Re-birth: The Beginning after the End - Chapter 77

Chapter 77: NIGHTMARE

That peace didn’t last.

The nightmare tore through her consciousness like a blade through silk. At first, it was just a whisper at the edge of her awareness—a sound she’d buried deep in her memories, one that had no place in this peaceful world. The whistling shriek of missiles, a sound that had haunted her past life, grew from a distant echo to a deafening crescendo that ripped her from her bed and into the dream’s grip.

But when she found herself outside her room, it wasn’t the expected destruction she witnessed but something far more unsettling: a sky shooting stars. They fell too close, too bright, searing golden trails across the night like molten tears. Each one screamed past with such proximity that the heat raised goosebumps on her skin, the peaceful evening transformed into a terrifying display of violence.

One star broke from its celestial dance, changing course as if guided by an invisible hand. Li Hua watched, transfixed, as it plummeted earthward with devastating purpose. The impact shook the ground, sending tremors through her bones that seemed to awaken something deep within her—a recognition she didn’t want to face. Every carefully honed survival instinct screamed at her to run, yet she found herself drawn forward bypassing years of training.

Steam rose from the impact site in wisps that coiled like hungry spirits, the disturbed earth radiating an unnatural warmth. Through the ethereal haze, she could make out a figure curled in the crater’s center, its skin glowing with an otherworldly radiance that made her eyes ache and her heart stutter. Something about the way it lay there—vulnerable yet somehow threatening—stirred memories she’d tried to bury.

Her hands moved of their own accord, reaching toward the figure even as her mind recoiled. They trembled with more than fear—they shook with the complicated mess of emotions that only one person in all the realms could evoke: love and hatred, longing and revulsion, each warring for dominance in her chest.

When the steam finally parted, the face that met hers sent ice cascading through her veins. Li Min lay before her, exactly as she had looked that final day—beautiful and disturbing, familiar and foreign, twisted and utterly ruthless.

Her skin was warm and flushed with life, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths that seemed to mock death itself. Those delicate features—the same ones that had once smiled at her with sisterly affection—were the very ones that had watched with cold detachment as she ordered Li Hua’s execution. The perfect preservation of that face felt like a cruel joke played by fate itself.

Then those lips parted, and her sister’s voice spilled forth like honey laced with venom: “Sister, I found you.”

Li Hua jolted awake with a strangled gasp, her body rigid and defensive even before consciousness fully returned. Sweat beaded on her forehead and dampened her nightclothes, the cool night air raising goosebumps on her clammy skin. Her heart thundered against her ribs as her instincts screamed danger, though she was alone in her familiar bedroom.

“Just a dream,” she whispered into the darkness, but the words felt hollow. Her hands unconsciously patted her body, an irrational need to confirm she was whole, not scattered across her demolished garden. The phantom sensation of heat and pressure—her last physical memory before her soul transferred—made her shudder.

But was it just a dream? The question slithered through her mind like slow-acting poison, each possibility more toxic than the last. A chill traced her spine with icy fingers, and she knew it had nothing to do with her sweat-soaked clothes.

Li Hua sat up, drawing her knees to her chest—a defensive posture that transported her back to when she was six, in her previous life. Her mind clicked into gear, analyzing possibilities with mechanical precision even as her heart raced. Until now, she had never considered the possibility of others crossing between worlds, perhaps feeling secure in her solitude. After all, her own transition had only been possible through Little Firefly’s power.

But that certainty crumbled like wet paper. If she had found a way between worlds, who was to say her sister hadn’t discovered another path? Her hands clenched in her blanket until her knuckles turned white as she confronted the possibilities. If Li Min had achieved the impossible, which version would emerge—the girl who had once been gullible and naive, or the monster who had ordered her death?

The thought of Li Min arriving with her memories intact sent chills down her spine, but the alternative haunted her even more—like a venomous snake shedding its skin only to emerge more deadly, unpredictable in its newfound innocence.

“If she’s here…” Li Hua’s whisper died in the darkness as implications bloomed like blood in water. Did Li Min even know of her presence in this world? The question spawned darker ones: if her sister discovered her, would she strike quickly, finishing what she’d started in their last life? Or would she fall back into her favorite game—weaving herself into Li Hua’s world with that gentle smile, playing the role of reformed sister while masking mountains of lies beneath her manufactured innocence?

Li Hua pressed her palms against her eyes until stars burst behind her eyelids, trying to banish Li Min’s face from her mind. But the image remained, burned into her memory like a brand—a perfect overlay of contradictions.

The girl who’d grown up before her eyes—who would beam with trust at complete strangers while shooting veiled glares of resentment at her own sister—now superimposed over the steel-eyed woman she’d become, who had transformed that innocent trust into a weapon and orchestrated Li Hua’s death.

Li Hua lowered her hands, her features hardening into the mask she’d worn as the world’s deadliest assassin. If Li Min had followed her to this world, she wouldn’t find the same trusting sister she’d betrayed before. This time, Li Hua would be ready. This time it would be different.

She padded across the wooden floor to her window, its paper screen casting latticed shadows in the moonlight. Pushing aside the delicate bamboo shade, she gazed out at the night sky above their small village.

The usual symphony of crickets and night birds had fallen eerily silent, as if nature itself held its breath. Then, as if responding to her darkest fears, four shooting stars blazed across the heavens in quick succession, their golden trails cutting through the darkness like celestial blades.

The sight sent a chill through her bones—in her past life, she’d learned that coincidences often carried deadly weight. She remembered an old grandmother she’d met in Taiwan, who would burn incense while speaking in hushed tones about heaven’s warnings written in the stars.

Back then, Li Hua had dismissed such talk as superstition, focusing instead on cold statistics and calculated probabilities. But death and rebirth had taught her better than to ignore such signs.

Through the window, she could see the sleeping village spread out below—thatched roofs silvered by moonlight and the distant glow of lanterns from the autumn festival. Everything appeared peaceful, ordinary. But Li Hua knew better than most how deceptively calm things could appear before chaos struck.