Prologue — The Echo of Childhood
The night air was biting, frosting the edges of the windshield, but inside the car, the heater hummed with a quiet, steady warmth. Ye Xiao kept his eyes on the winding road, though his gaze inevitably drifted to the passenger seat.
It held a careful arrangement of peace offerings and promises. A fresh bouquet of flowers rested beside a box of delicate pastries from her favorite bakery. Sitting perfectly in the center was a velvet box—the ruby jewelry set he had ruthlessly outbid everyone for at the auction earlier that evening.
It was all for her. His Jia.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed. Ting, ting, ting. Before he could reach out to answer the call, a blinding flash of white light shattered the quiet night.
It happened too fast to hit the brakes. The massive grille of a truck tore into the metal of his car with a deafening, metallic shriek. The world spun violently, gravity abandoning him as the car flipped over, the sky and the asphalt trading places in a blur of shattered glass and crushing steel.
When the violent tumbling finally stopped, a high-pitched ringing pierced Ye Xiao's ears. His vision swam, dark spots blooming across his sight. He couldn't feel his legs. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the suffocating smell of gasoline in the cramped, crushed cabin.
Then, a sudden beep cut through the ringing in his ears, and a melody began to play. His cracked phone, lying upside down on the roof of the overturned car, lit up. It was the custom ringtone he had set for only one person.
Jia.
He had to answer. He willed his heavy, trembling arm to move, his bloodied fingers straining toward the glowing screen. Just an inch away. Just a little further. But the darkness pulling at the edges of his mind was too heavy. His hand dropped. His eyes slipped shut, and the cold night faded to black.
When the darkness lifted, the sharp scent of gasoline was gone, replaced by the rich, earthy aroma of fresh ink and aged sandalwood.
The violent beeping had vanished. Instead, he heard the familiar, distant hum of the bustling Shanghai streets and the rustle of wind through the courtyard.
Shanghai, twenty years earlier.
The sprawling Ye family estate was nestled in the quietest, most secluded corner of the Shanghai mountains. It was a lively, massive household, always bustling with grandparents, servants, and visiting relatives. Just down the road sat the Song family estate—a much quieter home, where an elderly man lived with his twin grandchildren.
Decades of living side-by-side had made the older generations lifelong friends. Naturally, that bond bled down to the children.
It was early afternoon. Ten-year-old Ye Xiao was sitting at a heavy wooden table in the pavilion of the old residency, a calligraphy brush poised carefully in his small hand. It was the Qixi Festival.
"Xiao-gege!"
Before he could finish his brushstroke, two familiar little hurricanes burst into the quiet pavilion. Six-year-old Song Jia and her twin brother, Song Jiu, barreled in, breathless and flushed from running. In their frantic excitement, they collided hard with the edge of his low desk.
The inkstone rattled. A thick pool of black ink splattered directly across Ye Xiao's pristine rice paper, ruining the characters completely.
Ye Xiao stared at the destroyed parchment. Any other young master would have yelled. But Ye Xiao just closed his eyes for a brief second. With the long, heavy sigh of a boy entirely too used to this specific brand of chaos, he gently set his brush down on the jade rest and looked up.
"Xiao-gege!" Jia gasped, her bright eyes shining as she leaned over the table, completely unbothered by the ruined homework beneath her hands. "Nanny told us today is the Qixi festival! She said the Weaver Girl and the Cowherd get to meet on the magpie bridge tonight, and that people are supposed to celebrate with their favorite friends!"
Beside her, Jiu nodded vigorously, trying to catch his breath. "So we ran all the way here!"
"Really?" Ye Xiao asked. His voice was calm, carrying a quiet maturity that felt a little too heavy for a ten-year-old. He picked up a small cotton cloth and began to dab at the expanding ink puddle, trying to save the mahogany wood.
Jiu at least had the decency to look sheepish, his eyes darting down to the black stain. But Jia just beamed. She rested her elbows right on the edge of the table, her cheeks flushed a vibrant pink from the summer heat.
