Yifan couldn't concentrate for the rest of Professor Wang's presentation. His mind kept returning to those ice-blue eyes, that overwhelming sense of recognition, the way his entire body had responded to a single glance from a stranger. When the lecture finally ended, he practically bolted from the hall, ignoring Qingqing's confused questions about his sudden urgency to leave.
"Fanfan, wait up!" she called, jogging to catch him as he hurried down the corridor. "What's gotten into you? You've been acting strange all morning."
"I just need some air," Yifan said, pushing through the building's main doors into the crisp October morning. He scanned the quad anxiously, looking for any sign of the dark-haired man, but saw only the usual clusters of students moving between classes.
"Was it something Professor Wang said? I know he can be intimidating, but your thesis proposal is solid. You don't need to worry—"
"It's not that," Yifan interrupted, then softened his tone. "Sorry. I didn't sleep well. Strange dreams."
That much was true, at least. Qingqing's expression shifted to concern, and she linked her arm through his in a gesture of comfort. "Want to talk about it? We have an hour before your next class."
They found a bench under one of the old ginkgo trees that lined the main pathway, its leaves turning brilliant yellow with the season. Yifan sat heavily, his backpack dropping beside him. How could he explain dreams that felt more like memories? Visions of flying with wings of fire, of a love so profound it transcended death itself, of choosing flame over betrayal?
"I keep dreaming about phoenixes," he said finally, choosing his words carefully. "But not like the mythology I've been studying. In the dreams, I am the phoenix. And there's someone else, someone who's been waiting for me. Someone I loved and lost."
Qingqing was quiet for a moment, processing this. As a Beta, she'd always been pragmatic about the more mystical aspects of their world. "Dreams can be intense when you're stressed. You've been working on this thesis for months, barely sleeping, and you're still grieving your grandmother. It's not surprising your subconscious is processing everything through your research."
"I know that's the logical explanation," Yifan said. "But these dreams feel different. They feel real, like I'm remembering something rather than imagining it."
"Have you been taking your medication regularly?"
"Every day at six PM, just like always."
"Maybe you should see a doctor. Get your dosage checked or—"
Yifan's phone buzzed in his pocket, cutting her off. He pulled it out, half-expecting another anonymous warning message. Instead, it was an email notification from the university archives. The subject line read: "RE: Your inquiry about Shen family records."
He didn't remember making any such inquiry.
With trembling fingers, he opened the email. It was from Dr. Liu, the head archivist, a elderly Beta woman who'd been with the university for decades. The message was brief:
"Mr. Shen, I found something unusual while processing old donation materials. There are documents related to your family that your grandmother deposited with us years ago, with instructions that they be released to you only after her death. Given the recent tragedy, I believe now is the appropriate time. Please come to the archives at your earliest convenience. This matter is quite sensitive."
Yifan's heart began to race. His grandmother had left documents for him? Why had she never mentioned this?
"I have to go," he said abruptly, standing up.
"What? Where? You have class in—"
"Cancel my afternoon. Tell Professor Chen I'm sick. I'll make up the work." He was already walking toward the archives building on the far side of campus, his earlier exhaustion forgotten in a surge of adrenaline.
Qingqing called after him, but he didn't stop. The archives were housed in one of the oldest buildings on campus, a three-story structure of gray stone that had survived wars and revolutions. Inside, it smelled of old paper, preservation chemicals, and the particular mustiness of history stored away from light.
Dr. Liu was waiting in her office on the second floor, a small room crammed with filing cabinets and stacks of documents awaiting processing. She was a diminutive woman in her seventies, with silver hair pulled into a neat bun and reading glasses hanging from a chain around her neck.
"Mr. Shen," she greeted him, her expression grave. "Thank you for coming so quickly. Please, sit down."
Yifan sat in the chair across from her desk, noticing a locked metal box sitting between them. It was perhaps thirty centimeters square, made of some dark metal that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Strange characters were engraved along its edges—not modern Chinese, but something older, more archaic.
"Your grandmother brought this to us fifteen years ago," Dr. Liu began. "She was very specific about the conditions. I was to keep it in our most secure storage, tell no one of its existence, and release it to you only upon confirmation of her death. She also left this letter for you."
She handed him a sealed envelope, yellowed with age, his name written on the front in his grandmother's elegant calligraphy. Yifan's hands shook as he took it.
