Chapter 1
One
The sky burned red with the smoke of dying fires as the battlefield groaned beneath the weight of its dead.
Blades were silent now. Blood dried on shattered stone. Only the wounded still stirred.
Li Feng staggered to his knees, coughing blood. His robes—once the silver-white of the Moonshadow Sect—were stained crimson and torn at the sleeves. His sword, Whispering Mist, lay broken beside him.
He had failed.
Not just his sect.
Not just the last, desperate plan to turn the tide of war.
He had failed himself.
And yet, even now, as the end crept closer, the only thing he could think about... was him.
Yue Jian.
They said the last person you think of when you die is the love of your life. The one person who mattered most.
Well. That was a lie.
As I gasped my last breaths, staring at a sky heavy with ash, waiting for death to take me, only one thought echoed in my mind.
Something he had said, just hours before.
Eyes hard but aching.
Voice rough from screaming.
"Fool. Are you really going to let yourself die?"
If I'd had the strength, I would've coughed blood in his face.
Instead, I gave a tired sigh, no longer able to shout the words that burned in my chest:
"Fuck you. If I had the chance, I'd tear you to pieces."
Yue Jian.
Of the Sunfire Sect.
My sworn enemy since birth.
The boy I had dueled a hundred times.
The one who always smiled before striking, like war was a dance and we were the only ones who knew the steps.
Li Feng had hated him. Truly.
But in the final days of the war, when the world cracked open and old gods stirred, when the Heavens rained down lightning and cursed fire—
Yue Jian did the unthinkable.
He blocked a killing blow meant for Li Feng.
And now, with his heart slowing and warmth draining from his limbs, Li Feng finally understood.
Yue Jian had never been trying to kill him.
He had been trying to keep him alive.
But why?
A shadow fell across his face.
Li Feng turned his head, barely able to lift it.
Yue Jian stood over him, soot and sweat streaking his face. One eye was bruised and bleeding. His golden robes, slashed and tattered, clung to him like dying flame.
His sword dropped with a clatter.
Without a word, he tore a strip from the cleanest part of his robe and pressed it against the stab wound in Li Feng's side.
"Feng," he said softly. "You idiot."
Li Feng coughed a laugh. "I'm dying, and you still have the energy to curse me out?"
Something shifted in Yue Jian's eyes. His hands trembled. He pulled Li Feng into his arms.
"I told you... you're not allowed to die," he whispered, voice cracking.
Li Feng leaned into the warmth of his sworn enemy's arms, suddenly so cold. "You said I was only allowed to die by your sword. Sorry to disappoint, JiJi."
The old nickname slipped out. Yue Jian flinched. He hated that name.
"Why?" Li Feng's voice was faint. His eyes were fluttering shut. "Why did you save me?"
Jian didn't answer right away.
Then, so quietly it barely touched the wind:
"Because... because I..."
Li Feng never heard the rest.
He died in the arms of the one person he was supposed to hate.
He awoke to spring rain.
Soft. Gentle. Real.
Li Feng sat up with a gasp, chest heaving, heart thundering like a war drum.
He was no longer on the battlefield.
He was in a garden.
The Plum Blossom Courtyard of the Moonshadow Sect.
Was this... Heaven?
No. Heaven wouldn't look like his courtyard.
He stood, brushing soil and petals from his white robes.
Then he caught his reflection in the garden lake—and froze.
He was young. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. Not the twenty-five-year-old war general who had bled out in Yue Jian's arms.
His hands were smooth. Whole. Alive.
Distant bells rang out, chiming the morning hour.
Was this a vision before death? A flash of memory?
"Brother Li! Brother Li!!"
Li Feng turned at the sound of a voice he hadn't heard in years.
A voice he had mourned long ago.
"Manman..."
His little sister crashed into him, hugging him tightly, all eight years of her warmth and innocence anchoring him to this impossible moment.
Li Feng trembled as tears streamed down his face.
"I never thought I'd see you again," he whispered, clutching her even tighter.
Manman pulled back, frowning. "Don't be silly, Brother Li. You just saw me at breakfast! I only went to the flower garden."
Li Feng shook his head, unable to stop the tears.
He looked at her face—her soft cheeks, her bright eyes. The sister he'd lost in another life.
"God must have had mercy on me," he whispered. "Manman..."
It had been years since he'd said her name out loud.
She blinked, confused, and wiped his tears with her sleeve. "Don't cry. I promise I'll leave my piece of chicken for you at dinner."
He let out a choked laugh. "Promise?"
"Promise!" she grinned, locking her pinky with his.
Three days later, Li Feng sat at the family dinner table and stared.
At his mother—rosy-cheeked, smiling, alive.
At his father—stern but kind-eyed, quietly placing his meat in Manman's bowl.
At Manman—grinning with her mouth full of chicken, stealing bites from Li Feng's plate when she thought no one was looking.
And he knew.
This wasn't a dream.
"I've been reborn," he whispered.
The war hadn't started yet. The world hadn't ended. Manman hadn't died.
Yue Jian hadn't—
He had a second chance.
To live.
To protect.
To choose differently.
"Ayy!" his mother called. "Stop zoning out and eat your food!"
Li Feng looked up at her again, then down at the chicken Manman had snuck into his bowl.
His chest swelled with fierce determination.
This time, he would not fail.
This time, he would protect her.
No matter what.
