The rain had softened the streets of Bianjing into a blur of reflections—lanterns shimmering in puddles, footsteps echoing like distant drums. Mei moved through the city with purpose, her satchel clutched tightly beneath her cloak. Inside was the scroll: the Chronicle of the Jade Thread, still warm from the whispers of the wall.
She had traveled for days, guided only by dreams and fragments of memory. Now, she stood before the gates of the imperial archives, where history slept and secrets waited to be awakened.
---
Zhao Yun was not expecting a visitor.
He had spent the morning cataloging Song-era poetry, his mind drifting between verses and symbols. The plum blossom had appeared again—this time in a love poem attributed to a forgotten concubine. He had copied it into his notebook, adding it to the growing constellation of clues.
When the knock came, he assumed it was Master Liang.
But it was her.
A woman in travel-worn robes, her hair damp from rain, her eyes sharp and searching.
"I'm looking for Zhao Yun," she said.
"I'm Zhao Yun."
She stepped inside.
"I have something you need to see."
---
They sat across from each other in the scriptorium, the scroll unrolled between them. Yun's breath caught as he saw the symbols—etched in the same language he had written in his journal, the same language that had appeared in his dreams.
"This is impossible," he whispered.
Mei nodded. "I found it in the ruins of the Jade Pavilion. The wall spoke to me. It showed me visions—of you, of a woman on a bridge, of a general and a princess."
Yun's hands trembled. "I've seen them too. In dreams. In fragments."
He turned to a shelf and pulled out his notebook. Mei flipped through the pages, her eyes widening as she saw the same symbols, the same sketches.
"It's the same thread," she said. "We're part of it."
---
Master Liang entered moments later, his expression unreadable.
"I thought I heard voices," he said.
Yun stood. "Master, this is Mei. She carries the Jade Thread."
Liang's eyes narrowed. He approached the scroll, studying it in silence.
"This language," he said finally, "is older than any dynasty. It predates the Xia. It's not meant to be read. It's meant to be remembered."
Mei frowned. "What does that mean?"
Liang looked at her. "It means the scroll is not a record. It's a map."
---
They spent the afternoon decoding the symbols. Each one corresponded to a location, a name, a moment in time. The thread wove through dynasties, connecting rebels, lovers, scribes, and dreamers. It was not linear. It was circular. A cycle of memory passed from soul to soul.
At the center of the map was a name: Yu.
Mei leaned closer. "I've seen that name before. In the wall. In the visions."
Yun nodded. "So have I."
Liang's voice was quiet. "Yu was the first. The one who began the thread."
---
That night, Mei and Yun walked through the city, the scroll tucked safely away. The rain had stopped, and the moon hung low over the rooftops.
"Do you think we're meant to finish what Yu started?" Mei asked.
Yun looked up at the stars. "I think we're meant to remember."
They stopped at a bridge overlooking the river. Plum blossoms floated on the surface, carried by the current.
Mei smiled. "It's beautiful."
Yun nodded. "It always is, just before history changes."
Next Chapter Teaser
As Zhao Yun and Mei follow the map hidden within the Jade Thread, they arrive at a forbidden temple deep in the mountains. But someone else has been watching—and the thread they carry may not be the only one woven through time.