Chapter 3 - The Mark of the Withered Leaf

The mark should not have existed.

That was the first thought that entered Mingyuan's mind when morning came.

He stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

The black characters remained.

枯叶

Dark.

Ancient.

As if they had been carved into his skin centuries ago.

No matter how many times he washed his chest, the mark remained.

No matter how hard he rubbed.

No matter how much he wished it away.

It remained.

Watching.

Waiting.

Remembering.

While he could not.

The rest of the day felt unreal.

University lectures became distant noise.

Classmates spoke.

Teachers taught.

Phones rang.

Life continued.

Yet Mingyuan felt detached from all of it.

As though he were an actor performing in someone else's story.

His notebook remained open.

Empty.

The professor was discussing economics.

Mingyuan was drawing leaves.

Black leaves.

Again and again.

Without realizing it.

Until

"You're doing it again."

Mingyuan looked up.

His friend Jian sat beside him.

Concern written across his face.

"What?"

"The staring."

"I wasn't staring."

"You absolutely were."

Jian leaned back.

"You look like somebody who's seen a ghost."

Mingyuan laughed.

A forced laugh.

"If I told you the truth, you'd think I was crazy."

Jian grinned.

"We've been friends for ten years."

"Fair point."

"Try me."

Mingyuan hesitated.

Then shook his head.

"No."

Because some things sounded insane even when they were true.

That evening the rain returned.

The city lights reflected across wet pavement.

Mingyuan found himself walking without purpose.

Past restaurants.

Past shops.

Past strangers living ordinary lives.

How strange.

Millions of people existed.

Millions of stories.

Millions of memories.

Yet somehow his own memories felt incomplete.

Like pages torn from a book.

The thought lingered.

Then he saw her.

Again.

Ah-Miao sat alone inside a small bookstore café.

Reading.

The warm yellow lights illuminated her face.

For a moment everything else disappeared.

Traffic.

Rain.

People.

Noise.

Gone.

Only her remained.

Mingyuan stared through the glass.

His heart immediately betrayed him.

That familiar ache.

That impossible longing.

As though he had spent lifetimes searching for someone he had just met.

Ah-Miao looked up.

Their eyes met.

Again.

The same strange recognition appeared.

She smiled.

Small.

Gentle.

Almost shy.

Then she motioned toward the empty seat across from her.

Five minutes later.

Mingyuan sat opposite her.

Holding a cup of coffee he had no intention of drinking.

Silence.

Comfortable silence.

The kind that shouldn't exist between strangers.

Yet somehow did.

"You followed me."

Ah-Miao smiled.

"You noticed."

"Should I be worried?"

"Probably."

For the first time since meeting her, Mingyuan laughed genuinely.

She laughed too.

And for a brief moment

Something inside him felt whole.

"Can I ask you something?"

Ah-Miao nodded.

"Do you ever feel like you've forgotten something important?"

The question surprised even him.

Her smile faded.

Slowly.

Pain appeared in her eyes.

Deep pain.

Old pain.

The kind that comes from losing something irreplaceable.

"Every autumn."

Mingyuan froze.

The exact same words from the dream.

Every autumn.

She continued staring out the window.

Watching rain slide across the glass.

"Sometimes I wake up crying."

Her voice was quiet.

"I don't know why."

Mingyuan listened.

"Sometimes I miss someone."

A pause.

"Someone whose face I can't remember."

Another pause.

"But every year when autumn comes..."

She looked directly at him.

"...the feeling returns."

Neither spoke.

Neither needed to.

Because for the first time

They were not alone in their confusion.

That night.

The dreams returned.

Stronger than before.

Much stronger.

Mingyuan stood within a palace built from darkness.

Thousands of black candles burned.

Ancient pillars stretched endlessly upward.

At the center of the hall stood a throne.

His throne.

And before it

Millions of souls knelt.

A sea of endless spirits.

Their voices echoed together.

"LORD MINGYUAN."

The title shook the palace.

The title shook reality itself.

The title terrified him.

Because he knew it.

Not from the dream.

From memory.

A memory he should not possess.

A memory older than his current life.

Older than the city.

Older than history.

Older than humanity.

The mark upon his chest erupted with pain.

枯叶

Burning brighter.

Brighter.

Brighter.

Then

A woman appeared.

Ah-Miao.

Not mortal.

Not human.

Divine.

Golden light surrounded her.

Stars floated around her like servants.

The entire palace seemed to bow before her existence.

Yet her eyes were filled with tears.

"Mingyuan."

The way she spoke his name shattered him.

As though she had spent centuries waiting to say it.

She took one step forward.

Then another.

And another.

Until she stood before him.

Close enough to touch.

Close enough to remember.

"Mingyuan..."

A tear rolled down her cheek.

"You promised."

Again.

That sentence.

The same sentence.

The same sorrow.

The same unfinished story.

"What did I promise?"

His voice cracked.

The answer mattered.

He could feel it.

More than anything.

But Ah-Miao simply smiled.

A heartbreaking smile.

And whispered:

"You promised that this lifetime would be our last."

Mingyuan woke up screaming.

The mark burned like fire.

The room trembled.

The window shattered.

Black leaves exploded into the apartment.

Dozens.

Hundreds.

Thousands.

Swirling around him.

As if answering a forgotten king.

As if welcoming him home.

And for the first time

A voice emerged from within the mark itself.

Ancient.

Cold.

Patient.

Waiting.

"Remember, Lord of the Underworld."

The leaves froze.

The voice continued.

"The Divine One has awakened."

Silence.

Then one final sentence.

A sentence that made Mingyuan's blood run cold.

"The final autumn has begun."

Outside.

Far beyond the mortal world.

A colossal tree stretched across the heavens.

Its branches held countless black leaves.

All but one had fallen.

Only a single leaf remained.

Waiting.

For the end.

Or the beginning.

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