Since time immemorial, before stones were raised and walls were built, there was a tale passed down through generations in the darkness of nights, whispered by the winds through ancient alleyways: the tale of the Phoenix. A bird of fire and ashes, born from its own burning, a symbol of strength emerging from pain, the guardian of the city when walls burn and hearts crumble. They used to say: a day will come when flames consume everything, and only then will she descend from the sky, carrying in her wings both salvation and destruction.
No one knew her true form, nor the time of her appearance. But her name echoed faintly between house walls, in the prayers of women behind closed windows, and in the conversations of men around the fire at night. Between desperate belief and fearful mockery, the Phoenix was the mystery that guarded the city's dreams and nightmares.
And in the central city of "Lingzhou," where streets were adorned with stone arches carved with lotus flowers, and silk lanterns swayed between manicured trees, the textile market pulsed with opulent life. Air fragrant with the scent of cedar and sandalwood, smooth stone pavements gleaming under the sunlight.
At the intersection of the two main passages, where a building of varnished red wood rose, topped with a roof of green tiles, "Master Liang's Drapery" radiated elegance and calm. From behind the silk curtain embroidered with golden threads, a gruff voice erupted:
"Liiiuuuu Raaaai! Didn't I call you three times?"
The girl emerged from between the neatly stacked fabric shelves, her long, dark black hair disheveled, with a strand stuck at the corner of her mouth. She said hurriedly, lowering her head:
"Sorry, Master, I was cleaning the upper floor..."
"No excuses for slowness. The silk handkerchief embroidered with birds that Lady Chen requested, where is it?"
"Alright, I'll fetch it right away!"
She rushed among the customers with an unsteady gait, carrying a heavy bolt of fabric that nearly dragged her to the ground, her eyes searching for the face of her requester. Suddenly, a lady grabbed her arm: "Girl, this robe has a flaw, look!"
Behind her, an old man complained: "The size is not as agreed!"
And another voice called from the upper floor where the office was: "Liu Rui! The tea is cold!"
"Coming, Master, I'll bring fresh tea right away!"
Voices overlapped: the shouts of vendors outside, the rustle of fabrics, the clinking of coins, the relentless sound of the sewing machine needle. Amidst all this, Liu Rui carried the tea tray and cups, trying to reach the stairs without spilling a single drop. She moved forward, but her motion was somewhat clumsy, and she almost tripped over the edge of the expensive carpet.
From a corner of the shop, where the assistants sat cleaning tools, she heard a faint whisper. "Look at her walking as if dancing on hot coals."
The three assistants—young men with polished elegance and calculated smiles—watched her with eyes not devoid of hidden mockery. One of them, named Ming, turned his face towards his colleague. "They say her father can't pay his debts again."
"Ming, that's none of our business," said Master Liang without looking up, examining a piece of fabric in his hands. "But the truth is, the girl... is fortunate to have found work in such a refined place, which only suits those of ambition and stature."
Liu Rui held her breath for a moment. She had learned to swallow words like stones and to smile despite the bitterness of what she heard. She looked out the large window overlooking the inner garden, where water flowed in small marble channels.
Outside, in the shop's front courtyard, a group of merchants sat on carved bamboo seats, exchanging conversations:
"...There are repeated rumors of unusual movements by the Northern Army near the mountain passes."
"Every year the same rumors. Remember last time? It was just a military exercise."
"But my sources at the court say..."
"Your sources seek excitement where there is none."
Talk of war was presented merely as a topic for discussion among businessmen, not as a real threat. Liu Rui heard it as she carried a small box of the requested handkerchief. She paused for a moment, not out of fear of a distant army, but because she was curious.
"Liu Rui! The sun will set before you finish!"
Master Liang's voice shook the girl from her reverie. She hurried to the central table, where she spread the handkerchief with an unskilled motion, almost knocking over a small flower vase.
In the quiet corner of the shop, while placing the handkerchief in a presentation box wrapped in soft paper, she looked at her small, calloused hands, and her thoughts strayed to her drunkard father, her indifferent mother, and her wages that were often not given, consumed by the household supplies and her father's drink. She grew sad and felt exhausted and sorry for herself.
She looked through the open window. She saw an aristocratic procession passing on the main street: porters carrying a palanquin covered with silk curtains, guards with shiny armor, women laughing tinkling laughs like bells from inside the palanquin.
In those distant palaces, the legend of the Phoenix was told at tea parties, as a beautiful metaphor that it was a savior bird.
But Liu Rui knew another version of the legend: a bird born from sincere suffering, not from opulent wealth. But she kept this idea to herself, like a poor treasure she carried in her heart.
She heard Ming whispering to his colleague: "If the army really approaches, it will be the problem of the great ones, not ours."
And his tone carried a strange relief, like someone who finds solace in the fact that great disasters do not concern the small.
Liu Rui returned to arranging the shelves, each of her movements lacking the expected grace in such a place. The Phoenix was for her just a bird in a tale she heard from traveling vendors, less real than the contemptuous glances she received every day, and farther than she could imagine having any relation to her or her fate.
While Liu Rui thought her biggest worry was her father's debts, another pair of eyes was watching her from the shadows—eyes that saw not a girl, but an opportunity.
Jiang Shui...
