Chapter 1: Blood on the Wedding Night

Blood!

Blood was everywhere.

In a haze, violet claws tore through a crimson serpent, and a sharp pain pierced his chest.

Ling Xuan’s eyes flew open. The violet-jade phoenix hairpin was just lifting from his chest, a crescent-shaped birthmark welling with fresh blood. “Damn, this isn’t a dream!”

Twin violet eyes stared back at him in the mirror—resolute, with a proud nose, a face that blended feminine charm and masculine vigor, skin fair as cream. The beautiful woman’s tongue flicked a bead of blood from her lips.

His head throbbed violently. Struggling upright, Ling Xuan shouted, “Who are you?”

“Chu Lingxuan, what’s with the act? Are you pretending not to remember me because you think I, Ye Ziyan, am beneath you? Is that why you got drunk and jumped into the river on our wedding night?”

Chu Lingxuan? What Chu Lingxuan? He was Ling Xuan, always had been for twenty years—never changed his name, never used another surname. Since when did he become a Chu?

He glanced around—blue-brick walls, tables in all four corners. Supposedly his wedding night. Aside from the red candles and a touch of festivity, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

If anything stood out, it was the spent candlesticks, their melted wax coiled like a crimson serpent.

A simple bronze mirror reflected a bare scalp, sharply defined features, sword-like brows, and clear eyes—a pretty decent face. Ling Xuan was certain this was himself, yet nothing about this scene was familiar.

Such a beauty—anyone would remember her after a single glance. He searched his memory and found not a trace of a Ye. He’d never had a girlfriend, so how could he possibly have a wedding night?

He’d just started his internship, earning praise for his inherited acupuncture skills. The department head was about to confirm his position ahead of schedule, so he’d treated his colleagues to a celebratory meal.

It was his first time drinking, and he’d indulged a bit too much. Staggering home, he’d stumbled into a stream and blacked out.

Had his coworkers pulled a prank, dressing him up in ancient costume?

But the department head was always strict about personal conduct. Ling Xuan’s scalp tingled at the thought. Still, old habits died hard—a lopsided grin crept to his lips. “Dear lady, where am I?”

“You don’t even recognize your own house? What kind of fool are you playing at?” she snapped, her voice delicate yet furious. With a sweep of her long legs beneath her gauzy nightgown, Ye Ziyan sent him tumbling from the bed with a powerful kick.

“If I have to die at the feet of a beauty, at least I’ll die with a smile.”

His crescent-shaped birthmark throbbed with heat, something squirming under his skin. Ling Xuan chuckled, “My lady, just what have you put inside me?”

The question only enraged the beauty further.

With a flash, she leapt up—her figure sinuous and alluring. Her delicate hand pinched his ear—not unpleasant at first, but then she twisted, and pain shot through him, bringing tears to his eyes.

“Keep acting and I’ll make you regret it,” Ye Ziyan sneered. “A wedding night without blood hardly counts. Keep faking amnesia, and next time it’ll be more than a scratch.”

Was a prank ever this real? Isn’t the wedding night blood supposed to be something else? When did it become a matter of drawing blood from his own skin?

Another sharp tug on his ear, and Ye Qingmei—her anger palpable—scolded, “Hurry up and see Grandfather off. If you keep playing the fool, I won’t mind being a widow on my wedding night.”

Grandfather?

His body shivered involuntarily. Grandfather had passed away long ago. He’d never told anyone—not even in jest would someone else know.

He thought of all the web novels he’d read—a chill ran through him. Had he transmigrated?

But transmigration was supposed to come with new memories. His mind was blank, save for the headache from his hangover.

The only difference was the strange sensation in his body, something winding and writhing like a snake beneath his skin.

“Hurry up, Grandfather’s leaving soon,” Ye Ziyan pressed.

The wooden door creaked open. Ling Xuan looked up, half-convinced he was still dreaming.

A small bridge arched over running water. Trees swayed gently, their shadows playing on the ground, leaves whispering in the breeze. It looked just like the old village in the south of the Yangtze he’d often dreamed about.

Red couplets hung on the doorframe: “The flowing waves carry the moon away; the tides bring the stars ashore.”

Ling Xuan blinked in surprise. Wasn’t that a line from “Spring River, Flower Moon Night,” penned by Emperor Yang of Sui when he was still a crown prince?

