I was a mineral prospector in Chengdu, who transmigrated into the body of a mortal sword immortal.

The figure disappeared into the shadow of the osmanthus tree, and silence fell over the wall. Li Bai stood there, like a stone statue. Twilight completely swallowed the Huanhua Stream, turning the bamboo grove on the opposite bank into a blurry ink blot. The murmuring of the stream suddenly became exceptionally clear, as if mocking his powerlessness. He didn't know how much time had passed when the distant sound of the night watchman's clapper came—dong, dong, dong. It was the third watch. He slowly turned around and walked back along the path he had come from. His steps were slow, each step feeling like walking on cotton. When he returned to the inn, Wu Zhinan's room was still lit, and his shadow, bent over his reading, was projected onto the window paper. Li Bai didn't knock and went straight to his own room. He sat on the edge of the bed, without lighting a lamp. In the darkness, the melody of "Autumn Moon over the Han Palace" still echoed in his ears, every note crystal clear. And that figure, in a light-colored dress, a pipa in her arms, flashed past under the osmanthus tree. He closed his eyes, his fingers unconsciously clenching, his nails digging into his palms.

He didn't sleep a wink that night.

***

For the next three days, Li Bai went to Huanhua Creek every day.

He dared not approach the Yang residence too closely, finding only a secluded spot in the bamboo grove across the stream, gazing at the blue-brick courtyard wall across the water. From dawn till dusk, he sat there like a statue, his gaze never leaving the mansion. He saw maids carrying copper basins in and out of the side gate in the morning, white steam rising from the rims; he saw old servants pruning vines at the foot of the wall in the afternoon, the scissors making a crisp "snip" sound; he saw smoke rising from the chimney at the back of the mansion at dusk, carrying the aroma of burning firewood and the warmth of cooked food.

But he never heard the sound of the pipa again, nor did he ever see that figure again.

On the evening of the third day, Wu Zhinan found him.

"Brother Li, what are you doing here?" Wu Zhinan walked out from the bamboo path, his footsteps crunching on the fallen leaves. He carried a small bamboo basket containing a few flatbreads and two jugs of wine. "I've been looking for you for most of the day. The innkeeper said you leave before dawn and don't return until dark every day."

Li Bai did not turn back; his gaze remained fixed on the Yang residence on the opposite bank. In the twilight, the outline of the courtyard wall had become blurred, with only the osmanthus tree peeking out from the top of the wall swaying gently in the evening breeze.

"I'm waiting," he said.

"What are you waiting for?" Wu Zhinan sat down beside him, opened the bamboo basket, and handed him a flatbread. The flatbread was still warm, sprinkled with sesame seeds, and gave off a mixed aroma of roasted and wheat.

Li Bai took the flatbread, but didn't eat it. His fingers traced the rough texture of the flatbread, and he murmured to himself, "Waiting for a sound."

Wu Zhinan looked at him for a while but didn't ask any further questions. He uncorked the wine flask, tilted his head back, and took a swig. The wine was a common rice wine in Sichuan, sweet with a slight sourness, sliding down his throat and spreading warmth in his stomach. He wiped his mouth and suddenly said, "By the way, I heard some news."

Li Bai turned his head.

"Master Liu from the west of the city, the retired Vice Minister of Rites, is hosting a spring garden party in his private garden in three days." Wu Zhinan took another sip of wine, his eyes gleaming in the twilight. "He's inviting all the talented men and beautiful women in Chengdu, saying it's a gathering of literary friends, with poetry accompanying the wine. I met a few local literati at the restaurant last night, and they were all discussing this."

Li Bai's fingers tightened, and the flatbread deformed slightly in his hand.

"More importantly," Wu Zhinan lowered his voice, "I heard that Yang Xuangui might bring his niece to the event."

The air seemed to freeze.

The babbling of the stream, the rustling of bamboo leaves, the barking of dogs from the distant village—all these sounds faded away at this moment, leaving only Wu Zhinan's words echoing in Li Bai's ears.

"How...how did you know?" Li Bai's voice was a little dry.

