After being tricked into going to prison by my husband in his stead, the maid took my place as his wife. On the day of my release, they humiliated me with three “gifts” to welcome me back and the theft of my biological daughter’s only inheritance.

They thought I was broken. But, they didn’t know…

“Do you yield?”

The voice was a ghost in my cell, a whisper of silk over steel. It had been my only companion for five years.

Yield? I ran a cracked nail over the tally marks etched into the concrete wall. One thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five days.

“I won’t,” I whispered back to the darkness.

“I’m innocent. I’ll appeal.”

The voice laughed, a sound like shattering ice.

“Women. So pathetic. You gave everything to others, only to end up jailed, barely surviving.”

A familiar, bitter acid rose in my throat. I thought of him. Su Hayan. My husband for twenty-eight years.

I thought of them. Hansang, Jene, and Zeun. The daughters I had raised from skinned knees and nightmares, the daughters who weren’t mine by blood but who I had given my entire youth to. The daughters who stood in court and lied.

I thought of her. Lin Maja. The maid. The “friend.” The snake I had welcomed into my home, who smiled at my face while conspiring with my husband and my step-daughters to frame me for a crime she committed.

“Do you hate?” the voice pressed, sensing the shift in my breathing.

“I do.” The admission was a relief, a hot poker in my frozen heart. The hatred had kept me warm through five winters.

“Good. Come before me when you are free, and I will grant you a chance to rise again. What a ruthless woman you will be.”

Today was the day.

The heavy iron gate shrieked open, flooding my cell with a gray, unforgiving light. I didn’t blink. I had forgotten what the sun felt like.

A man I had never seen, “Neil,” stood waiting. He was immaculate in a black suit, a stark contrast to my threadbare prison grays. He didn’t offer a hand, only a slight bow.

“Neil,” I said, my voice rough from disuse.

“Take off your clothes,” he commanded, not unkindly. He held up a garment bag. “This is the Blood Phoenix.”

I shed my prison skin, the rough fabric falling away like a dead thing. The dress he offered was crimson, so deep it was almost black. It felt like armor.

As I fastened the last button, he held out a small, heavy object. It was a pin, fashioned into a striking bird of prey, wings spread wide. A phoenix reborn from flames.

“After your release, you will command the Blood Phoenix,” he said, as if stating the weather.

“Blood Phoenix,” I repeated. The words felt like destiny.

“Blood Phoenix.”

The ride was silent. I watched the world rush by. I thought about the “family” I was returning to. The family that, as I rotted in a cell, had lived on my money. The family that had sent me an allowance.

One hundred yuan. About fifteen dollars. Per month.

That’s what my life’s work was worth to them. That’s what the matriarch of the billion-dollar Sue family was given to survive. I remembered the taste of moldy bread, the gnawing hunger. And I remembered Jene, the daughter I’d prayed for, the one I’d kneeled for, standing in court.

“She was jealous,” Jene had told the judge, her voice smooth and practiced.

“She was jealous of my mother, Lin Maja, and tried to kill her. She’s a stain on our family.”

And Zeun. My little Zeun, who I’d nursed through bipolar disorder, who I’d protected. She had confirmed the lie.

They didn’t just frame me. They all conspired to put me there.

And today, they were throwing a party. Not for my return, but for her. They were crowning Lin Maja, the maid, the “Queen of Jinghai.”

And they had the audacity to invite me.

They had three “gifts” waiting for me, Neil told me. A razor, to shave my head in penance. A 10,000-word confession, to be read on my knees. And a contract, to sign away the last thing I owned on earth—the small villa I had bought for my real daughter, Zyu.

They thought I was coming back as a beggar. A broken, pathetic creature they could parade around for their own amusement.

I looked at the phoenix pin on my chest.

They were right about one thing. A woman was returning to the Sue family. But it wasn’t the wife they remembered.

It was a queen.

The rain was thin and cold — the kind that made the city look like it was covered in glass.
Jinghai glittered under streetlights as the black car cut through the traffic, its tinted windows reflecting the world she once ruled.

Inside, Su Hayan’s former wife — no longer the naïve matriarch but the reborn Blood Phoenix — sat in silence.
Neil drove without speaking, his gloved hands steady on the wheel.

Ahead, the Sue mansion rose like a fortress, its gates lit in gold.
Music spilled from inside — laughter, clinking glasses, a woman’s bright, false giggle.

Lin Maja’s laugh.

The snake had learned to wear pearls.

“Would you like to enter through the front?” Neil asked quietly.

“No,” she said. “Open the servant’s gate. That’s where she started.”

Neil’s lips twitched — almost a smile. He understood.

The servant’s gate creaked open, rusted from years of disuse. The same gate through which Lin Maja had once come, carrying trays of fruit and fake humility.

Now the servants bowed to her.

She entered without hesitation. Every step echoed. The marble floors remembered her heels — the rhythm of a queen, not a prisoner.

At the heart of the hall, Lin Maja stood in a gown of white silk, Su Hayan’s hand wrapped around her waist.
Guests murmured her name:
“Mrs. Su… such elegance.”
“She rebuilt the family.”
“She’s what a wife should be.”

The Blood Phoenix walked into the light.

The music faltered.
Glasses froze midair.
The whispers spread like fire.

Her red dress — deep crimson, like blood blooming in water — caught every eye. The phoenix pin on her chest gleamed under the chandeliers.

Lin Maja’s smile cracked, just slightly.

Su Hayan turned, the color draining from his face.

For a moment, no one breathed.

Then Lin Maja’s voice, syrupy and false:
“Well, well. Look who’s back. Everyone, please — welcome our guest of honor! The real Mrs. Su… or should I say, ex-wife?”

Laughter rippled, hesitant, poisonous.

But the woman in red didn’t flinch.
She walked slowly toward the stage, her eyes calm, her presence suffocating.
Every guest instinctively stepped aside, as if parting for royalty.

When she reached the center of the room, Neil stepped forward, carrying a silver tray.

On it lay three objects — her “welcome gifts.”
A razor.
A stack of papers — the confession.
And a contract, stamped with the Su family seal.

Lin Maja’s voice rang out again:
“Five years is a long time, isn’t it? You must have learned humility by now. Show us. Kneel, read your confession, and sign. Then maybe we’ll let you visit your daughter’s grave.”

The hall went silent.

Her daughter’s grave.

Her breath hitched — but only for a second. Then the storm inside her went still.

She picked up the razor. The guests leaned forward, waiting for the humiliation.

But instead, she turned it in her hand — and slammed it down on the silver tray, the blade snapping in half.

Gasps. Someone dropped a glass.

Then she picked up the confession papers, held them up to the chandelier flame, and let them burn — piece by piece — until ash floated to the marble floor.

Lin Maja’s smile vanished.

Finally, she looked at the contract. Calm. Almost gentle.
She set a pen to it — and signed.

But not her old name.

Blood Phoenix.

Neil took the document, turned it toward the crowd, and spoke for the first time that night:

“By this signature, the Su family has just transferred all remaining assets — including the Jinghai estate — to the Blood Phoenix Group.”

The silence shattered into chaos.

Lin Maja stumbled back. “What—what did you—”

“You never read the fine print,” the woman in red said softly. “You taught me that.”

Her eyes met Su Hayan’s.
“For twenty-eight years, I served this house. For five years, I served time. Now… you will serve me.”

And with that, she turned away.

The doors swung open as her people entered — black suits, crimson pins glinting on their lapels.
The Blood Phoenix had risen.
And Jinghai would burn.