"Yes, really!" she insisted, leaning closer. Her voice dropped to an urgent, secretive whisper. "Nanny said they only get to meet once a year. But she also said if you give a gift to your most important person on Qixi, it means you'll always find your way back to each other. Even if you get lost."
She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a slightly crumpled, brightly colored paper star she had clearly folded herself. She shoved it directly into his hands, not caring that his fingertips were still dusted with black ink.
Ye Xiao looked down at the crooked, amateur paper star in his palm, and then up at Jia's hopeful, ink-smudged face. Even at ten, he had read enough poetry to know that the story of Qixi was for star-crossed lovers, not just playmates. But looking at her wide, innocent smile, he didn't have the heart to correct her.
The annoyance over his ruined calligraphy melted away, replaced by a quiet, protective warmth in his chest that he was entirely too young to understand.
He carefully held the paper star as if it were made of the rarest jewels. "Always find my way back?" he repeated softly.
"Always," Jia promised, giving him a bright, blinding smile. "Even if you go to the moon, Xiao-gege, I'll build a bridge of birds to come get you. Now you have to come down to the festival street with us. I want candied hawthorn!"
"Fine," he muttered, though the corners of his mouth betrayed a tiny, helpless smile as he stood up. "But you are explaining the ink to grandma."
Jia cheered, grabbing his clean hand and pulling him toward the pavilion steps, with Jiu eagerly trailing behind. As she dragged him into the warm, festive summer night, the ten-year-old Ye Xiao held tightly onto the crumpled paper star, entirely unaware of how much a single person could anchor his whole world.
That was the beginning.
Of everything beautiful.
And everything lost.
The warm, golden glow of the festival lanterns shattered like fragile glass.
The comforting scent of sandalwood and fresh ink was violently ripped away, replaced by the choking stench of ruptured fuel lines and hot copper.
Ye Xiao dragged in a ragged, agonizing breath. His eyes fluttered open to a world turned upside down. The harsh winter wind howled through the shattered windows of the overturned car, biting at his skin, but he barely felt the cold. He couldn't feel his legs at all. The only sound left was the slow, wet drip of his own blood hitting the roof of the cabin below him.
"Even in this situation..." he rasped, the words tasting metallic on his tongue. "I'm seeing you... Jia."
His vision began to gray at the edges, his exhausted brain offering him a final mercy. The crumpled metal of the dashboard faded away, melting into a canvas of his most precious memories.
A flash of their home. The soft, golden lighting of the living room. Jia sitting cross-legged on the plush rug, her brow furrowed in deep concentration as she dragged a pencil across her sketchbook. A loose strand of silky hair fell softly across her cheek, and she absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear.
A flash of the bedroom. The profound, quiet peace of the early morning. Jia asleep in his arms, her head resting over his heart. Her breathing was slow and steady, her warmth grounding him to the earth in a way nothing else ever could.
A flash of the garden. The moon hanging low in the sky, illuminating the blooming jasmine. She was breathtaking in a sweeping evening gown, her eyes shining with unshed tears. He was standing before her in a dark suit, his hands holding hers as he made his promise.
"I won't leave you alone like him, Jia."
The memory of those words slammed into Ye Xiao harder than the collision itself.
"Jia..." he choked out.
The fog in his mind shattered, obliterated by a sudden, agonizing spike of panic. Oh God. I can't die yet. The realization was a jolt of pure adrenaline injected straight into his failing heart. She was at home right now. She was waiting for him. He could picture her glancing at the clock, wondering why it was taking so long, waiting for the sound of his key in the lock so he could hand her the pastries he promised to bring back.
If he closed his eyes now, she would be left waiting forever. He would become just another ghost in her life. Another person who promised to stay, only to abandon her in the dark.
The shattered bones in his body screamed in protest, begging him to close his eyes and just let the pain end. But his soul violently refused. He would not be another person who abandoned Song Jia. He would not let her wait for a man who was never coming home.
"I need to get out," Ye Xiao ground out between bloodied teeth.