Wu Zhinan smiled and said, "When those scholars were discussing the garden party, they mentioned that Master Liu had specially invited a famous talented woman from the city. Someone said that the niece of the Yang family by the Huanhua Stream is not only outstanding in appearance but also proficient in music. If she could come, she would definitely add a lot of color to the garden party. Another person chimed in, saying that he saw the eunuchs from the palace leaving the Yang residence the other day, and Yang Xuangui personally saw them off at the door with great respect. The two of them guessed that Miss Yang was probably about to rise in rank, and this garden party might be her last public appearance before entering the palace."

Li Bai's hand trembled suddenly, and the flatbread fell to the ground, rolled a few times, and became covered in dirt.

"Brother Li?" Wu Zhinan looked at his pale face. "Are you alright?"

Li Bai didn't answer. He stared at the mud-covered flatbread on the ground, his mind buzzing. Fragments of his past life flooded back—Yang Xiaohuan being held up by two tattooed men, her eyes filled with sorrow and helplessness; the excruciating pain of a cold dagger piercing his chest; the monotonous, drawn-out beeping of the monitor in the ICU. And Wu Zhinan's words from earlier: the eunuch from the palace, rising to prominence, his last appearance before entering the palace.

History is moving forward along its predetermined path.

And he stood right beside the tracks, watching helplessly as the train of fate rumbled toward him.

"I want to go." Li Bai raised his head, his voice hoarse but firm. "I want to go to that garden party."

Wu Zhinan looked at the burning flame in his eyes, remained silent for a moment, and then nodded: "Alright. I know an old steward in Master Liu's mansion, a distant cousin of mine. I'll take you to see him tomorrow and ask for an introduction."

***

The referral process went more smoothly than expected.

The old steward of Master Liu's mansion was surnamed Wang. He was a thin, fifty-something-year-old man with a tuft of white goatee on his chin. He lived in a quiet alley in the west of the city. His courtyard was small, but it was kept clean and tidy. In the corner of the courtyard stood a pomegranate tree, its branches already sprouting tender red buds.

When Wu Zhinan brought Li Bai to the door, Steward Wang was sitting in the courtyard basking in the sun. The warm early spring sun shone on his wrinkled face. He squinted, holding a pipe in his hand, from which bluish-white smoke billowed, carrying the pungent smell of tobacco.

"Uncle," Wu Zhinan bowed respectfully, handing over a packet of pastries wrapped in oil paper. "This is osmanthus cake brought from Chang'an. Please try it."

Steward Wang opened his eyes, glanced at Wu Zhinan, and then looked at Li Bai behind him. His gaze lingered on Li Bai for a moment before he slowly spoke, "Zhinan, it's been a few years since I've seen you. I heard you've been traveling and broadening your horizons?"

"Thanks to my uncle, I've traveled to some places," Wu Zhinan said with a smile, leading Li Bai forward. "This is a friend I met on the road. His surname is Li, and his given name is Bai. Brother Li is exceptionally talented, especially in poetry. Hearing that Master Liu was going to hold a garden party, he wanted to come and experience the literary style of Chengdu."

Manager Wang took a drag of his pipe, slowly exhaling smoke from his nostrils. He didn't speak immediately, but instead sized Li Bai up and down. His gaze was sharp, as if he were weighing something.

Li Bai stood there, letting him scrutinize him. Today, he had specially changed into a clean blue cloth robe, and his hair was tied up with a cloth. Although simple, it was neat and tidy. More importantly, his eyes—calm, but with an undeniable firmness deep within.

"You can write poetry?" Manager Wang finally spoke, his voice hoarse.

"I have a smattering of knowledge," Li Bai said.

"Very well." Steward Wang tapped the edge of the stone bench with his pipe to knock off the ash. "I have a painting here, a gift from a friend a few days ago. Write a poem for me, and if it's good, I'll introduce you to Master Liu."

Wu Zhinan's expression changed slightly: "Uncle, this..."

"It's alright," Li Bai interrupted him calmly. "Please have Steward Wang show me the painting."

Steward Wang stood up and slowly walked into the room. A moment later, he came out carrying a scroll, which he slowly unfurled on the stone table.

It is a traditional Chinese ink wash landscape painting. It depicts a common mountain scene in Sichuan—distant mountains like dark eyebrows, nearby waters babbling, and a small boat on the riverbank with a fisherman wearing a straw hat fishing. The style is simple, but the artistic conception is profound, and the ink tones are well-balanced, clearly the work of a master.

