The night of her death began with a shooting star.
Lin Wan'er, née Eleanor Hartwell, watched it streak across the Manhattan skyline from her 88th-floor penthouse. The Bloomberg terminal beside her flickered with the latest Silk Road bond yields, but her eyes were fixed on the celestial anomaly—a rare taixuan comet, according to the ancient Chinese astrological app she'd downloaded on a whim. "A portent of revolution," the translation read.
Then the world exploded.
When consciousness returned, she was choking on incense and silk. A bronze mirror reflected a face she didn't recognize—high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes lined with kohl, and a crown of elaborate hairpins that dug into her scalp. The body beneath the brocade robes felt foreign, yet her mind buzzed with memories not her own: palace intrigues, whispered plots, and a final, searing image of a woman in a crimson cloak holding a poisoned cup.
"Princess, the astrologers await your presence at the Xuanwu Gate," a maid murmured, kneeling beside her.
Princess. The word jolted through her. She was now Li Mingyue, the disgraced daughter of Li Dan, the deposed Ruizong Emperor. And if the fragments of memory were correct, her half-aunt, Princess Taiping, had ordered her assassination just hours prior.
Wan'er staggered to her feet, clutching the unfamiliar weight of a hu fu—a tiger-shaped bronze amulet—hanging from her waist. Its surface bore intricate engravings of stars and cryptic characters. This must be why I'm still alive. Somewhere in the chaos, her soul had been transplanted into Mingyue's body, inheriting not just her identity but her secrets.
The Xuanwu Gate loomed ahead, its stone archway bathed in moonlight. A crowd of courtiers and astronomers bowed as she approached, their silk robes rustling like autumn leaves. At their center stood a woman in a silver-trimmed cloak, her gaze sharp as a falcon's.
"Niece," Princess Taiping purred, stepping forward. "You look… different."
Wan'er's heart raced. She'd studied Taiping's rise to power in her PhD thesis—how the imperial princess had manipulated currency reforms to fund her coup against Empress Wei. Now, facing her in the flesh, Wan'er forced herself to curtsy.
"Your Highness," she replied, praying her voice wouldn't betray her. "I had a vision during my illness. The comet… it foretells a great disturbance in the markets."
Taiping's eyebrow arched. "Oh? Enlighten us."
Wan'er swallowed. Think like a financier. "The price of silk will collapse within the month. A glut is coming—from the south, perhaps?" She spoke with the confidence of someone who'd analyzed supply chains for a decade. "Merchants who sell their inventories now will avoid ruin."
The astronomers exchanged skeptical glances, but Taiping's eyes narrowed. "And how would you know this, Mingyue? You've never shown interest in trade before."
Wan'er palmed the hu fu, its edges biting into her skin. "The stars revealed it to me."
For a heartbeat, the princess studied her. Then she laughed—a cold, musical sound. "Very well. If your prediction proves true, I'll grant you a boon. If not…" Her gaze sharpened. "You'll wish you'd died from that poison."
The next morning, Wan'er stood at the edge of the West Market, the largest commercial hub in Chang'an. The air hummed with the clatter of bronze coins and the shouts of camel drivers, while the scent of sandalwood and saffron hung thick in the air. She'd spent the night poring over Mingyue's memories, piecing together the fragmented knowledge of Tang Dynasty economics.
"Silk is the lifeblood of the empire," her predecessor's thoughts whispered. "Control it, and you control the throne."
She approached a silk merchant's stall, where bolts of brocade in vivid hues of peony and indigo lay stacked like treasure. "How much for the Shu brocade?" she asked, feigning casual interest.
The merchant bowed deeply. "Fifty guan per bolt, Your Highness. A fair price, considering the drought in Sichuan."
Wan'er suppressed a smirk. Drought my ass. Modern climate data from her old research flooded her mind—812 CE had been a year of record-breaking monsoons in southwest China. The "drought" was likely a fabrication by local officials to inflate prices.
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "What if I told you the price will drop to ten guan within thirty days?"
The merchant paled. "Blasphemy! The market is—"
"—controlled by speculation." Wan'er cut him off. "I'll buy your entire stock today—at thirty guan per bolt. But you'll deliver it in three months."
The man gaped. "That's a futures contract! The law forbids—"
"—what the law doesn't understand." Wan'er slid a pouch of gold coins across the counter. "Take it. Or watch your wealth evaporate when the truth comes out."
As she walked away, she felt Taiping's eyes on her from the second-floor balcony of a nearby teahouse. The princess raised her cup in a mocking toast.
That evening, Wan'er visited the gui fang—the official money exchange. The manager, a portly man named Wang Yuanbao, sneered when she presented her proposal.
"Futures contracts are forbidden under Tang law," he said, flicking through her draft document. "You'll be arrested for usury."
Wan'er smiled. "Not if we call it a 'celestial hedge.'" She pointed to the comet symbol she'd stamped at the bottom of the contract. "The astrologers declared this year auspicious for new beginnings. Who are we to question the heavens?"
Wang's fingers tightened around the paper. "And what guarantee do I have you'll honor this?"
Wan'er withdrew the hu fu and pressed it into his palm. "This amulet grants access to the imperial vaults. If I default, you may claim its contents."
The man's eyes widened. The hu fu was a symbol of royal authority—one that could unlock treasures beyond measure. He nodded slowly. "Very well, Your Highness. The first trade will be recorded under the name 'Xuanwu Star Trading.'"
That night, as Wan'er lit incense in her chamber, the hu fu glowed faintly in the darkness. She traced its engravings, recognizing the pattern—a map of the Silk Road. At its center lay a star she didn't recognize.
"The future is written in the stars," Taiping had once said in a history lecture. "But only if you know how to read them."
Wan'er smiled bitterly. She knew how to read them now—with the eyes of a financier. And if her calculations were correct, the first domino of her financial revolution would fall tomorrow.
As she blew out the candle, the hu fu's glow intensified, casting shadows that resembled a crown.