Chapter One: In the Heavens, the Jade Imperial City, Twelve Towers and Five Citadels

The rain had just cleared, and it was early spring.

A momentous event was unfolding in the Lotus Boat Xu family. The head maid, Xintong, hurried into the residence, wading through the stream in the second courtyard, passing by a courtyard brimming with spring blossoms, paying no heed to the morning dew, and went straight to the master’s chambers.

“Master, the embroidered ball thrown by the young lady has found its owner. During the throwing, several heroes got into a fight, and in the chaos caused by the attendant boys of several young gentlemen, the ball was tossed up again and finally landed in the arms of a youth of seventeen or eighteen.”

Xintong, the maid, was herself only fifteen or sixteen, but her eyes held a clarity beyond her years, revealing her cleverness and capability. “That youth wore plain gray clothes, nothing luxurious—just coarse hemp fabric. His face was lean as well; he’s clearly not from a wealthy family.”

A fit of coughing came from behind the screen by the bed. A servant quickly moved the screen aside, revealing an elderly man, his face haggard and lifeless, who was being helped to sit up by another maid.

“It’s just as well he isn’t the son of a wealthy family. What can you expect from those who come to snatch the embroidered ball? An ordinary background is even better; without silken robes, there’s less chance of ill intent lurking beneath.”

The old man had to pause for breath four or five times in that short sentence, appearing extremely frail.

Xintong pursed her lips, concern shadowing her features. “But there’s a problem…”

The old man gave her an inquisitive look, so she continued, “Our household sent someone to invite the youth, but he claimed he was just passing by Xiqing Street, not intentionally trying to seize the ball—it simply fell into his arms by chance. He is unwilling to enter the Xu family as a son-in-law.”

Another coughing fit overtook the old man. The older maid at his side frowned. “Who went to invite him? Did they mention our status?”

“It was Steward Zhao the Second who went and explained the Xu family’s standing, as well as the young lady’s name. But the youth seemed unaware of our family’s reputation and didn’t know of the young lady’s virtues. He simply left…”

“But…Steward Zhao has already sent someone to investigate. By afternoon, we should know more.”

Xintong explained everything in detail.

The old man frowned, saying nothing. The elder maid pondered a moment before offering comfort. “If he doesn’t know the Xu family’s status or the young lady’s renown, he’s likely a simple lad who hasn’t seen much of the world. Once we know his origins, we can send another invitation. If he has elders at home, it’s all the easier. Master, there’s no need to worry.”

He nodded slightly. “Our Xu family is respected in Suwu Prefecture. Now, with the public display of the embroidered ball marriage, if a mere youth wins it, that’s one thing. But if that youth refuses the Xu family, we’ll become the laughingstock of the other households.”

He paused, then asked Xintong, “What did the young lady say?”

Xintong replied truthfully, “The young lady said…it doesn’t matter who it is, as long as the marriage is settled quickly.”

The old man sighed and gazed around at the lavish Xu residence.

He had worked for decades to build this astonishing family fortune, yet had no son. Now, afflicted with a grave illness, his vast enterprise faced stormy times and rested entirely on the shoulders of his twenty-year-old daughter.

“It’s my poor Xiyue who suffers, unable to find a good husband in her own time, condemned to be bound here all her life.”

—

Xu Xiyue was dressed in a verdant, mist-green robe, her shoulders fine and slender, her waist delicate as silk, her skin like congealed cream, her breath as fragrant as orchids, her waist barely a handful—so flawless, so ethereal, untouched by mortal dust.

Were it not for the light veil of her hat, she would surely draw countless admiring gazes.

At this moment, she stood on a pleasure boat, gazing distantly at the riverbank.

On the bank, a pale-faced youth was squatting before a vegetable vendor, haggling over ginger.

“Haggling over a few sticks of ginger, and now that the Xu family offers him a fine prospect, he still refuses. I truly can’t fathom what goes on in that head of his,” Xintong exclaimed in wonder as she stood behind Xu Xiyue. “Look at his pallor and feeble speech—could he be suffering from some serious illness?”

A middle-aged man beside Xintong spoke up at this moment, “I have sent someone to investigate. The youth’s name is Chen Zhian. He lives on Qihuang Street, directly opposite the Iron Arm General’s Mansion. His mother is gone, and he lives with his father alone.

His father is a private tutor, known for his patient and thorough teaching. The neighbors, even if short on tuition, still respect him. Thus, he has a good reputation on Qihuang Street. Because of this, father and son live in poverty, barely making ends meet.”

“There’s another odd story. Two years ago, this youth fell into the water unexpectedly. When he was pulled out, his face was dark, and he showed no signs of life. The onlookers all thought him dead. By chance, a Daoist in black robes happened to pass by and used some mystical art to revive him… Looking back, this youth has had a stroke of great fortune—surviving a deadly ordeal, and now winning the young lady’s embroidered ball. Should he enter our Xu family, he’ll want for nothing.”

—

“So he’s a scholar’s son,” Xintong said, her eyes wide. “The ones to worry about are the local bullies or unruly wanderers. A scholar’s son is much more suitable…”

Steward Zhao shook his head. “He’s not truly a scholar. He never studied diligently, nor did he attempt the county exams. Instead, half a year ago, he joined the official artisan registry and works as an apprentice in the painting academy, making official portraits.”

