In the twentieth year of Yuansheng, the fifteenth day of the first month — the Lantern Festival.
The annual Lantern Festival had transformed the main street of Yunsheng into a sea of light and laughter. Families reunited beneath the glow of lanterns, and the air brimmed with warmth and joy.
Jugglers performed to the rhythm of drums; stalls lined the streets selling lantern riddles, sugar sculptures, and steaming bowls of tangyuan. From the restaurants came bursts of laughter and the clatter of cups. Everything felt simple and content — a moment of peace that seemed worlds apart from what was happening at the desolate, blood-soaked Dongcheng Gate.
There, a carriage lay overturned and shattered, almost unrecognizable. The horse that had drawn it lay collapsed, struck down by poison-tipped arrows. Its limbs twitched weakly as it let out a few low, pitiful cries.
Not far away, forty or fifty men dressed in black loosed their arrows toward a single figure — a man in prison clothes. He fell to the ground, his back bristling with shafts, blood filling his mouth. Yet his eyes remained steady as he used the last of his strength to shield the man in his arms.
The pale-faced man in white clutched a lifeless baby to his chest.
The man in prison clothes coughed up dark blood and whispered hoarsely, "I'm sorry, Luo Shuyu. In our next life, stay far away from me… don't let me drag you down again."
The man in white trembled violently, his lips already turning purple from the cold. The winter wind howled, but he no longer felt it.
"Don't apologize," he murmured, reaching out to cover the other's bloodied mouth with his shaking hand. "We can still escape."
The prisoner's eyelids grew heavier. He knew death was close."There's so much I want to tell you," he said faintly. "But… it seems I've run out of time."
Another arrow struck — straight through his heart."Luo Shuyu… stay away from me… in the next life…"
The man in white clutched him tightly, crying his name in anguish. "Li Mingjin! Don't die! You can't die! What will I do if you die?"
Li Mingjin raised his trembling hand to brush away his tears. "…Don't cry… not… allowed… to cry…"
Before his fingers could reach the corner of Luo Shuyu's eyes, his hand fell limp, and he took his final breath — dying in his lover's arms.
"I won't cry," Luo Shuyu whispered. "I won't cry."
From the day Luo Shuyu had received the imperial edict bestowing his marriage to the Third Prince, he had known that his fate was bound to Li Mingjin's. He never understood why the Third Prince had chosen him. Perhaps he was merely a sacrifice for his family's future, or perhaps their eight characters happened to match. Whatever the reason, there had never been any joy in it.
Everyone in the capital knew the Third Prince to be cruel and unpredictable — quick to anger, fond of the whip he always carried. People whispered that Luo Shuyu's marriage was a sentence, that he would be beaten and confined before the week was out. But three years passed, and Luo Shuyu remained untouched.
Li Mingjin was wild, yes, but he never once raised a hand against him.
Later, the two truly became husband and wife. By chance, Luo Shuyu conceived and bore a son. But one month after the child's birth, Li Mingjin was imprisoned on charges of treason. The Emperor refused to save them. Their entire family was wiped out.
If death had been the end, Luo Shuyu might have accepted his fate as one more wronged soul on the road to reincarnation.
But his soul did not pass on.
Drifting in an endless white void, he found before him a strange book titled "After Transmigrating, Four Big Brothers Are Competing to Marry Me."
With nothing else to do, he began to read.
The book was nearly eight hundred thousand words long. The further he read, the colder he felt. When he reached the end, his transparent soul quivered with fury. In this so-called story, his suffering, his love, his death — all of it — was nothing more than background to highlight the protagonist's brilliance.
Li Mingjin's death, his child's death, their despair — it was all dismissed with a single line.
His soul twisted in agony.
They were nothing but words in a book. Characters without agency. Tools for someone else's story.
What had they done wrong?
What had his innocent child done wrong?
He knew those treason letters were forged — the handwriting wasn't even Li Mingjin's!
Consumed by rage and grief, Luo Shuyu's soul burned until the very space around him began to twist.
Then, with a flash — everything collapsed into a single black point.
In the west courtyard of the Luo Mansion, cicadas chirped beneath the blazing summer sun. A young man slept soundly on a lounge chair beneath a tree, a book resting on his chest.
"Young Master! Young Master! Wake up!"
Someone was shaking him by the shoulder.
A nap? But wasn't he dead?
Luo Shuyu's eyes flew open. Before him was a familiar, youthful face — Qing Wang, just sixteen or seventeen, with tanned skin and an open, honest expression.
Back in the Third Prince's Mansion, Qing Wang had been his servant. When Luo Shuyu fell from favor, Qing Wang grew quiet, forced to mature too soon. He had died trying to protect him — beaten to death by a drunken guard, clutching a moldy steamed bun.