"I'll give you privacy," Dr. Liu said, rising from her chair. "Lock the door behind me. When you're finished, come find me. And Mr. Shen—" she paused at the door, "—your grandmother was a remarkable woman. Whatever you find in there, know that she loved you very much."
The door closed softly behind her, and Yifan was alone with his grandmother's final message.
He stared at the envelope for a long moment before carefully breaking the seal. Inside was a single sheet of paper, covered in his grandmother's handwriting:
"My dearest Fanfan,
If you are reading this, then I am gone, and the protections I placed around you are failing. By now, you must be experiencing strange dreams, feeling watched, perhaps even seeing things that shouldn't exist. Do not be afraid. You are not losing your mind. You are waking up.
Everything I told you about your parents was a lie—a necessary lie to keep you safe. Your mother was not a normal woman who died in a car accident. She was a Guardian, one of the supernatural protectors of our world. And you, my precious boy, are not just my grandson. You are something far more rare and precious: you are the Phoenix, reborn once again into this world.
I have spent your entire life suppressing your true nature with medication and protective charms, keeping you hidden from those who would use you, claim you, or worse. But suppression cannot last forever. The Phoenix always awakens, usually triggered by emotional trauma or approaching maturity. I had hoped to prepare you gradually, but fate rarely cooperates with our plans.
In the box, you will find your mother's journal, documentation of our family's true history, and most importantly, a letter she wrote to you before she died. Read everything. Learn your truth. But most critically, you must understand this: you are not safe. The moment your powers fully manifest, every Alpha of significant power in the supernatural world will sense it. They will come for you.
Some will court you with honey and promises. Some will try to take you by force. And one—one will claim you belong to him by ancient right. He is the Dragon King, Long Tianyu, and he was your bonded mate in your previous life. A thousand years ago, you loved him enough to die rather than be separated from him. He has waited for your return ever since.
I do not trust him, Fanfan. He is ancient, powerful, and possessive beyond reason. But I also know that the bond between Phoenix and Dragon runs deeper than death itself. When you meet him—and you will meet him—trust your heart but guard it carefully. Do not let destiny choose for you. You are Shen Yifan, not just the Phoenix. Your choices are your own.
The medication I gave you will stop working soon. When it does, your first heat will come. It will be intense, dangerous, and every Alpha within miles will respond to it. Get somewhere safe. Call Mo Ran—her number is in the documents. She is a dragon, but she is not aligned with Tianyu, and she owes me a life debt. She will help you.
I'm sorry, my boy. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you longer. I'm sorry I couldn't prepare you better. I'm sorry I won't be there to guide you through what's coming. But I believe in you. You are stronger than you know, braver than you believe, and you deserve to choose your own fate.
Be careful. Be smart. Be yourself.
All my love, always,
Grandmother
P.S. - The box opens with your blood. Place your thumb on the lock and press."
Yifan read the letter three times, each reading making his heart pound harder. This was insane. Supernatural world? Phoenix? Dragon King? His grandmother had been old, but never senile, never prone to fantasy or delusion. Yet this letter read like something from a fantasy novel.
Except it explained so much. His strange dreams. The feeling of being watched. That overwhelming recognition when he'd locked eyes with the dark-haired stranger. Those ice-blue eyes that had seemed to look straight into his soul.
The Dragon King.
No. This was impossible. He was a rational person, a scholar, grounded in historical fact and academic rigor. There had to be another explanation. His grandmother had been ill perhaps, paranoid in her final years, and he'd been too wrapped up in his studies to notice.
But even as he thought this, something deep inside him whispered: truth.
His hands moved almost of their own accord, reaching for the metal box. The lock was a smooth indentation, sized perfectly for a thumbprint. Before he could talk himself out of it, Yifan pressed his thumb against it.
Sharp pain lanced through his finger. He jerked back, watching in shock as a thin line of blood appeared on his thumb. The blood seemed to be drawn into the lock, absorbed by the metal, and suddenly the box clicked open.
Inside, carefully wrapped in silk, were several items: a leather-bound journal, a stack of old photographs, various documents that looked official despite their age, and a sealed letter marked "For my son, when he wakes."
Yifan lifted out the journal first. The leather was worn soft with handling, and when he opened it, he recognized his grandmother's younger handwriting on the first page:
"This journal belonged to my daughter, Shen Meilin, Guardian of the Southern Territories and mother to the Phoenix Reborn. She began writing it when she discovered she was pregnant, and continued until three days before her death. I have preserved it for her son, so that he might know the mother he never had the chance to remember."
