife—and the cold corpses of some of their children.

In utter heartbreak and quiet, consuming rage, he had taken the goddess's daughter and tortured her. He hadn't stopped until she died. But the goddess had shown no mercy. She returned the pain tenfold, unmoved by what her daughter had done.

And now here they were. Nine hundred and ninety-eight lives later.

His once beloved, now estranged husband sat beside him. And in front of them stood his first love.

The fact that Hao Meng had returned in this life, unlike the others, could only mean one thing. He and the emperor weren't the only ones who had awakened. Hao Meng must have remembered too.

He glanced at the emperor. His expression had tightened slightly, just around the edges, but he still gently peeled the grapes for him without pause. He said nothing. Neither did he. He looked away and quietly continued eating.

"This lowly official greets the emperor," Hao Meng said, bowing low.

"This lowly official greets the empress," he added, turning to him.

The emperor told him to rise. The empress only nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

Hao Meng straightened, then turned to go back to his seat—but not before casting a fleeting glance at the empress.

Pale hair. Blue eyes that seemed to draw you in without effort. Smooth, clear skin. Large eyes. Still. Regal. He took it all in, briefly.

You would look good in red, Hao Meng thought, eyes lowering. But I missed you when you were in red.

He turned and quietly returned to his seat.

Author's notes

Just a reminder for readers, while the curse has changed many events in their lives, much still remains guided by fate. They marry in every single life, conceive their children at the same time across lives, always have their first child at eighteen, and are surrounded by the same people. I wanted to clarify this as it will be important for future chapters as the story deepens.