Chapter 1: Preface

Prologue: A Dream of Falling Flowers

On the night before her journey through time, Qu You had a strange and eerie dream.

The corridor was cold and narrow, the vermilion walls of the palace stretching endlessly into the distance under the moonlight, towering and solemn. The silence around her was so profound that the fall of a needle could have been heard. After a long while, the faint, lingering sound of a water clock echoed from beyond the layered walls.

She sat—or rather, knelt—on the ground. She hadn’t realized she was in such a humiliating posture until she tried to get up, only to find her legs aching so badly they felt numb.

Beside her stood a copper rainwater vat. Under the hazy moonlight, she caught a faint reflection of herself—a young girl with twin buns, disheveled hairpins, and traces of blood on her childish face.

Then, amidst the darkness and moonlight, she suddenly heard the clinking of chains.

From the shadows of the vermilion walls, a man dressed in white slowly approached. He wore a white cloak, his hair unkempt, his complexion paler than fresh snow. He stopped frequently to rest, followed closely by two guards with swords. Despite his slow pace, no one spoke a word.

Before Qu You could react, the man noticed her.

His amber eyes were lighter in hue, his long lashes half-lowered. Though he appeared to be no older than thirty, he was gaunt and frail, his back slightly hunched. Stunned, she watched as he removed his white fox fur cloak and, with some difficulty, crouched before her, draping it over her shoulders—the only winter garment he had to shield himself from the cold.

Only then did Qu You notice the heavy chains binding his limbs, even encircling his slender neck. The chains pressed heavily against his white undergarments, fresh blood seeping through the stains—an alarming sight.

With trembling hands, he fastened the cloak around her without uttering a word. His icy fingers, adorned with a jade thumb ring, brushed against her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

Qu You saw his raven-like lashes quiver, framing a pair of aloof, almond-shaped phoenix eyes. At the outer corner of one eye, there was a tiny red mole, almost imperceptible.

What a beautiful face—stern, detached, upright—yet made more human by that small, barely visible mole.

Instinctively, Qu You clutched the white fox fur cloak tightly, wanting to speak but finding her throat too dry to produce a sound. The man had already risen and left, dragging his wounded body and heavy chains. He staggered forward, stopping every few steps to cough violently, eventually disappearing into the shadowy depths of the moonlit night.

Dazed, she absentmindedly traced the patterns on the copper vat beside her, feeling an odd sense of familiarity.

Not long after, the two guards returned from where the man had vanished, their hands holding blood-stained instruments of torture. Their whispered conversation carried clearly through the narrow corridor.

One of them, Liu Ge, remarked, “Strange indeed. For someone to enter the Imperial Prison and emerge unscathed from the Three Departments’ interrogation—this must be the first time.”

The other guard, Fang, replied, “Brother Fang, watch your words. Do you know who that man was?”

Fang hesitated, then asked, “Wasn’t it Chancellor Su, the current prime minister?”

Liu chuckled, “You haven’t been here long, have you? That wasn’t Chancellor Su—it was Zhou Tan.”

Fang gasped, “Ah, could it really be him?”

Liu nodded, “Unbelievable, isn’t it? Even the emperor couldn’t bear to see him die and ordered his release to return to his hometown in Lin’an. The decree came just in time. Yesterday, when I went to check on him, he was on the verge of death in the prison.”

Fang spat, “There’s no shortage of people hoping for his demise. Even if he survives outside, he won’t last long. But honestly, he looks so young…”

Liu hesitated, “Yes, his appearance doesn’t match the rumors. Truly, one shouldn’t judge a person by their looks.”

Fang added, “Zhou Tan deserves his fate. He’s infamous, and now he’s reaping what he sowed.”

Though their exchange was brief, it sent shockwaves through Qu You’s mind.

Zhou Tan?

When Qu You entered university, she hadn’t decided on a major and followed in her mother’s footsteps by studying law. During her graduate studies, she discovered her true passion for history and philosophy, eventually switching to ancient history. Leveraging her legal expertise, she specialized in the criminal codes of the Yin Dynasty, earning her Ph.D. and writing numerous papers along the way.

