Chapter 1 First life
The day the imperial examination results were announced, the capital roared with celebration. But for Du Liniang, the world was silent. She stood on the balcony of a quiet teahouse, her fingers tightening against the cool wood of the railing, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs.
They said the top scholar was a man from the south. Poor. Unknown.
The words echoed in her mind, pulling her back to a sun-drenched garden she had only ever visited in dreams. In that dream, a scholar had appeared, his face a blur of longing, his voice a whisper of poetry. He had called her his "bright flower," his "peony of the pavilion." She had woken with the phantom feel of his touch on her skin and a sickness in her soul that no physician could name—a lovesickness for a man who wasn't real.
*Was he?*
Her heart began to race, a desperate hope warring with despair. Then she saw him.
Mounted on a fine white horse, dressed in simple robes despite the highest honor the empire could bestow, he rode through the adoring crowd. His face was no longer a blur. It was the face from her dream.
**Ming Tian.**
As he passed beneath her, nobles and ladies threw silks and jewels at him, their voices a cacophony of vying attention. He did not look at them. His gaze was straight ahead, serene and distant, as if he were still searching for something only he could see.
Liniang’s hand trembled as she lifted a single, perfect rose—the same flower that had bloomed in her dream garden. This was madness. A fantasy. But the ache in her soul was real. For a moment, her hand faltered. Then, with a breath that felt like her last, she let it fall.
It was a single drop of crimson in a blizzard of color and gold. It tumbled through the air and landed softly against his chest.
He stopped his horse.
Amidst the countless offerings of wealth and status, he reached for only that one rose.
And for the briefest, most earth-shattering moment, his eyes lifted—to hers. They were not the eyes of a stranger. They held the same confused recognition, the same impossible yearning, that she felt. He didn't just see a girl in a teahouse. He saw the ghost from his dreams. The face he had been searching for his entire life.
The connection was a silent, electric shock that spanned the distance between them. In that instant, Du Liniang knew her dream was not a fantasy. It was a prophecy. And her lovesickness was not an illness, but a destiny