Xintong wrinkled her nose. “His father’s a tutor, yet he won’t study, choosing instead to be an artisan’s apprentice? That’s not ambitious at all.”

Steward Zhao said nothing.

Xintong’s tone was tinged with regret. “Well, so he’s not a scholar. Miss, you studied physiognomy at Mount Qixia—can you see if the youth is ill?”

Xu Xiyue shook her head slowly and instructed Steward Zhao, “Don’t disturb him further. Let the master make arrangements.”

Xintong sensed the coldness and resignation in Xu Xiyue’s tone. She suddenly felt there was little joy in being the Xu family’s heiress—the weight of this vast household rested solely on her shoulders.

Now, even marriage meant settling for an utterly unremarkable youth.

Unable to help herself, Xintong whispered, “Miss…perhaps we should wait a little longer?”

“Wait for what?” Xu Xiyue turned, her gaze calm as still water.

Xintong was momentarily speechless.

Steward Zhao suddenly said, “The affairs of the world are like water flowing east—once past, they’re gone… Miss, don’t worry too much. Even with an ordinary husband, you will always outshine the other ladies of the boudoir.”

Xu Xiyue brushed her sleeve lightly. “General Li will soon arrive in Sunan Prefecture. The urgent matter is to prepare the necessary medicinal herbs. If this business cannot continue… I fear the Xu family’s medicine trade will truly be swallowed by the Zhou family.”

—

Chen Zhian had no idea that his simple outing to buy vegetables was being observed.

All his attention was focused on a piece of raw ginger at a market woman’s stall.

That chunk of ginger, still clinging with earth, looked unremarkable among the others.

But to Chen Zhian, it was entirely different.

He concentrated, and saw a unique aura rise from this piece of ginger, forming a misty halo over its surface, which fascinated him.

At the same time, he sensed that in the painting which had accompanied him from his previous life, a certain scene had quietly brightened.

Beside the painting, a few lines of poetry shimmered, clearing his thoughts:

“In Heaven’s Jade Capital, twelve towers and five cities,
An immortal strokes my crown, binding my hair to longevity.”

Within those four lines seemed to dwell unspeakable mysteries, illuminating a part of the painting—the city known as Kunlun Ze among the twelve towers and five cities.

“Kunlun Ze.”

“There is a city called Kunlun Ze, which blesses the heavens and earth with its spirit. Its aura nourishes the mists, and the mists give rise to divinity.”

A few lines appeared on the painting.

Just those few words made Chen Zhian draw a deep breath.

“How strange is the painting in my mind?”

He took the curious piece of ginger, paid the market woman three copper coins, and returned to Qihuang Street.

—

Qihuang Street took its name from a wandering physician who, during a plague years ago, set up a stall here and used his healing arts to save countless lives in the devastated Sunan Prefecture.

When government aid finally arrived and the plague receded, that wandering physician quietly packed his bags and left Sunan in the night.

Only after he’d gone did the people he’d saved realize they didn’t know the doctor’s name—only that his banner bore the characters “Qihuang.” So they named the street in his honor.

Chen Zhian had lived on Qihuang Street since he crossed into this fantastical world two years ago.

Over these two years, he had carefully studied the customs and knowledge of this land, eventually fooling even the taciturn father of his new body, living quietly on Qihuang Street.

He quickly returned to his small courtyard, where the clear, youthful voices of children reciting lessons rang out.

Many young pupils were studying and learning to write.

His thin father sat in the main hall, eyes closed, listening attentively to the children’s recitations.

Chen Zhian was long accustomed to this scene and did not disturb them, heading straight to his own room.

Inside, the furnishings were simple—a bed, a desk, a wooden chair, and several books.

He set down his basket and took out the piece of ginger.

As he gazed at it, the Jade Capital Map—so often seen in dreams—appeared in his mind, and the city of Kunlun Ze among the Twelve Towers and Five Cities shone with light.

Ever since coming to this world—this land called Great Yu—everything was unfamiliar.

His body was new, his memories filled with unfamiliar things, which gradually blended with his own consciousness.

Yet the Jade Capital Map left by his grandfather remained vivid in his mind, always somewhat hazy, the images indistinct.

He had always thought it was homesickness and worry for his grandfather left behind, which made him dream often of the Jade Capital Map.

But today, the map finally revealed a trace of its mysteries.

“A piece of ginger, resonant with the Jade Capital Map and wrapped in a unique aura—what could it be?”

Lost in thought, he suddenly realized the ginger had vanished from his hand.

“Haunted?”

He leapt up, looking around in shock—the ginger had truly disappeared without a trace.

As he stood in astonishment, the strange painting unfolded again in his mind.

The painting grew, transforming into the vast Kunlun Ze, with clouds and mists billowing everywhere.

He focused his gaze and saw, amidst a cluster of clouds in Kunlun Ze, that very piece of ginger, now enveloped in mist.

The white aura rising from the ginger gradually took on a reddish hue, the aura growing deeper and heavier.

“It’s been planted inside the painting?”

Chen Zhian stood dumbstruck.