By now, she had spent six years researching the laws of the Great Yin Dynasty.

Her field of study was obscure. Her senior colleague had gained fame by writing books on food culture, becoming a minor academic sensation. Her advisor and fellow students focused on the romantic figures of the Northern Yin era, drawing crowds to their lectures.

In contrast, her research was painfully niche, with few peers in the country sharing her interest.

Her advisor once asked why she was so drawn to the Yin Dynasty’s laws. She had thought deeply about it.

The Yin Dynasty’s historical records were vast, with four volumes dedicated to criminal law alone. These included twelve major reforms, and the legal code had been revised twenty-four times. The most significant revision occurred during Emperor Ming’s reign, with the addition of the Flower-Cutting Decree .

Through the lens of a modern law student, the clauses added by the Flower-Cutting Decree seemed almost anachronistic, blending Western and contemporary legal concepts in fascinating ways.

Unfortunately, despite its initial forceful implementation, the decree was later repealed.

Qu You had racked her brains trying to uncover the identity of the decree’s primary author, but the person remained anonymous, leaving no trace in the historical records. Only in the obscure corners of Zhou Tan’s personal anthology did she find a cryptic three-character dedication to an unnamed individual—”Morning Enlightenment.”

Zhou Tan was notorious as a cunning and ruthless minister, yet it was he who had forcefully implemented the reforms during Emperor Ming’s reign. Qu You was both horrified by his cruelty and intrigued by his brilliance.

Moreover, she was deeply curious about the mysterious connection between Zhou Tan and the anonymous author.

Despite combing through the annals of the Yin Dynasty, Qu You found no answers. Exhausted by the sea of documents, she fell into a deep sleep, only to dream of receiving Zhou Tan’s only winter garment.

That single act of kindness, paired with his trembling, elegant hands, filled her with a melancholic awe. Here was a man of fragile beauty, yet undeniably corrupt.

As she gazed at the lotus-patterned copper vat beside her, the dream abruptly ended. The two guards holding the chains had not yet walked far when Qu You dipped her hand into the rainwater inside the vat, only to be overwhelmed by a suffocating sensation akin to drowning.

When her vision cleared, she found herself in a misty rain.

Zhou Tan sat beneath the eaves of a long corridor, staring intently at a plum blossom tree adorned with red silk ribbons. The tree was in full bloom—it must have been early spring.

A thin blanket covered his legs, and aside from the streaks of white now threading through his temples, he looked much the same as when he had gifted her the cloak. Outside the humble tiled house, passersby discussed him openly without restraint.

“I heard the person living here used to be a great villain. Now he’s on the brink of death, and no doctor dares to treat him.”

“He committed too many sins. Divine retribution is inevitable!”

Hearing this, Qu You felt an inexplicable sense of injustice.

History recorded his countless crimes but omitted the small act of kindness he had shown by giving his cloak to a lowly palace maid on a cold winter night.

Zhou Tan seemed to hear the remarks too, but he paid them no heed. Calmly, he gazed at the plum blossoms, a faint smile playing on his lips. He pulled out a handkerchief, pressing it to his mouth as he coughed violently. The sound gradually faded into the gentle patter of raindrops.

The handkerchief soon turned crimson with blood.

Slowly, his hand dropped.

The jade thumb ring rolled down the steps toward her. Only then did Qu You realize she was standing beneath the plum blossom tree.

Had he been looking at her all along?

The frail, sickly minister gazed at her with an almost tender expression. Blood stained his chin, and realizing he didn’t look his best, he wiped it away with the bloody handkerchief, further staining his pristine white robes.

Qu You walked toward him, hearing his faint whisper: “If there is a next life…”

He never finished his sentence. The plum blossoms fluttered down like tears.

His death was silent, yet Qu You felt sorrow, indignation, and a profound sense of loss for this man who had lived a thousand years ago.

The dream lingered, heavy and deep, until Qu You awoke drenched in sweat.

Before her was a carved wooden window. It took her a long time to realize this time, she wasn’t dreaming.