Yifan turned the page, and his mother's voice reached across twenty-two years:
"I am pregnant with the Phoenix. I don't know how I know this with such certainty, but I do. From the moment of conception, I could feel the power growing inside me, ancient and vast and beautiful. My child will be extraordinary. My child will also be in terrible danger from the moment of birth.
The supernatural world has been waiting a thousand years for the Phoenix's return. The previous Phoenix died in flames rather than submit to a forced bonding, and her sacrifice shifted the balance of power across all the clans. When my child is born, that balance will become precarious once again. Everyone will want to control the Phoenix, to claim the power and prestige that comes with bonding the most legendary Omega in existence.
I am afraid. Not for myself—I accepted the risks of being a Guardian long ago—but for my baby. How do you protect a child destined for such greatness and such danger? How do you give them a normal childhood when their very existence will spark political wars?
My mother has a plan. She always has plans. We will hide the child, suppress their nature, raise them as fully human. It's dangerous—suppression can damage a supernatural's development—but the alternative is worse. Better a slightly weakened Phoenix who survives to adulthood than a powerful child who's stolen or killed before they can grow into their strength.
And there is another complication: Long Tianyu has already declared his intention to claim my child. He doesn't know me, has never seen me, but he knows I carry the Phoenix Reborn, and he believes that gives him rights. 'The Phoenix is mine,' he announced at the last Council meeting. 'She was mine a thousand years ago, and she will be mine again. I will wait however long necessary, but she belongs to me.'
The arrogance. The presumption. I wanted to burn him where he stood.
But I also felt pity, which surprised me. He has waited a millennium for his mate to return, has lived with grief and loneliness that would have destroyed a weaker being. In his own twisted way, he believes he's protecting what's his, claiming what destiny owes him.
He doesn't understand that destiny owes him nothing. That the Phoenix is not an object to be possessed. That love without choice is not love at all.
I will do everything in my power to ensure my child has what the previous Phoenix did not: time. Time to grow, to learn, to become themselves before the supernatural world comes calling. Time to choose their own path, their own mate, their own destiny.
If I die before my child is grown—and I may, Guardian work is dangerous—I trust my mother to carry out our plan. She is strong enough, clever enough, ruthless enough to protect what I cannot.
To my child, if you're reading this: I loved you before you were born. I loved you enough to give up my own dreams of watching you grow, of teaching you myself, of being there for your first transformation and your first heat. I chose your safety over my own desires, and I would make that choice again without hesitation.
You are the Phoenix. You are also my baby. Both can be true. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
Tears blurred Yifan's vision. He wiped them away impatiently, turning page after page of his mother's journal. She documented her pregnancy, her growing fears, her fierce determination to protect her unborn child. She wrote about the supernatural world with the casual familiarity of someone who'd lived in it all her life—Guardians and clans, politics and power struggles, the delicate balance that prevented outright war.
And she wrote about him. About feeling him move inside her, about singing to him, about the dreams she had of his future. Dreams that were both hopeful and terrified.
The journal ended abruptly three days before his birth:
"The contractions are starting. My mother has prepared everything—the suppression medicines, the protective charms, the falsified records that will make my baby appear fully human. Long Tianyu and his people are watching, waiting for the birth. We will have to move quickly.
If this is my last entry, if something goes wrong—please know I tried. Please know I loved you. Please know you deserved better than this world of politics and predators.
But you are the Phoenix. You will rise from whatever ashes you're born into. You will be magnificent.
I believe that with everything I am.
Your mother, always."
Yifan closed the journal carefully, his hands trembling. His mother had died shortly after his birth—not in a car accident as he'd been told, but in a Guardian battle defending him from enemies who'd tried to steal him. His grandmother had told him this in one of the documents, a clinical report that couldn't hide the violence and sacrifice of that day.
She'd fought off three separate attempts to kidnap the newborn Phoenix before dying from her wounds. Her last act had been to place protective wards around him, wards that had held for twenty-two years.
Until now.
The sealed letter from his mother was next. Inside, written in shaking handwriting that suggested it had been penned while in labor or shortly after, was a simple message:
"My son,
You are loved. You are powerful. You are free.
Don't let anyone—not Alphas seeking power, not ancient kings claiming destiny, not even fate itself—tell you who you must be or who you must love.
