Needed By Him

Chapter 2

Qin Ruo sat quietly on her bed, the soft warmth of the cup of tea in her hands the only thing grounding her to this world. Her room was small, almost minimalist, with nothing unnecessary to distract from the multitude of talismans pasted on the walls. These were not decorations but wards of protection, symbols of desperate hope against the nightmare she had been living for the past two years.

Two full years of torturous premonition dreams.

She sipped her tea and sighed. Qin Ruo had long since realized that these dreams weren’t mere imagination or fancy. No. They were too vivid, too consistent, and too terrifyingly detailed to be mere dreams. Over time, she accepted the truth. What she had seen was not just a story in her mind but an actual glimpse of the future.

The repetition of those dreams, night after night, ingrained every scene into her mind. And if they were real, then the truth would reveal itself tonight. The vision foretold that in a few short hours, another soul would come and take over her body. She would be displaced, just like in her dreams.

At first, the prospect was horrifying. She was only twelve when the visions began, too young to understand why she was chosen for such torment. Every night, she faced the looming certainty that she would lose herself. But the cruelty of the dreams was not just in their content—it was in their constancy. The same scenes, the same events replayed night after night, teaching her resignation through sheer repetition.

Tonight, the time had come. Qin Ruo’s heart raced, her chest tightening with each tick of the clock. The room seemed to grow smaller, the air heavier. She was certain it would happen soon. Every fiber of her being wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, but she could not hate the soul that was to take her place.

No, she couldn’t. As strange as it was, she admired the other soul.

In the dreams, the other Qin Ruo had been so lively and confident—everything she wasn’t. Where Qin Ruo was delicate and reserved, the new Qin Ruo had a positive outlook on life, always playful and full of energy. There was nothing dark about her; in fact, she was everything Qin Ruo might have wanted to be.

But that didn’t mean Qin Ruo was ready to give up her life. No, that idea twisted her heart in ways words could barely describe. The mere thought of losing her body, her identity, to this other girl gnawed at her soul like a festering wound. She would not give it up so easily. The rage had built up slowly over the years, but tonight, it consumed her whole.

As she finished the last sip of her tea, she held onto the slimmest thread of hope that maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t happen. Maybe she’d be spared. Maybe all these visions were merely dreams after all.

In her favorite light red silk skirt, she rose from her bed, every step slow and measured, as if savoring her last moments in her own skin. But instead of calm, her heart was thundering. She had no intention of surrendering her life to anyone else. She would fight. And if there was any way to remain in control, she’d seize it.

She wanted to say goodbye to the only person who might remember her—the only person she had spent time with these past two years. Li Lei.

Her skirt swayed gently behind her as she moved gracefully through the hallways, each step barely making a sound. She might as well have been a ghost already. When she reached Li Lei’s door, she knocked quietly, hesitant, as though disturbing the stillness of the night might hasten her fate.

“Young Miss! Is there anything I can help you with?” Li Lei asked in surprise, opening the door. Her face betrayed her shock; it wasn’t like Qin Ruo to visit her servants in their rooms.

Qin Ruo gave a small, delicate smile, but her mind raced with anger and dread. “I just wanted to talk, Li Lei. May I come in?”

Li Lei hesitated but quickly nodded, stepping aside to allow Qin Ruo to enter. She busied herself preparing tea, trying to hide the unease in her movements. The Young Miss’s calm demeanor was unnerving, her voice soft but laced with an undertone of sadness.

“Come, sit with me,” Qin Ruo gestured to the chair opposite hers after Li Lei placed the tea in front of her.

“But…is that okay, Young Miss?” Li Lei asked, nervousness creeping into her voice.

Qin Ruo nodded with a faint smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, it’s fine.”

As Li Lei took her seat, Qin Ruo gazed around the room, glad to see that Li Lei had everything she needed. This girl had been more than a servant; she had been a companion during Qin Ruo’s darkest times. With the sweet, calming aroma of the tea filling the room, Qin Ruo felt a momentary peace. But deep within, a storm raged.

“Li Lei, do you know you are the closest person to me?” Qin Ruo began, her voice quiet but tense. “And that I love you very much?”

Li Lei blinked, startled by the sudden confession. “Young Miss, I— I love you too! Serving you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“You are more than a servant to me, Li Lei,” Qin Ruo said, her words carrying an unusual weight. “You are my family. I want you to know that.”

Li Lei’s heart twisted at her mistress’s tone. “You’re my family too, Young Miss.” Despite her words, Li Lei couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

Qin Ruo placed her hand gently on Li Lei’s, her touch so light it was barely there. “Please remember me, okay? Don’t forget about me.”

With that final, enigmatic request, Qin Ruo left Li Lei’s room. The darkness of the night seemed to swallow her as she disappeared from view, leaving Li Lei behind, staring after her with growing dread.

Back in her own room, Qin Ruo sat on her bed once more, her body heavy with the weight of inevitability. But this time, there was no calmness in her heart. No peace in her mind. Instead, fury simmered beneath the surface, clawing at her chest.

She wasn’t going to let this happen without a fight. She would not let go of her body.

Her hands trembled as she clutched the bedsheets, her knuckles white with tension. Why should she accept this fate? Why should she give up everything—her body, her life—just because some other soul was more vibrant, more full of life than her?

She would not give up. Not now. Not ever.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the inevitable. Just as the dream had foretold, it began.

Her body became impossibly heavy, her limbs unresponsive. It was as if she was no longer in control of her own flesh. The edges of her vision blurred, and her soul was pulled, bit by bit, from her body. She fought with every ounce of strength she had, but it was futile. Her soul drifted, soft and kind, separating from her body.

A scream erupted from her throat—a silent, desperate scream—but it was lost in the void. She was being torn away from everything she knew, everything she was.

And then, as if it had been waiting for this very moment, another soul—brighter, stronger—immediately entered her body. The new soul fit perfectly, like it had always belonged there. Qin Ruo watched helplessly as her own body, the body she had lived in for fourteen years, glowed faintly with a light visible only to those with special eyes.

It was over in moments. But for Qin Ruo, it felt like a lifetime of agony.

Her body stirred. The new soul opened her eyes and laughed in delight.

“I’m not dead? Really?! God, I thank you!” The new Qin Ruo’s face shone with pure joy as she leaped up, her movements brimming with energy. She stretched, feeling every inch of her new form, marveling at the delicate softness of her skin. “Oh my God! This body is so soft and delicate.”

Qin Ruo watched in bitter silence as the girl who now inhabited her body preened in front of the mirror, pulling at her cheeks and posing playfully. The rage inside her boiled over. How dare this new soul be so carefree, so jubilant, after stealing what was rightfully hers? This wasn’t joy. This was desecration.

“Qin Ruo,” the new soul said to herself, testing the name on her lips. “This body’s name is the same as mine, but it’s such a pity the original owner died in her sleep.” She placed a hand on the mirror as if to offer some form of tribute to the body’s previous owner. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of your family for you. Rest in peace.”

“I’m not dead!” Qin Ruo cried out, though she knew no one could hear her. “That’s my body! You took my body! I’m still here!”

But her voice fell on deaf ears. Tears of pure, unbridled hatred welled in her eyes as the weight of her reality set in. She wasn’t dead—but she was gone. No one would hear her cries. No one would know her rage. She had lost everything.

The new Qin Ruo remained blissfully unaware of the gravity of her actions, twirling joyfully in the moonlight, savoring her newfound life, while the real Qin Ruo felt her heart grow colder with each burst of laughter.