Her beauty faded too quickly,
On an ordinary road.
Carriages and horses moved as before,
Alone, she rode the west wind.
The dusty road was vast, devoid of good or evil;
Where would her soul go to ask the heavens?
Rainy night, highway, blinding headlights, sharp brakes, then a weightless tumble. Before her consciousness plunged into darkness, Lin Hua only had time to clutch a withered petal that had appeared out of nowhere in her palm—thin as a cicada's wing, its edges curled, its color a pale gold, yet, soaked in blood and rain, it exuded a faint, almost ethereal fragrance.
That was the last scent she smelled.
When she opened her eyes again, dawn was breaking, a thin mist like gauze.
She lay on an old, carved wooden bed, the canopy embroidered with faded twin lotus blossoms. The air was filled with the damp scent of grass and trees, mixed with a faint medicinal fragrance and the smell of earth. Her fingertips touched the rough brocade quilt, its stitches dense yet bearing the rough edges worn by time. She looked down at her hands—unfamiliar and slender, wrists thin, skin almost translucent white, a few small, fresh scratches on her knuckles, as if from thorns.
These weren't her hands.
Her heartbeat, however, was strangely calm. She slowly sat up, her long hair cascading down like a heavy black satin, reaching her waist. A bronze mirror stood at the foot of the bed, its surface dusty. She raised her hand to wipe it away, and the reflection gradually became clear: a girl of sixteen or seventeen, with delicate features, lips as pale as a newly blossoming pear blossom, and pupils as deep as amber, reflecting a faint light, like a lake that held an entire night.
Lin Huayin—this name suddenly surfaced from the depths of her mind, like a seed breaking through the soil, carrying the damp scent of earth and an irresistible certainty.
She was now Huayin, the ninth young lady of the Lin family in the Southern Region of the Ancient Immortal Realm. Born with a useless spiritual root, unable to cultivate Qi, she was seen as a burden by her clan. Her mother died early, her father was indifferent, and her sisters mocked her. Her future was destined to be a pawn in an arranged marriage, or to wither away silently in a remote courtyard.
These messages flooded in like a tide, yet they caused not a ripple. She simply sat quietly on the edge of the bed, her fingertips unconsciously tracing her palm—it was empty. The withered petal was gone, but she clearly remembered it had touched her skin, like a faint burn mark.
Suddenly, a gust of wind came in through the window.
The old plum tree in the courtyard, which had never blossomed, now shed a few petals of crimson, their color as deep as congealed blood. They lay on the bluestone slab for a moment, then silently crumbled into dust. The wind passed through the window frame, carrying an extremely cold dampness, brushing against her face, like someone's fingertips, so light as to be almost imperceptible.
She suddenly smiled.
A faint smile flickered in her eyes, like a lake kissed by moonlight, before returning to its stillness.
"Flowers bloom and fade without intention," she murmured, a phrase she didn't know the origin of, yet it felt strangely familiar, etched into her very being. "Who sows the seeds of love in this cycle of reincarnation?"
Her voice was soft, like the first snowflakes falling into warm wine, vanishing instantly.
In that instant, something incredibly subtle trembled deep within her chest, like a seed quietly cracking its first fissure in the dark earth.
She didn't know it was the awakening of the Flower Goddess's Key.
Nor did she know that this day marked the beginning of her descent into the first layer of the ninefold cycle of reincarnation—the mortal realm.
Outside the window, dawn broke.
The mist gradually dissipated, the distant mountains appearing like dark eyebrows, while nearby, a girl's clear laughter drifted in, tinged with deliberate sweetness and malice.
"Ninth Sister, are you awake? Don't make excuses to gather herbs in the back mountains today. The clan's medicinal herbs are running low; if you slack off again, Father will be furious."
Before the words were finished, the door was pushed open.
The newcomer, dressed in a light green silk dress, with bright, lively eyes, was none other than Lin Huayan, the eldest daughter of the Lin family.
She looked at the girl on the bed, her smile unsettling, yet her lips curved beautifully, like a peony in full bloom, flamboyantly beautiful, yet concealing thorns.
Huayin raised her eyes and quietly observed her for a moment.
At that moment, in the deep amber of her eyes, a distant starlight seemed to flash and disappear.
She rose, gathered her long hair, and spoke softly and gently, like the wind caressing a newly opened flower bud.
"Don't worry, Sister, I'll go right away."
She stepped barefoot across the cool ground, her steps incredibly light, as if walking on clouds.
Unseen by anyone, a tiny white flower silently bloomed in her palm, its six petals as thin as light, vanishing in an instant.
A breeze slipped in through the crack in the door, swirling up a withered plum blossom petal from the ground, gently landing at her feet.
The flower fell silently.
The dream had begun.