Li Bai stood before the painting, gazing at it quietly.

Sunlight shone on the drawing paper, and the ink glittered in the light. The ripples of the river, the texture of the rocks, the outline of the fisherman's straw hat—all the details became clear in his eyes. He could almost smell the dampness of the river in the painting, hear the calls of the birds in the distance, and feel the slight tremor of the fishing rod in the fisherman's hand.

In his past life, while working for a geological team, he often trekked through the mountains of Sichuan. He had seen the river shrouded in morning mist, the fishing boats returning home at dusk, and the distant mountains shrouded in dark blue moonlight. Those scenes overlapped with the painting before him.

He picked up his pen.

The brush, a small wolf-hair calligraphy brush with a full nib, was prepared by Steward Wang. The ink, already ground, gleamed with a jet-black sheen in the inkstone. The paper, fine Xuan paper, was laid out in the blank space beside the painting.

Li Bai dipped his brush in ink, then gently scraped away the excess ink along the edge of the inkstone. Then, he began to write.

Without hesitation, without pause, poetry flowed from his pen like a spring:

"The moon over Mount Emei is half-full in autumn."

The reflection is cast into the flowing waters of the Pingqiang River.

Setting off from Qingxi at night towards the Three Gorges,

I long for you, but cannot see you in Yuzhou.

Twenty-eight characters, written in one breath.

The calligraphy is elegant and flowing, with strokes that possess both the sharpness of a sword and the suppleness of flowing water. The variations in ink density complement the landscape in the painting. More importantly, the poem's content—the moon over Mount Emei, the Pingqiang River, Qingxi, the Three Gorges, and Chongqing—is all scenery from Sichuan, perfectly matching the mood of the painting. And the final line, "Thinking of you, but unable to see you, I descend to Chongqing," infuses this tranquil landscape with a subtle, lingering sense of longing.

Manager Wang stared at the poem for a long time.

The courtyard was quiet. The only sounds were the rustling of the wind through the pomegranate tree branches, the calls of vendors coming from the distant alley, and Wu Zhinan's slightly tense breathing.

Finally, Steward Wang raised his head and looked at Li Bai. His gaze had changed; it was no longer one of scrutiny and assessment, but a complex expression that mixed surprise and admiration.

"A good poem," he said, his voice soft but certain. "Good words. Even better is the imagery—your poem has captured the soul of the painting."

He carefully put away the scroll, as if handling some precious treasure.

"Three days later, at the third quarter of Chen hour (7:45 AM), arrive at the entrance of Master Liu's garden," said Steward Wang. "I will wait for you there and take you inside."

***

The day of the garden party was a rare sunny day.

The morning sky was a clear, pale blue, like a piece of freshly washed glass. Sunlight filtered through the thin clouds, warm but not scorching. The air was filled with the scent of awakening earth, the fresh fragrance of sprouting grass and trees, and the faint, lingering fragrance of flowers drifting from afar.

Master Liu's garden was located in the western suburbs of the city, covering a vast area. The garden gate was painted vermilion, and a plaque above the gate bore the two gilded characters "Yi Garden." Many carriages and horses were already parked in front of the gate, including ornately decorated horse-drawn carriages, simple donkey carts, and young scholars arriving on horseback. Servants moved among the guests, guiding them and tending to the horses; the sounds of people, horses, and wheels mingled together, creating a lively and bustling atmosphere.

Li Bai and Wu Zhinan arrived early. Just after Chenshi (7-9 AM), they reached the garden gate. Manager Wang was indeed waiting there, dressed in a dark blue silk robe, looking much more energetic than when he had been sunbathing in the courtyard that day.

"You've arrived." Manager Wang nodded when he saw them. "Come with me."

He led the two through the garden gate and into the garden.

Upon entering, the scene before him startled Li Bai slightly.