The Phoenix chooses. Always.
Choose well. Choose freely. Choose yourself first.
With all my heart,
Mom"
Yifan sat back in his chair, feeling like the ground had fallen away beneath him. Every certainty he'd held about his life, his family, his very identity had just been shattered and reassembled into something completely different.
He was the Phoenix. A legendary supernatural Omega who reincarnated every thousand years. The source of immense power and political struggle. Already claimed by an ancient Dragon King who'd been waiting a millennium for his return.
And apparently, his suppressants were failing. His first heat was coming. The supernatural world would sense his awakening and come for him.
He should be terrified. He should be in denial. He should be running to the nearest psychiatrist to check if he was having some kind of psychotic break.
Instead, he felt an odd sense of relief. Finally, the pieces fit. Finally, his strange dreams and inexplicable fascinations made sense. Finally, he understood why he'd always felt like something vital was missing, why he'd never quite fit in his own skin, why phoenixes had called to him with the voice of memory.
He pulled out his phone and found the number his grandmother had left—Mo Ran's contact information. His thumb hovered over the call button. Once he made this call, once he reached out to the supernatural world, there would be no going back. He'd be confirming what he was, opening himself to all the danger and complexity his mother and grandmother had died to protect him from.
But what was the alternative? Wait for his suppressants to fail at an inconvenient moment? Have his first heat in the middle of campus, surrounded by Alphas who would respond without restraint? Pretend he could go back to being normal Shen Yifan, history student, after reading his mother's journal?
Before he could overthink it, Yifan pressed dial.
The phone rang twice before a crisp female voice answered, "Who is this?"
"My name is Shen Yifan. My grandmother was—"
"I know who you are," the voice interrupted. "She's dead, isn't she? The wards just collapsed yesterday."
"Three months ago. Car accident."
A long pause. "I'm sorry. She was a remarkable woman." Another pause. "Why are you calling me now?"
"She left me a letter. She said you could help when... when things started happening."
"Have they started happening?"
Yifan thought of the dreams, the mysterious stranger with ice-blue eyes, the way his body had responded to a single glance. "Yes."
"How close to heat?"
"I don't know. I've never had one. The suppressants—"
"Are probably failing as we speak. Listen carefully, Shen Yifan. Take tonight's dose as normal. Tomorrow morning, skip it. Come to this address." She rattled off a location in the mountains outside Beijing. "Come alone. Tell no one. If you're followed, I can't help you. Understood?"
"How will I know if I'm followed?"
"You'll feel it. The watching sensation you've been experiencing? That's your Phoenix instincts waking up. Trust them." She paused. "One more thing. Has he contacted you yet?"
"Who?"
"You know who. Long Tianyu. The Dragon King. Has he approached you?"
Yifan remembered those ice-blue eyes, that overwhelming sense of recognition and possession. "I think so. I saw someone today who... who felt familiar. Impossible, but familiar."
Mo Ran's voice sharpened. "Description."
"Tall, long dark hair, ice-blue eyes. Traditional clothing. He looked at me like..." Yifan struggled for words. "Like he owned me. Like he'd been waiting for me."
"That's him. He sensed the wards failing. He's been watching, waiting for you to fully wake up." Her tone became urgent. "Listen very carefully. Long Tianyu is powerful, ancient, and utterly convinced that you belong to him by right of your past life bond. He is also patient, strategic, and possessive beyond measure. He will not force you—it's against his code—but he will do everything in his considerable power to make you choose him. Resist if you can. The Phoenix needs to choose freely, not from destiny or pressure."
"My mother said the same thing in her letter."
"Your mother was wise. Keep her wisdom close." Mo Ran's voice softened slightly. "Tomorrow morning. Mountain address. Don't be late. And Shen Yifan? Welcome to your true world. I wish the circumstances were better."
The call disconnected.
Yifan sat in Dr. Liu's office for another hour, reading through the rest of the documents. Birth certificates—his real one, showing his mother's true identity. Guardian records detailing his family's history. Reports from the night of his birth, clinical descriptions of the battle that had killed his mother. Photographs of his parents—his mother beautiful and fierce in Guardian armor, his father a human scholar who'd apparently died of mundane illness when Yifan was two.
And sketches, dozens of sketches his mother had made during her pregnancy. Drawings of a phoenix in flight. Drawings of a small boy with his father's gentle smile and his mother's determined eyes. Drawings of a future she'd hoped for but never got to see.
