Ling Xue was a mortal girl who had forgotten how to feel. Once, even boredom had been a companion—but now, even that had faded. Emotions, once faint flickers in her soul, had turned to silence.
She lived within the walls of a grand manor, daughter of powerful generals from the Qing Dynasty. Yet her world was empty. She had no friends, no laughter—only dreams.
Every night, she dreamed of a man. His face was always hidden in mist. He would appear beside her silently, open an umbrella above her head, shielding her from the rain or snow, and then—just as quietly—disappear. He would always vanish the same way: stepping off a cliff, swallowed by fog.
One night, she awoke breathless, her voice trembling in the still air:
"Who is that man I see every night?"
Her maid, gentle and loyal, watched her young mistress with growing concern. To cheer her up, she gave Ling Xue a small straw charm—something simple, something warm. That night, she invited her for a walk beneath the snow-covered sky.
Winter wrapped the world in white silence.
As they stepped into the courtyard, Ling Xue opened her umbrella. Just then, a voice rang out behind her—quiet, steady.
"I think this is yours."
She turned.
A man stood there, holding out a silk pouch she hadn't even realized she had dropped.
Only a few words passed between them, but something shifted.
Her heart—long asleep—fluttered.
"Yes... that's mine. Thank you."
Her voice came out softer than she expected.
And then—he was gone.
Vanished into the snow as if he had never been there at all.
Ling Xue stood frozen, her thoughts spinning.
I've seen him before. I know I have... but where?
And yet—she had never met a man like him.
His name was He Ze Yan.
A cold scholar known for his calm mind and distant gaze. But beneath that quietness, his heart was soft—like fine flour, easily shaped, delicate as calligraphy.
He too dreamed.
In his dreams, a girl cried out, her voice broken:
"Why are you doing this?"
And every time, he would wake up, his chest tight, his soul aching with a sorrow he couldn't name.
Thus began the thread of fate between them—subtle, trembling, and destined to tangle in ways neither could yet imagine.
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