This is a typical Jiangnan-style garden, yet it incorporates features of Sichuan. Waterways crisscross the garden, with pavilions and towers built along the water's edge, and winding bridges and corridors connecting various parts. The artificial hills are constructed from Sichuan's unique bluestone, rugged and craggy, covered in moss and vines. The trees are mostly common Sichuan species—tall ginkgo trees, swaying willows, and groves of bamboo. Deep within the bamboo forest, a bamboo pavilion is faintly visible, with copper bells hanging from its corners, tinkling crisply in the breeze.

There are already quite a few people in the garden.

The male guests mostly gathered in the waterside pavilions and terraces, in small groups, reciting poems or engaging in lively discussions. They wore long gowns of various colors, some made of simple blue cloth, others of luxurious brocade, with jade ornaments at their waists and folding fans in their hands. The sounds of talking, laughter, and recitation rose and fell, and the air was filled with the fragrance of ink, tea, and a faint aroma of wine.

The female guests were mostly in the gardens and winding corridors. They wore brightly colored dresses—peach, willow green, pale yellow, and lotus purple—like a flock of fluttering butterflies. Some were admiring the flowers, some were feeding the fish, and some were chatting and laughing quietly together. Maids followed closely behind, carrying tea and snacks, fanning them, and serving them with utmost care.

Sunlight filters through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The outlines of pavilions, the graceful silhouettes of willow branches, and the slowly drifting white clouds are reflected in the water. A gentle breeze carries the fragrance of flowers, the mist of water, and the faint, distant sound of a zither.

Wu Zhinan was dazzled by the sight and whispered to Li Bai, "This Master Liu is indeed very wealthy. This garden is probably even more exquisite than some of the villas of princes in Chang'an."

Li Bai remained silent.

His gaze swept across the garden, from the waterside pavilions to the terraces, from the gardens to the winding corridors, passing over the faces of every woman in brightly colored dresses. His heart pounded rapidly, like a drum pounding in his chest. Fine sweat beaded on his palms, and his clenched fists trembled slightly.

He's looking for it.

Find that face.

That face that haunted his dreams in his past life and kept him awake at night in this one.

***

The garden party has officially begun.

Master Liu was an elderly man in his sixties, slightly plump, with a ruddy complexion, wearing a dark red brocade robe embroidered with auspicious and longevity patterns on the chest. He stood in front of the largest pavilion in the garden and said a few opening remarks, nothing more than polite phrases like "making friends through literature" and "making the most of spring." Then he announced that today's garden party was informal, and everyone was free to enjoy themselves. A banquet would be held in the main hall at noon.

Everyone echoed their agreement, making the atmosphere even more lively.

Li Bai wandered aimlessly through the garden with the crowd. Wu Zhinan was pulled aside by several local literati to discuss poetry. Unable to refuse, he gave Li Bai a wink, indicating that he would come back to find him later.

Li Bai walked alone along a winding corridor.

The winding corridor, built along the water, has vermilion railings that are already somewhat mottled. Wisteria climbs the roof, but at this time of year, it hasn't bloomed yet; only tender green leaves densely cover the space, and sunlight filters through the leaves, casting shimmering dappled patterns on the corridor. Below the corridor is clear pond water, with a few water lily leaves floating on the surface, tiny pink buds already emerging from their edges.

He walked very slowly.

Their eyes were still searching.

As he passed a rockery, he overheard several young scholars arguing. Passing a bamboo pavilion, he saw several women playing the zither; the music was clear and melodious, but easily forgotten. Passing a plum grove, he smelled the delicate fragrance of newly formed plums, a sweet and sour scent mingled with their tartness.

But none of these things could penetrate his heart.

He had only one thought in his mind: to find her.

Find the figure playing the pipa inside the walls of the Yang Mansion, find the fleeting silhouette under the osmanthus tree, find the girl who may soon be sent to the deep palace and headed towards a tragic fate.

He also found the wife who, in his past life, was betrayed by him, implicated by him, and ultimately watched him die.

***

It's almost noon.

The guests gradually gathered in the main hall. The main hall was the garden's central building, with its upturned eaves, carved beams, and painted rafters. Large red lanterns hung in front of the entrance, each bearing the character "Liu." Inside, a banquet had been prepared; long tables were neatly arranged, covered with pristine white tablecloths and set with exquisite tableware. Maids filed in carrying dishes, filling the air with the aromas of food—the smoky fragrance of roasted meat, the savory aroma of stewed soup, the sweet aroma of pastries, and the rich aroma of wine wafting from newly opened jars.

