Chapter 1: The Crimson Veil of Fate
The last thing Ling Xiao remembered was the screeching of tires and the suffocating scent of wet asphalt. For twenty-four years, he had lived as a ghost within his own skin, building a meticulous closet of "normalcy" and "perfection" to hide his true self. He was the ideal son, the brilliant professional, the man who never made a mistake—and he had died without ever having lived a single day as himself.
But as the darkness receded, he wasn't met with the sterile white of a hospital or the cold silence of the afterlife. Instead, he was drowning in red.
The air was thick, cloying, and heavily perfumed with expensive sandalwood and the sharp, fermented tang of spilled wine. A heavy, crimson silk veil rested precariously on his head, blurring his vision into a world of blood and shadows. His body felt strangely light, draped in layers of fine, flowing silk that whispered against his skin with every breath—fabrics that definitely did not belong in the 21st century.
Transmigration? The thought had barely formed before a violent surge of foreign memories tore through his mind. Images of a neglected courtyard, a cold-eyed stepmother, and the desperate whispers of servants flooded his consciousness.
He was still Ling Xiao, but in this life, he was the discarded son of a minor official. His family, desperate to curry favor with the powerful Long Clan, had dressed him as a "bride" to fulfill a superstitious decree. He had been sold like cattle to the Empire's most feared man: General Long Wei.
"Ugh..."
A low, guttural groan shattered the silence, sending a jolt of adrenaline through Ling Xiao's veins.
He slowly turned his head. Beside him, draped across a massive rosewood bed, lay a man of terrifying proportions. Even in a state of visible distress, Long Wei exuded a predatory energy that made the very air feel heavy. His obsidian hair was a chaotic mess against the pillows, and his dark wedding robes were torn open at the chest, revealing skin the color of aged ivory and muscles honed by a decade of brutal warfare.
But the General wasn't resting. His face was flushed a deep, feverish crimson, and his breath came in ragged, burning gasps. His large hands were clenched so tightly into the silk sheets that his knuckles were stark white, the fabric groaning under his strength.
The drug, Ling Xiao realized, his pulse skyrocketing.
The memories of this body confirmed the trap. The Long family Matriarch, terrified by a blind seer's prophecy that Long Wei would meet a "bloody disaster" before his thirtieth year, had demanded he marry a man with a specific horoscope to balance his fate. Long Wei, a man of cold logic and steel, had refused to participate in the farce, claiming he had no interest in men. In a desperate move, the family—pushed by the scheming Consort Mei—had laced his wine with a potent, ancient aphrodisiac to force the union.
"Who..." Long Wei's voice was a rasping blade, cutting through the haze.
With a sudden, blur-like speed, the General lunged. His massive hand caught Ling Xiao by the throat. He didn't squeeze to kill, but the sheer power in his grip was absolute, pinning Ling Xiao in place. His eyes, usually described as sharp and calculating, were now clouded with a dark, primal haze of lust and agony.
"Who sent you? Is this... another of her traps?" Long Wei growled, his body trembling as he fought the poison screaming in his blood.
Ling Xiao looked into those burning eyes. For the first time in two lifetimes, the fear didn't make him want to hide. He was in a world where he was already an outcast, married to a man who saw him as an enemy. The mask of "perfection" from his first life was gone—smashed on the asphalt of a distant world.
"I am your husband," Ling Xiao whispered, his voice remarkably steady despite the hand at his neck. He leaned in slightly, a spark of modern defiance lighting up his gaze. "And honey, I'm the only one here to help you through this."
The scent of the General—iron, charcoal, and a raw, masculine heat—swirled around him. The drug was winning; Long Wei's pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black, losing the battle for composure.
"You..." Long Wei leaned in, his forehead resting against Ling Xiao's. His skin was scorching, radiating a heat that felt like a physical weight. "Whatever you are... whoever you are... do not regret this tomorrow."
With a sudden, forceful movement, the General flipped their positions, pinning Ling Xiao deep into the soft silk pillows. The red veil finally slid away, fluttering to the floor like a dying butterfly.
In the dim, flickering light of the dragon-and-phoenix candles, the modern soul and the ancient warrior collided. Ling Xiao closed his eyes, his fingers curling into the General's robes. He had spent his first life in the shadows of a closet; he would start this second one in the heart of the fire.
Outside, the wind howled through the jade pavilions, but inside the marriage chamber, the prophecy had already begun to weave a new, unintended fate.