Chapter 1
Sarah closed the door to her office at Columbia University, exhausted after a long day of lectures. She was one of the youngest professors of Asian Art History in the department, and her specialization in medieval Chinese dynasties had made her well known in academic circles.
It was eleven o'clock at night when her phone buzzed on the kitchen table of her Manhattan apartment.
Unknown number. Country code +86.
The image that appeared on the screen took her breath away: a fragment of an ancient silk scroll, bearing a calligraphy she recognized immediately as belonging to the Wanli period, late 1500s. The characters read:
"Where the dragon guards the secret of heaven, seek the first key in the steps of the forgotten mandarin."
Before she could process the information, a second message arrived:
"Dr. Rénxuān, your expertise is required. Flight JFK–Shanghai, tomorrow at 6:00 PM. Business class, ticket issued in your name. Coordinates and instructions to follow. Come alone. An opportunity like this comes only once in a lifetime."
Sarah stood motionless in front of the screen. It was madness. Probably an elaborate scam. And yet…
That calligraphy. That scroll. If it were authentic…
The phone buzzed again. This time it was a photo of her plane ticket. Confirmed. Paid.
And below it, a single sentence that made her blood run cold:
"The Black Dragon is searching. You must arrive first."
Sarah looked out the window at the glittering skyscrapers of New York. Tomorrow she was supposed to give a lecture. She had students to advise. A perfectly organized life.
But that image… that mystery…
She opened the drawer and pulled out her passport.
Sarah set the passport on the table and walked to the bathroom. She needed to clear her head. She turned on the bath taps, adding a few drops of lavender essential oil to the warm water, and watched the steam rise slowly as the room filled with that calming fragrance.
She undressed slowly, still holding her phone, rereading those enigmatic messages. Who could have sent them? And above all — why her?
She sank into the warm water with a sigh of relief. The heat wrapped around her tense body, dissolving the tension that had built up throughout the day. She closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift freely.
The whole thing frightened her, of course. A sudden trip to China, anonymous messages, references to a mysterious "Black Dragon"… every rational fiber of her being told her it was dangerous, perhaps even insane. But at the same time she felt an excitement she hadn't experienced in years — a spark she thought she had lost long ago among university lectures and academic conferences.
She had always loved this sort of thing, ever since she was a child.
A smile came to her lips as she remembered her father, Professor Daniel Rénxuān, his glasses always perched on the tip of his nose, bent over his books on ancient history. It had been he who had passed on to her that devouring passion for the mysteries of the past. She remembered the afternoons spent in his dusty study, surrounded by antique maps and artifacts from every corner of Asia.
"Sarah,"* he would always tell her, in that calm and wise voice of his, *"history is not made of dates and names alone. It is made of mysteries waiting to be solved, of stories asking to be told. Never be afraid to follow a riddle, even when the road seems dark."
If only he were still here to guide her. He had passed away three years earlier, leaving her his vast library and that same insatiable curiosity that was now pushing her toward the unknown.
Sarah let herself slide even deeper into the tub, the water covering her shoulders, and tried to savor that moment of rest after such an intense day. Tomorrow, everything would change. She could feel it in her bones.
She stayed submerged for another twenty minutes or so, letting the water soothe her nerves, until her fingers began to wrinkle. She stepped out of the bath, wrapped herself in a soft white robe, and dried off slowly in front of the fogged mirror.
She looked at her reflection: dark hair still damp, dark eyes betraying both excitement and apprehension. At twenty-nine, she was about to do the most impulsive thing of her life.
She dressed in a comfortable cotton pajama and headed to the bedroom. Before lying down, she packed a small suitcase: practical clothes, comfortable shoes, her laptop, and above all a few of the reference books on the Ming dynasty she always kept close at hand. She added her father's old leather notebook as well — the one in which he had recorded years of research.
She slipped under the covers, turned off the light, and stared at the dark ceiling. The glow of New York's lights filtered through the curtains, casting dancing shadows across the room.
The phone buzzed one last time. Sarah grabbed it, her heart skipping a beat.
"Rest well, Dr. Rénxuān. Tomorrow your journey begins. When you land in Shanghai, you will find further instructions. And remember: trust and courage are the keys to every great discovery. Your father knew that well."
Sarah held her breath. How did they know about her father?
But there was no time for more questions. She put the phone on silent and closed her eyes, knowing deep down that the following day something great was about to begin in her life.
Something that would change everything.