Li Bai stood in the courtyard outside the main hall and did not go in.

In the center of the courtyard is a large stone-built pool, in which stands an artificial hill with jagged rocks. Water flows down from the top of the hill, forming a small waterfall, and the gurgling sound of the water echoes in the courtyard. Several weeping willows are planted by the pool, their branches almost touching the water's surface, swaying gently in the breeze.

He leaned against a willow tree, his gaze fixed on the entrance to the main hall.

Guests entered one after another. The men chatted and laughed, while the women moved with graceful steps, followed by maids bowing their heads. Sunlight shone on the vermilion gate, reflecting a dazzling light. From inside came the sounds of clinking glasses, greetings, and laughter, a lively atmosphere that was almost jarring.

Li Bai's heart sank little by little.

She did not show up.

Perhaps it won't happen. Perhaps Yang Xuangui changed her mind, perhaps she was unwell, perhaps there were new arrangements in the palace, perhaps... perhaps history cannot be changed. She is currently preparing her luggage and will embark on her journey to Chang'an in a few days.

The thought was like a cold knife, piercing his heart.

He closed his eyes.

Just then, a slight commotion suddenly came from the courtyard gate.

Li Bai opened his eyes.

A group of women, surrounded by maids, were entering from the courtyard gate. They were clearly late; their steps were hurried, their dresses rustling and their jewelry jingling. Leading the way was a middle-aged woman in a deep purple silk gown, adorned with a gold hairpin, her face dignified; she was likely a member of an official's family. Behind her followed several young women, all dressed in brightly colored clothes, their heads bowed, appearing somewhat shy.

Li Bai's gaze swept across their faces one by one.

Then, it stopped on the last girl.

She walked at the back of the crowd, accompanied only by a maid. She wore a light green dress made of thin silk, the hem embroidered with delicate intertwined floral patterns that shimmered softly in the sunlight. Her hair was styled in simple double buns, adorned with a white jade hairpin, the head of which was carved into the shape of a lotus flower. She wore little jewelry, only a jade bracelet on her wrist, its warm, lustrous color highlighting her slender, fair wrist.

But none of these things were the reason why Li Bai stopped looking.

He stopped looking because of her face.

That face—

Her eyebrows were like distant mountains, naturally dark without makeup. Her eyes were like autumn water, clear and deep. Her nose was straight and her lips were a deep red, like newly blossoming peach blossoms. Her skin was fair and delicate, almost translucent in the sunlight. Her entire face was so exquisitely beautiful that it seemed unreal, as if it had been painted by an artist with the finest brushstrokes and the gentlest paints.

But what made Li Bai's blood freeze instantly was the overlap of this face with another face.

Yang Xiaohuan.

This is Yang Xiaohuan, ten years younger, untouched by the world, with innocent and naive eyes.

The weariness and vicissitudes of life from their past lives are gone, as are the haggardness and unease eroded by debt and fear. But the eyebrows, the bridge of the nose, the shape of the lips, the shape of the face—every detail is exactly the same. Even the curve of the neck when the head is slightly lowered is identical.

Li Bai stood there, as if struck by lightning.

The sounds of the entire world vanished. The clamor in the main hall, the sound of water in the courtyard, the rustling of willow leaves in the wind, the distant birdsong—all disappeared. All he could hear was the frantic pounding of his own heart, thump, thump, as if it were about to shatter his chest.

His eyes were fixed on that face.

Staring into those clear eyes, filled with a mixture of curiosity and shyness.

Then, those eyes turned towards me.

Eyes facing each other.

Time stood still at that moment.

Li Bai saw her pupils contract slightly, her eyelashes tremble gently. She had clearly noticed the strange man who had been staring at her. His gaze was too intense, too complex, too heavy—it contained shock, ecstasy, pain, despair, a longing that spanned a thousand years, and unspeakable guilt. All these emotions mingled together like a raging tsunami, threatening to break through his carefully maintained facade of calm and engulf her.

She was stunned.

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but no sound came out. A faint blush rose on her cheeks, like peach blossoms in early spring tinged with the color of the morning glow. She subconsciously looked away, lowered her head, and her fingers unconsciously twisted the silk handkerchief in her hand.