He was no ordinary man. His deliberate elegance hid a sharp coldness in his eyes, and his calculated smile was like a sword sheathed in silk. He stood under the balcony of the luxurious "White Moon" teahouse, watching Liu Rui's humble procession as she crossed the decaying wooden bridge.
"Is that her?" he asked without turning.
"Yes, Master Jiang. Liu Rui, daughter of the drunkard from the 'Rotten Rice' district."
"And the mother?"
"Works at the 'Wilted Flower' tavern. She always runs away when they ask her."
Jiang Shui finally turned, a cunning glint in his eyes. "Perfect. No family to protect her, no status to defend her. And... beautiful enough to believe someone might care for her."
His servant took a step forward. "But she's so naive, Master. Will the plan work with someone this simple?"
Jiang Shui laughed a faint laugh like the rustle of dry autumn leaves. "Simplicity is exactly what I want. Educated fools doubt, the smart calculate. But the naive... they believe. And this one will believe in me."
That morning...
Liu Rui's sole concern was to please Master Liang. He had asked her to fetch for him from the "White Moon" teahouse a rare type of green tea leaves, the kind served only to his elite customers. The task itself made her feel a new importance—or so she was led to believe—for he had sent her personally, not one of his confident assistants.
She arranged her stray locks of hair as best she could, wearing her cleanest dress, a faded cotton dress whose color had washed out over the years. She breathed deeply, trying to calm the fluttering butterflies in her chest. Entering the "White Moon" teahouse was not an ordinary matter for someone like her.
She entered a world of polished calm. Golden sunlight filtered through the carved paper windows to embrace the gleaming wooden floor. In the air, the fragrance of a mix of dry tea leaves, sandalwood incense, and expensive musk. Every breath here cost more than she earned in a day.
She advanced cautiously, her worn shoes making a faint scraping sound. She looked around for the servant among the customers—men in soft silk robes, ladies in intricately embroidered attire—looking at her with glances that mixed indifference and curiosity.
She handed the message and money to the servant and retreated to a corner, trying to occupy as little space as possible. She looked at a nearby table, where literati were discussing a poem. One of them raised his teacup and recited a verse about "beauty hiding in dark corners." Liu Rui felt a strange tenderness, as if the words touched something deep within her.
Then the unexpected happened.
When the servant returned carrying the wrapped box of tea, she reached out to take it. But the worn, frayed lace of her old shoe suddenly snapped. Her body involuntarily leaned forward, and her foot slipped on the polished wood.
She let out a faint gasp of alarm and began to fall. The tea box flew from her hands. In that moment when she felt humiliation would swallow her, two strong arms shot out from her side.
They caught her before she hit the ground, with surprising steadiness. She felt the texture of extremely soft fabric against her cheek, and the faint scent of sandalwood mixed with a pure fragrance like morning dew.
She slowly raised her head, and her gaze climbed from the luxurious robe to the face above it.
This was the first time she saw Jiang Shui.
Her eyes met eyes resembling two deep lakes on a clear night, carrying a calm brilliance and a clarity that pierced all veils. There was no mockery or pity in them. There was something she had never encountered before: recognition. Seeing her as she was, standing there.
Her heartbeats stopped for a moment, then returned to beat with a strange speed, like small drums announcing the fall of a fortress.
The man smiled a slight smile at the corner of his mouth. "It seems the floor enjoys an exceptional shine today." Then he gently helped her stand and bent to pick up the tea box. He examined it. "It's intact. The quality here doesn't disappoint."
He returned the box to her, his fingers touching hers for a moment. His hand was warm, and his touch was soft and firm.
"Thank you... sir," she whispered, her voice almost disappearing.
"Jiang Shui," he said, his eyes not leaving her face. "And the sky tells me you are Liu Rui."
How did he know her name? Her astonishment made her forget to ask.
"I've noticed you before," he said, as if answering her silent question. "In the market. You endure what many cannot with a smile."
Every word he said was like a drop of water on parched earth. She was not accustomed to this kind of speech, to this attention.
Suddenly, the anxious voice of the servant intervened. "Master Jiang, is everything alright?"
Jiang Shui turned to him, his smile acquiring a touch of polite coldness. "Absolutely. This lady is my guest. Please bring her a cup of cold jasmine tea."
Before she could protest, she found herself sitting on a comfortable chair at a table in the corner, a fragrant cup of tea before her. And Jiang Shui sitting opposite her, simply... there.
"Don't worry about time," he said quietly. "I will inform Master Liang myself that I take responsibility for any delay."
And that morning, under the golden light of the "White Moon" teahouse, in the moment she fell, Liu Rui fell in love.
She fell in love with the hand that caught her before the fall. She fell in love with the gaze that saw her as a human being. She fell in love with the beautiful illusion that handsome stranger presented to her—the illusion that she deserved to be rescued, deserved to sit here, deserved attention.
What she did not see was the look Jiang Shui gave the servant before sitting down—a silent directive look, as if saying: "The plan is proceeding as it should."
And so the game began. A game where love was the bait, trust the weapon, and a naive heart the prize. Liu Rui had taken her first step into a labyrinth where every kindness was a turn, every smile a dead end, and the only way out was through a fire she didn't yet know she carried inside.
[End of Chapter One]