When he finally emerged from the archives, the sun was setting, painting the campus in shades of gold and crimson that reminded him uncomfortably of fire. He'd missed all his afternoon classes. His phone showed seventeen missed calls from Qingqing and a dozen increasingly worried text messages.
He called her back.
"Where have you been?" she practically shouted. "I've been worried sick! You disappeared for seven hours!"
"I'm sorry. Family emergency. Archive stuff. I'm okay."
"You don't sound okay. You sound... I don't know. Different."
She was more perceptive than he'd given her credit for. He was different. Fundamentally, irrevocably different from the person who'd woken up this morning thinking he was just a normal Omega student with a passion for mythology.
"Can we talk tomorrow?" he asked. "I need to process some things."
"Fanfan, you're scaring me."
"I know. I'm sorry. I promise I'll explain everything tomorrow. Just... trust me for now?"
She agreed reluctantly, and Yifan walked back to the dormitory in a daze. He took his suppressant at six PM as usual, wondering if it would be his last. Tomorrow morning, he would skip it. Tomorrow morning, he would start the process of becoming who—what—he truly was.
That night, the dreams came back stronger than ever.
He was the Phoenix, soaring through an ancient sky. Below him, a war raged—supernatural creatures of every description locked in battle. And there, in the center of the chaos, was the Dragon King, massive and terrible in his true form, azure scales gleaming like sapphires, ice and lightning crackling around him.
Their eyes met across the battlefield. The dragon roared his name—not Yifan, but the name he'd carried a thousand years ago. A name that meant "eternal flame" in a language no longer spoken by humans.
"Mine," the dragon's voice echoed in his mind, resonant with power and longing. "Come back to me. You promised. You promised forever."
The phoenix dove toward him, wings of fire spread wide, and as they met, the dream shifted—
To a quiet garden, moonlight silver on stone pathways. The Dragon King in human form, younger-looking but unmistakably the same being. He knelt before the Phoenix—also human-formed, a beautiful person who looked nothing like Yifan but felt exactly like him—and offered a jade pendant carved with intricate designs.
"Bond with me," the Dragon King said, his voice soft with devotion. "Choose me freely, and I will spend eternity worthy of that choice."
The Phoenix took the pendant, smiling. "I choose you, Tianyu. Not because of destiny or politics or fate. Because of this." They placed their hand over his heart. "Because you see me. Not what I represent, but who I am."
"Always," Tianyu promised.
But the dream darkened. Council chambers, angry voices, political machinations. "The Phoenix cannot bond Dragon. The balance requires Phoenix to bond West, to Tiger. It is decided."
"We're already bonded!" Tianyu's roar shook the walls. Ice spread across the floor, deadly and cold.
"Then it will be undone." An elderly voice, merciless. "There are ways. Unpleasant, but effective."
The Phoenix's horror. The desperate attempt to flee. The trap closing around them both. And finally, the choice: submit to the forced bond breaking and betray the mate they'd chosen, or choose death.
"I'm sorry," the Phoenix whispered to Tianyu, flames already engulfing their body. "I can't. I won't. I love you too much to let them make a mockery of what we are."
"NO!" Tianyu's anguished scream. "Don't leave me! Please! I'll fix this! I'll—"
"Live," the Phoenix commanded, their final words before the flames consumed them entirely. "Wait for me. Find me when I return. I will always choose you. Always."
Yifan woke sobbing, the phantom pain of burning still searing his nerves. Across the room, Qingqing slept undisturbed, unaware of his distress. He stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, trying to separate dream from memory, past from present.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't a dream at all. It was memory, his memory from a life he'd lived and lost a thousand years ago. He had loved Long Tianyu. Had chosen him freely. Had died rather than betray that choice.
And if those memories were real, then Tianyu's claim wasn't baseless possession or ancient arrogance. It was grief. It was a millennium of waiting for a promise to be fulfilled. It was love that had survived death and time and the weight of centuries.
Which made everything so much more complicated.
Yifan looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror—dark hair messy from sleep, brown eyes red from crying, face still soft with youth. He didn't look like a legendary Phoenix. He looked like what he was: a twenty-two-year-old college student who'd just had his entire world turned upside down.
"What do I do?" he whispered to his reflection.
His reflection didn't answer, but somewhere deep inside, the Phoenix stirred—ancient, powerful, and finally beginning to wake.