The scent of incense and sweat lingered in the air, heavy and sweet, clinging to his skin like a memory he couldn't shake. Lu Ming stirred awake, the silken sheets damp with the traces of a night that seemed unreal even as his body ached with the proof of it.
Beside him, the girl slept with her back bare to the lantern light, her black hair spilling over the pillow like spilled ink. Her lips were still swollen, her breathing soft and steady, the faintest moan slipping out whenever she shifted in her dreams. Zhao Lingqi — though she was not yet the woman he knew she would become — looked impossibly young, her features untouched by the sharpness of future cruelty, still bearing the fragile softness of a maiden who had crossed the threshold into womanhood only hours ago.
For a long while, Lu Ming simply stared, his mind blank, caught between disbelief and recognition. He remembered this moment. No — not exactly this. He remembered a different lifetime, a different path, where he had never known this girl until much later, when her hands were stained with blood and her smile could slit throats.
But her words before his last death echoed back to him, sudden and cruel in their clarity.
"It was all for the memory."
She had always been at his side in that second life, moving shadows for him, bringing whispers of the court, sheltering him when his body finally failed. When he once asked why, when he had nothing left to offer her, she had only answered with that single line.
Now he understood.
The memory she had spoken of… it was this. Their first night. Her first night.
The realization struck like lightning. His chest tightened, and he forced a ragged breath out of lungs that trembled. He looked at her differently now — not just as a courtesan-in-training who had offered herself to him out of desperation, not just as the pretty girl who had begged for a younger man instead of the eunuchs or fat old ministers waiting to soil her. She was Zhao Lingqi, the woman who had once saved him again and again, asking nothing in return.
And now, he had been thrown back to her very beginning.
His throat was dry. The heavens were mocking him, weren't they? Sending him back here, at the very bed where she gave herself to him, as if to remind him what he owed.
He brushed his fingers against her shoulder. Her skin was warm, smooth, unmarked by the scars she would later carry. She stirred faintly, lips parting as if she might wake, but instead she sighed and curled closer into the sheets. A faint blush lingered even in sleep, as though her body remembered what her mind had tried to forget.
Last night…
He closed his eyes, and the memory hit him in fragments — her trembling hands pulling at his robe, the shy but desperate plea in her eyes: "Please… if it must be someone, let it be you."
Her first kiss had been clumsy, her first cry sharp, but she had clung to him fiercely, nails raking down his back as if trying to etch him into her very soul. And he, with a body in its prime and the experience of two lives behind him, had given her everything until dawn stole their strength away.
She had chosen him to carry her first memory of womanhood, and in his second life, she had carried him when he could no longer stand.
A bitter laugh slipped from his throat. Fate was merciless. This time, though, he swore he would not let her become just another casualty in his wasted life.
He bent down and pressed a soft kiss against her temple, whispering into her sleeping ear, more to himself than to her.
"Lingqi… this time, I will answer that memory."
But the world outside would not wait. This was the year of chaos, the year blood would spill across the empire. He could not linger here forever in the scent of incense and her warmth.
With a slow exhale, Lu Ming pulled on his robes, each movement steady, deliberate. His mind raced with everything that lay ahead.
The heavens had given him a third chance. He would not squander it.
The bed creaked softly as he rose, tugging his robe into place. The fabric clung with the faint scent of her perfume, an almost mocking reminder of the night they had burned through.
Behind him, the sheets rustled. A sleepy murmur slipped from Zhao Lingqi's lips as her lashes fluttered open. She blinked, dazed, before recognition softened her gaze.
"You're leaving…?" Her voice was raw from last night's cries, husky in a way that made his gut tighten. She clutched the silk against her chest, half-shy and half-possessive, as though afraid the moment would dissolve if she let go.
Lu Ming forced a smile, walking back to the bed. He sat on the edge, brushing strands of black hair from her flushed face. "Rest, Lingqi. You need it. I'll speak with Mama on your behalf. From today on, you're mine."
The girl froze. For a breath, disbelief widened her eyes, then tears welled unbidden. "Yours?"
He nodded. "You'll still stay here, but no one else will touch you. Not ministers, not lecherous heirs, not even eunuchs with their filthy appetites. Only me. Until you choose otherwise."
Her lips trembled. Relief and joy warred on her face, then she buried it against his arm, the sheet slipping down her shoulder to reveal the marks he'd left the night before. "I thought… I thought I'd be forced tonight, by one of them…"
Her voice cracked, but she swallowed the sob, remembering, blushing, how fiercely he had taken her instead. How she had asked for it, begged for it even, so her first time would not be stolen in filth.
"You were cruel last night," she whispered into his sleeve, half-accusing, half-thrilled. "Cruel, but… I don't regret it."
Lu Ming's chest ached. In his second life, he had never been able to repay her, never even realized the depth of her first memory. But this time—he bent forward, pressing a kiss to her damp lashes, then to her brow.
"This life is long, Lingqi. I'll come back for you."
When he pulled away, her cheeks were red as fire, her lips bitten to keep the smile from spilling too wide. She only nodded, clutching the sheets, her whole body trembling with the mix of exhaustion and giddy relief.
The brothel was still half-asleep when he stepped into the hall. Lanterns guttered low, the scent of wine and sweat stale in the morning air. Madam Xu — Mama of the house, sharp-eyed and calculating — looked up from her abacus when he approached.
"Ah, Young Master Lu," she purred, hiding a smirk behind her hand fan. "I trust the little flower didn't disappoint?"
