"Wake up!" Xia Zhu's voice hit her before the light did. Wanxiu's eyes split open. The ceiling, the carved lattice, the smell of tea and cold silk—everything snapped into place like a door being forced on its hinges. "I dreamed them all again," she said. Her voice was small. It carried the weight of a night she had lived once and would live again. "Sit up. Tell me." Xia Zhu's hand was a rough palm at the small of her back, steady, real. Wanxiu pushed the blanket aside. "Same as before. The lacquer box, the folding screen, the servant who promised to speak for me and lied." Her words came quick, precise. She counted scenes with her eyes closed. "They will laugh. They will hand me a red silk and clap for the groom." "Three times?" Xia Zhu asked, not looking shocked. Xia Zhu never looked shocked. She only looked practical. "Three nights left." Wanxiu blinked at the lattice. "Tonight is the first morning. In three days they will bring the marriage papers." Xia Zhu's lips twitched. "You said it would happen on the third night last time." "I remember details I shouldn't." Wanxiu swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her feet found the cold wood exactly where they had the first time. "The sound of the wine cup. The way the candle wavered when the window opened." "Then move." Xia Zhu said bluntly. "Stop lying in bed. Old Madam will