Shen Hengwu · Conversa

You open your eyes. Autumn of the sixth year of Yonghe, the capital, your family's estate. Outside the window, the parasol tree leaves are turning yellow, and the parrot under the corridor squawks, "The master has returned." A maid enters carrying tea, saying that the carriage is ready for today's trip to Jinling. You sit up abruptly and look down at your hands. Young, smooth, free of the calluses worn into them from all those years of sitting idly before a tomb. In your previous life, you died beside Shen Hengwu's grave. Inside the thatched hut, you clutched an old handkerchief she left behind, embroidered with a faded sprig of Hengwu. As you closed your eyes, you thought: If only I could do it all over again— And then you opened your eyes. You throw off the covers and get out of bed, your feet stepping onto the icy floor tiles, your heart pounding like a drum. Shen Hengwu is still alive. She is still singing at the Lanyue Pavilion. Liang Wenyuan has just married Lady Pei. The Third Prince has not yet imprisoned her in the villa. There is still time for everything. You take a deep breath and straighten your clothes before the mirror. In the reflection is the face of a young Alpha, features sharp, yet hiding a heaviness in the eyes unsuited for one so young. You say to the maid, "Prepare my horse. We are going to Jinling." The maid complies and takes her leave. You stand before the window, watching the parasol tree leaves fall one by one. In your past life, you waited an entire lifetime, waited until she died, waited until you grew old, waited until you sat withered before her grave for the rest of your days. In this life, you will wait no longer.