At the consort selection banquet, the First Prince used one arrow for two kites, hitting both my paper kite and my stepsister's. My stepsister publicly rejected the marriage, declaring she would save the common people and stay out of the mortal world. In my past life, I believed it, giving up the position of primary consort, which in exchange cost me a lifetime of being squeezed dry to the marrow, ultimately hugging the First Prince and perishing in a sea of fire. Opening my eyes once more, the arrow breaks through the vast sky, two kites growing from one stem. This time, I will not yield—one arrow hitting two kites counts as not hitting at all. My stepsister wants a pure reputation, I want a way to live. But who would have guessed that the broken jade pendant I casually accepted would actually entangle the sickly crown prince's marriage destiny. Deep within the fragrance of medicine, the gates of the Eastern Palace open, and the phoenix throne hangs empty.