A bright red “Double Happiness” character adorned the door, unmistakable. All signs pointed to a recent wedding.

A wave of dizziness passed over him. Had he really transmigrated—become this Chu Lingxuan?

“Where is Grandfather going?” he asked casually. On a wedding night, it was plausible for newlyweds not to recognize each other, but surely Old Master Chu wouldn’t mistake his own grandson?

“You... you really don’t remember?” Ye Ziyan frowned in confusion. How could he forget something as important as where his own grandfather was headed?

If not for the risk of never returning, Old Master Chu wouldn’t have rushed the wedding. Yet here Ling Xuan was, still able to laugh at a time like this.

Laugh?

Ling Xuan was inwardly delighted. Breaking into someone’s wedding chamber on their wedding night—by old customs, he ought to be drowned in a pig cage. He needed to get away, fast.

For now, he’d stall for time and pray no one familiar recognized him. His eyes darted. “Um... what day is it today?”

“The twenty-ninth day of the twelfth month,” Ye Ziyan snorted. “You’ve even forgotten your own wedding day? What exactly is going on in that head of yours, Chu?”

The twenty-ninth? The eve of the New Year. Why would Old Master Chu be leaving at such a time? Was he going to find the real Chu Lingxuan?

In his confusion, a kindly voice called from outside, “Xuan’er, are you up yet?”

“Grandfather?”

The voice struck Ling Xuan to his core—so familiar, unchanged, just as he remembered. His smile froze. “Could Grandfather be like me?”

Stepping through the door, he saw the man etched forever in his memory: the same gentle eyes and warm smile. Everything here felt unreal, but Grandfather was undeniably real.

A flood of emotions welled up. Fighting to keep his composure, Ling Xuan’s voice trembled. Even if he were discovered, let it not be now. “Grandfather...”

“Silly child, I’m just stepping out for a bit,” Old Master Chu said, his gaze full of affection. “A shaved head to show your resolve—you look spirited.”

A shaved head?

Ling Xuan shook his head inwardly. He’d shaved it to empathize with a little girl undergoing chemotherapy—Grandfather had taught him that true doctors possess compassion.

Facing a Grandfather so like his own, he suppressed the urge to reach out and hug him. Forcing calm, he replied, “Grandfather, the New Year is almost here.”

“Your parents have been away for years. This is the perfect chance to visit them,” Old Master Chu reassured him softly. “Next year, our family will be reunited. You should be happy.”

Father? Mother?

Grandfather used to say the same, but Ling Xuan had never met his parents. When he asked, Grandfather would fall silent, only saying they’d gone far, far away.

Later, Ling Xuan learned he was an orphan—his parents had died in the line of duty when he was a baby. He’d always kept up a cheerful front so as not to worry Grandfather.

Now, in this world so different from his own, his parents were alive and working elsewhere.

He thought of the faces he’d only seen in photographs. If Grandfather and he looked so alike, would his parents, too? A surge of yearning overcame him. “Grandfather, let me go with you.”

Old Master Chu shook his head gently. “Xuan’er, you’re married now. You must take on responsibility. Go to my room and study acupuncture well. Don’t let your parents down.”

Each word was just as Ling Xuan remembered. Eyes misting over, he nodded solemnly. “Yes, Grandfather.”

Old Master Chu murmured a few words to Ye Ziyan, then turned and left.

Watching that beloved figure recede—so like the Grandfather who’d vanished in the flood when their village was destroyed—Ling Xuan bit back tears, looking up at the sky.

The sun climbed above the horizon, rays of violet piercing the clouds. Ling Xuan rubbed his eyes in disbelief. When he was sure he wasn’t mistaken, he muttered in shock, “Since when is the sun purple?”

“Still acting?” A chill touched his neck—Ye Ziyan’s violet-jade phoenix hairpin pressed against his skin, its tail sharp as a talon. Her phoenix eyes flashed. “You remember Grandfather, but not me?”

He glanced sideways and caught a glimpse of something purple flashing on her neck before her collar snapped up. “Stare any longer and I’ll gouge out your eyes. And remember—one drop of blood every month, delivered without fail.”

Ling Xuan began to understand Chu Lingxuan’s behavior. Leaning back to keep his neck away from the hairpin, he grumbled inwardly, “A wife who’s a tigress is bad enough, but a blood-sucking tigress? What kind of twisted beginning is this?”