Lu Ming's expression hardened, a flicker of steel cutting through the languid air. "From this day forward, Zhao Lingqi is under my name. She'll serve only me. See that no one touches her, and she'll bring you no loss."
Mama Xu's fan paused mid-wave. For a heartbeat she studied him, as if weighing whether he was serious. Then she caught the look in his eyes — calm, unyielding, the look of someone not to be toyed with. She chuckled softly and dipped her head.
"As you wish, Young Master. It will be as you say."
Lu Ming gave the faintest nod. He knew how brothels worked — money spoke louder than words, and Mama Xu would sell anyone if the price was high enough. But in this moment, he had staked a claim that would at least shield Lingqi from the worst of the wolves. It was a small repayment for what she would one day give him.
Outside, the morning air was sharp, cutting away the haze of wine and sex. A familiar figure stood by the carriage, arms crossed, jaw set like stone.
Zhao Yunliang, his father's trusted guard. A man built like iron, with scars tracing down his left arm, and eyes that had seen too many campaigns. In Lu Ming's second life, Yunliang had fought to the very end — hacking through enemies, dragging his broken body in front of his young master until he fell, riddled with arrows, still snarling defiance.
Seeing him alive again nearly broke Lu Ming's composure.
"Young Master," Yunliang said gruffly, his voice tinged with reproach. "Do you realize what time it is? The General is furious. This is the first time you've stayed the night in such a place. The household is in uproar."
Lu Ming exhaled slowly, hiding the surge of guilt and relief that clawed at him. He stepped closer, placing a hand on the guard's shoulder. "Thank you for coming, Yunliang. I'll rely on you, from now until the end."
The older man stiffened at the words, blinking in faint surprise. Then his frown softened, replaced with the faintest nod. "It's my duty."
Lu Ming smiled faintly. And last time, you paid that duty with your life.
He climbed into the carriage, heart heavy yet steady. This time, things would be different.
The carriage wheels rattled over Luoyang's streets, past half-collapsed taverns, narrow alleys, and merchant stalls only just opening their shutters. Sunlight glinted off the tiled roofs of noble houses, gilded by wealth even as the empire beneath them rotted.
Lu Ming leaned against the side of the carriage, eyes half-closed. His hands trembled slightly, though not from weakness. Two lifetimes, he thought bitterly. Two lifetimes I wasted.
In his first life, he had been nothing more than a weary modern man — slaving in marketing campaigns, drowning in data sheets, escaping only through strategy games and books like Romance of the Three Kingdoms. He had died burnt out, no glory, no legacy.
In his second life, fate had been crueler. Born into the Lu family, a military house tied by blood to the esteemed scholar Lu Zhi, he had possessed both roots and potential. But he had done too little. He had drifted, too afraid to act decisively, too afraid to expose his knowledge of the future. He had watched his family butchered during Dong Zhuo's tyranny. He had wandered the empire as a broken strategist, clinging to men like Cao Cao, offering fragments of wisdom while his body wasted away. He had died alone, bitter, just before Guandu — his brilliance unfulfilled, his debts unpaid.
Now Heaven had thrown him back once more. Eighteen years old. 184 AD. The eve of the Yellow Turban Rebellion.
No more hesitation. No more waste. This time, I will defy fate itself.
Across from him, Zhao Yunliang shifted uneasily. The guard's brows were knit, his mouth a thin line. He cleared his throat at last. "Young Master, forgive my bluntness… but last night was reckless. The General is furious. He fears you will grow into a wastrel, like so many sons of noble houses in this city. He fears…"
He trailed off, as though the rest of the words were too heavy.
Lu Ming looked at him — really looked, as though carving the man's face into memory again. In his second life, Yunliang had died saving him. This time, he swore he would not waste that loyalty.
"I understand," Lu Ming said softly. Then, after a pause, he added, "You've always been loyal to my father. To our family. I'll count on you in the days ahead, Yunliang. More than ever."
The guard blinked, startled by the weight in his voice. His hand clenched into a fist, then relaxed. "…It's my duty, Young Master. Always will be."
The carriage slowed.
Beyond the carved stone gate, the Lu residence loomed — sturdy walls, watchtowers at the corners, banners fluttering with the Lu crest. Soldiers drilled in the yard, their armor clattering, though their discipline was rough compared to the veterans he remembered. Within these walls, his family lived: his stern father Lu Heng, his elegant mother Lady Yuan, his proud elder brother, and his bright younger sister. All alive. All still within his reach.
The sight nearly unmanned him.
As he descended from the carriage, his chest constricted. The air seemed heavier, tinged with the scent of incense drifting from the ancestral shrine. He walked toward the main hall, each step weighted with both dread and fierce determination.
Before he reached the threshold, a thunderous roar shook the hall from within.
"Where is that boy?!"
The voice was unmistakable — his father's, full of steel and fury. "Does he think the son of the Lu family can spend his nights in brothels like some wastrel of the capital?! Has he no discipline, no shame?!"
Lu Ming froze before the carved wooden doors.
Inside, he could hear the softer murmur of Lady Yuan, gentle but firm. "Husband, enough. Yunliang went to fetch him. He is back now. Do not forget — he is still young. Let him learn from his mistakes."
The clash of tones — iron and silk, fury and compassion — struck Lu Ming like a hammer. His throat tightened. In his last life, he had heard their voices only in fading memory, their faces swallowed by fire and blood.
Now, here they were again. Alive. Waiting.
His hand pressed against the wooden doorframe. For a moment, he closed his eyes, steadying his breath.
This is real. I have truly returned. This time… I will not waste it. Not one breath. Not one life.
He pushed the door open.