But that one moment of eye contact was enough.

That was enough for Li Bai to confirm—it was her.

Whether she is the reincarnation of Yang Xiaohuan or not, whether she remembers her past life or not, who she is now or what her name is, the familiar stirring deep in her soul, the resonance that transcends time and space, the feeling that one glance is enough to know her for a lifetime—it cannot be wrong.

She was the one he was looking for.

She is the one he wants to protect.

No matter the cost.

***

The group of women entered the main hall.

The light green dress disappeared behind the vermilion gate.

Li Bai remained standing there, like a stone statue. The sunlight shone on him, warm and comforting, but he felt no warmth. The wind blew through the willow branches, brushing against his cheeks, tickling him, but he felt no touch. All his senses, all his consciousness, were still frozen in that fleeting moment of glimpse.

That face.

Those eyes.

That shy, bowed head gesture.

Memories of his past and present lives surged and merged in his mind like two torrents. The image of Yang Xiaohuan waiting for him to come home in the rented apartment, the sorrow in her eyes as she was being carried by the burly man, the image of her crying outside the ICU ward. And just now, Yang Yuhuan—no, she is Yang Yuhuan now—with those clear, innocent eyes, that blush on her cheeks, those fingers gently twisting a silk handkerchief.

The two images overlapped, making it impossible to distinguish one from the other.

"Brother Li?"

Wu Zhinan's voice pulled him back to reality.

Li Bai turned his head and saw Wu Zhinan standing beside him, with a worried look on his face.

"Are you alright?" Wu Zhinan looked at his pale face. "I saw you in the main hall just now, and you didn't respond when I called you several times. Why do you look so pale? Did you have heatstroke?"

Li Bai shook his head. He wanted to speak, but his throat was dry and he couldn't make a sound.

Wu Zhinan pulled him to a stone bench by the pool and sat him down. He took out a small water pouch from his pocket and handed it to him, saying, "Have some water."

Li Bai took the water pouch, uncorked it, and tilted his head back to gulp down several mouthfuls. The water was cool, sliding down his throat and slightly relieving the dry, burning sensation. But his fingers were still trembling, and he could barely hold the water pouch.

"Did you see her?" Wu Zhinan asked in a low voice.

Li Bai nodded.

"Is she Yang Xuangui's niece?" Wu Zhinan asked again, "The one in the light green dress?"

Li Bai nodded again.

Wu Zhinan was silent for a moment, then sighed: "Brother Li, I don't know what your relationship with her is. But I must remind you—I just heard people talking in the main hall, saying that the palace has decided that Miss Yang will set off for Chang'an at the beginning of next month. The imperial edict will arrive soon."

Li Bai's hand tightened suddenly, and the water bag made a slight "crunching" sound in his hand.

"So," Wu Zhinan's voice was soft, but every word struck Li Bai's heart like a hammer blow, "if you have anything to say or anything to do, you'd better hurry. Because time... is running out."

Li Bai raised his head and looked at the vermilion door of the main hall.

Inside, the room was brightly lit, filled with shadowy figures and the sounds of laughter and chatter. The young girl in the light green dress sat there, perhaps head bowed, munching on a snack, listening to the conversation around her. She was unaware that her fate had been decided, unaware that she would become a concubine in a few months, and unaware that she would perish at Mawei Slope a decade or more later.

Unbeknownst to her, at that very moment, outside the door, a soul that had traveled from over a thousand years in the future was heartbroken for her.

Li Bai slowly stood up.

His fingers were still trembling, but his eyes had become resolute.

"Brother Wu," he said, his voice hoarse but clear, "thank you."

"Thank me for what?" Wu Zhinan was taken aback.

"Thank you for bringing me here," Li Bai said. "Thank you for letting me see her."

He turned around, his gaze returning to the main hall. This time, his eyes no longer held the shock and loss of control from before, but only a calm, unwavering determination.

Whether she is the reincarnation of Xiao Huan or not.

No matter how strong the inertia of history may be.

Whether it's facing imperial power, the palace, or the torrent of an entire era.

In this life, he could never again stand by and watch her walk towards her predetermined tragic fate.

no way.