Yet here he was again, alive and breathing.
Luo Shuyu stared, dazed.
Qing Wang's anxious voice broke through his shock. "Young Master, something terrible has happened!"
Still half in disbelief, Luo Shuyu reached out and pinched Qing Wang's cheek.
"Does this hurt?"
Qing Wang yelped and leaned away. "It hurts! Young Master, why are you pinching me? What did I do wrong?"
Luo Shuyu shook his head slowly. Was this a dream? Or… had he really been reborn?
Luo Shuyu shook his head, wondering if the things in his memory were a dream or something else. He was a little confused for a while. If they were real, then he was reborn just now?
But he had only heard of the resurrection in other people's bodies, yet he had returned to his own body, and Qing Wang is still so young.
Qing Wang, who was mercifully released, became anxious again. "Young Master, it's really bad!"
Luo Shuyu put aside his thoughts and asked him, "What's wrong? Why are you in such a panic? If the mistress sees you like this, you'll have to be punished again, and I won't be able to speak for you."
Qing Wang hurriedly admitted his mistake, "This servant was wrong, but this matter is really urgent! I just heard the Master and the Madam say that the emperor wants you to marry the Third Prince!" He was finally able to get the words out, and he was so anxious, but the Young Master wasn't in a hurry at all!
The words struck like thunder.
Lou Shuyu frowned- Marriage.
But this time, Luo Shuyu's heart did not fill with dread or resentment. Instead, a strange calm settled over him.
The name "Third Prince" echoed in his mind — and with it came the vision of Li Mingjin, pierced by arrows, whispering his dying plea:
"Luo Shuyu, stay away from me in the next life…"
He had once thought Li Mingjin felt nothing for him. In three years of marriage, they had shared a bed only once — the night Li Mingjin was drugged. Yet even then, he had been gentle, careful, helping Luo Shuyu wash afterwards, never hurting him.
How could a man who died to shield him from knife and arrows with his body never have been any feelings for him.
Perhaps, blinded by bitterness, Luo Shuyu had never truly seen him. He had never asked why Li Mingjin had chosen him among all the gers and women in the empire.
In Daxia, there were three kinds of people: men, women, and gers.
Gers were neither fully one nor the other. They could bear children, but rarely. Families seeking heirs seldom married gers as principal wives. Their status was low — though times were changing. The Emperor now favored a ger concubine in his harem, and their standing in society had begun to rise.
Soon after Qing Wang's breathless warning, the Luo family's butler came to summon Luo Shuyu to the main hall to receive the imperial edict.
He changed quickly into proper attire. Just like before, the decree had come too swiftly for preparation.
Though this time, he did not need it.
When he entered, the hall was full: his father, Luo Renshou, the Madam, the old lady of the house, and his siblings all gathered.
The Luo family was large and complicated. Luo Shuyu was a ger born of the late Madam Chen, the first wife. After Chen-shi's death, Father's favored concubine, Madam Liu, was promoted. She had borne him two sons, a daughter, and another ger, and with the old lady's indulgence, she held most of the household's power.
Luo Shuyu had long learned to live quietly, neither favored nor mistreated.
At the head of the hall sat Marquis Wenchang, an aging noble with sharp eyes, accompanied by an old eunuch holding a scroll of yellow silk.
When someone announced, "The Third Young Master has arrived," the Marquis rose and nodded. "Luo-shangshu, let us proceed."
Luo Renshou gestured respectfully. "Marquis, please."
The family knelt together as the eunuch unfolded the decree.
"Luo Shuyu, receive the Imperial Edict."
Luo Shuyu knelt with perfect composure, neither arrogant nor humble. Marquis Wenchang gave him a fleeting look — a pitying one. Such a refined child, yet destined for the Third Prince.
"By the Emperor's command:
Zhen has heard that Luo Shuyu, son of Luo Renshou, Minister of Rites, is dignified and virtuous, gentle in temperament, and of outstanding appearance. The Empress Dowager and Zhen are both pleased.
The Third Prince is of age and it is time he takes a wife. Among all the virtuous sons of the realm, Luo Shuyu is most suitable. Heaven itself seems to have crafted such beauty. Therefore, Zhen bestows this marriage, making Luo Shuyu the Prince's consort.
The Ministry of Rites and Qin Tianjian shall select an auspicious date for the wedding. Thus, this decree is to be obeyed."
As the words faded, Luo Shuyu bowed deeply, his gaze calm.
Li Mingjin, he thought silently,
In this life, I will never abandon you.
[1] Zhen – Personal pronoun for the exclusive use of the world's most specialest boy, the Emperor
[2] Wangfei – Title for the Prince's wife