The stars watched in silence.
On a night when even the winds held their breath, a child was born beneath a sky heavy with fate. His first cry
echoed into the void, yet the universe did not stir-for this was not the first time he had been born.
His name was Zianshu.
But he had held countless names before.
One million times, he had opened his eyes to the world. Each life, a new beginning. A king draped in silk. A
beggar shivering in the streets. A warlord who conquered empires. A scholar who sought wisdom in ink. A
demon feared by all. A saint loved by millions.
Yet, no matter what he became, the cycle always began anew.
The curse was cruel.
He never remembered his past. Each time, he was wiped clean, forced to stumble through life without
knowing he had walked the path before.
But something-or rather, someone-remained constant.
Her.
She was there in every life, as if the universe itself refused to separate them.
Sometimes, she was the first face he saw, a childhood friend laughing beside him in the golden fields ofspring. Other times, she was a stranger in a crowded market, a fleeting encounter that left his soul aching with
a feeling he could not name.
She had been a noblewoman and a peasant. A war strategist and a healer. A queen and a runaway. And each
time, no matter the odds, their hearts were drawn to each other.
Her name was Qianshi.
And like him, she was bound to the cycle.
They loved, they lost, they lived again. Sometimes, they had eternity. Sometimes, death claimed them before
they could even speak. Some lives, they were torn apart by war, by duty, by fate itself. And in others, they
died holding hands, whispering words they would never remember in the next life.
A million times.
Yet, they were not alone in their suffering.
Two more souls walked the same path, their fates entwined with Zianshu and Qianshi in ways they could not
yet understand.
The first was a man burdened with a sense of justice that felt too heavy for a mortal frame. A ruler, a warrior,
a judge. He had been feared and respected in equal measure, yet no matter where he was born, he carried an
instinct he could not explain-the need to set things right.
His name in this life was Xuhan.
And the second was a woman who wandered through time with a heart full of stories. A poet, a dreamer, a
sculptor of meaning. Sometimes a saint, sometimes a heretic, she lived with an unshakable certainty that
everything-every life, every moment-was part of a greater story yet to be told.
Her name in this life was Lianmei.They did not know why they were cursed.
They did not know why the cycle repeated.
All they knew was the weight of existence-the endless struggle to find meaning in lives they could not
remember.
But the world knew nothing of the deeper design. To others, they were simply mortals, caught in the cruel
hands of fate. But the truth was far greater than anyone could imagine.
And when the final life came, when the last thread of the millionth regression was wovenThe truth would be revealed.
But for now, the story continued.