For the Nth time, Yu Cui cursed her own name.

Yu Cui—so plain when written, so melancholic when spoken. She had no idea what her father had been thinking when he picked it.

It wasn’t as if she had never protested. She had even thrown tantrums, begging to change it. Yet her father had been adamant.

Legend had it their family was a distant branch of the Yu clan—the same lineage as the famous Consort Yu, who served as concubine to Xiang Yu, the Hegemon-King of Western Chu during the fall of the Qin dynasty. 

Among the Yu family, there was an ancestral prohibition—No daughter could be given the name “Yu Cui.”

All because the character ‘Cui’ (翠) could be dissected into ‘Yu’ (羽 – feather, Xiang Yu’s namesake) and ‘Zu’ (卒 – death), together signifying ‘Xiang Yu’s death.’ This prohibition against naming the Yu family’s daughters ‘Cui’ was so absolute that it had been formally inscribed in the family’s ancestral precepts.

But this was the 21st century—who still believed such nonsense?

Her father, apparently.

When she was born, he had stubbornly insisted on calling her Yu Cui, despite the rule.

So, she became the unlucky girl who bore that name.

Yu Cui narrowed her eyes and set down the book in her hands, which happened to be about the Hegemon-King himself. Given her surname and the name so explicitly tied to Xiang Yu, by all rights, she should have been fascinated with that tumultuous period between the fall of Qin and the rise of Han.

Yet inexplicably, every encounter with this history brought a throbbing pain to her temples. 

Today’s history lesson had landed squarely on Xiang Yu—just hearing his name made her head ache anew. Coupled with her history teacher’s endless droning, she simply fled the classroom.

Damn it!

It was all her father’s fault for giving her this ridiculous name.

Also, the fact that he had the audacity to say she looked more and more beautiful like the historical Consort Yu, as if she were born for this fate.

Fate, my foot!

The early winter sunlight offered little warmth, brushing her shoulders with only a faint caress. Yu Cui took a deep breath of the crisp, chilled air, stretched her limbs, and glanced at the watch on her wrist. 

It was probably about time to head back.

It wasn’t even a weekend.

A girl her age wandering the streets at this hour clearly looked like a truant. Along the way, several passersby had already given her stern and judgmental looks. She had no choice but to bow her head as low as possible, pretending not to notice.

Clack!

Perhaps because she had been walking without lifting her gaze, something on the ground caught her eye—an object had just fallen. She bent down to pick it up and found it was an exquisitely embroidered red pouch.

Quickening her pace, she approached the two men ahead and held out the pouch. “You dropped this.”

Yu Cui raised her head to take a closer look at the pair.

The taller man wore stylish glasses, had brown dyed hair, and was wearing a black knee-length wool coat. He had a standard build and handsome features, like a model from a fashion magazine.

The man beside him was slightly shorter but was only wearing a thin black Zhongshan suit. On the left side of his chest, an exquisitely embroidered crimson dragon coiled its way across the fabric. Its ferocious head bared its teeth near his collarbone, while its sinuous body twisted around his waist.

The shimmering scales caught the sunlight and reflected a spectrum of colors, dazzlingly lifelike, so vivid that Yu Cui could not tear her eyes away.

The taller man chuckled, “Boss, I never would’ve guessed you carry a pouch like some dainty woman.”

Yu Cui had been so captivated by the embroidered dragon that she hadn’t even looked at the man himself. Now, hearing the teasing remark, she lifted her gaze toward the one called “Boss.”

His complexion was strikingly pale, his black hair possessed a soft texture, and his phoenix eyes held a detached indifference, which was momentarily broken by a flicker of surprise as his gaze fell upon her.

Yu Cui blinked. 

Surprise? 

Was she imagining??

“You’re Yu Cui?” the man in the Zhongshan suit asked.

Startled, she was about to question how he knew her name, until she followed his gaze and realized her student ID badge was still pinned to her chest.

No wonder so many people had stared at her on the way here…

With a twitch at the corner of her lips, she silently removed the badge and stuffed it out of sight. “Yes, I’m Yu Cui.”

The man repeated her name under his breath a few times, his long, narrow eyes studying her with a depth that made her uneasy. After a brief pause, he curved his lips into a cryptic smile. “This pouch is fated to be yours. You should keep it.”

What nonsense!

She loathed talk of “fate” more than anything.

Yu Cui wanted nothing more than to fling the pouch back in his face. She might not know much about embroidery, but even she could tell that this was no mass-produced trinket. The material was supple, and the needlework exquisite. 

She took a deep breath, shoved down the irritation rising in her chest, and firmly thrust the pouch back into his hands before turning on her heel to leave.

These days, it was best not to linger with strangers—far too many ill-intentioned people in the world.

“Wait,” the man suddenly called out.

Yu Cui had no intention of stopping—until he began calling her name in a voice so soft and otherworldly it sent a chill down her spine. It was the sort of tone one might use to summon a spirit. 

Despite herself, she paused.

“I own an antique shop nearby,” he said, “the one called Ya She.”

Yu Cui remained silent as she watched the boss pour out a small, round object from the pouch—about the size of a melon seed, resembling some kind of nut. 

He placed it in her palm and said, “This is a seed of Papaver rhoeas. Since fate has brought you to this pouch, Lady Yu, consider it a token of thanks for returning the pouch. You might want to plant it in a pot when you get home.”

[虞美人(yú měi rén), specifically known as Papaver rhoeas Linnaeus. Its blood-red petals are traditionally associated with Consort Yu (虞姬), whose tragic death is said to have given rise to these flowers, sprouting from the very soil stained by her blood. The “虞” is the same character in Yu Cui’s name.]

Again with fate?

Also, who still addressed women as “lady” in this day and age? 

But then again, it was just a seed—probably harmless.

She had seen Papaver rhoeas before. They resembled poppies, yet lacked their narcotic allure. Instead, they trembled with delicate grace, their petals radiating an ethereal brilliance that was devastatingly beautiful.

Yu Cui held the seed, staring at it blankly. When she snapped out of her daze, the two men had already walked off as their voices drifted back through the chilly wind.

“Is that really a Papaver rhoeas seed? Not something… strange?”

“It’s genuine. Just happens to be over 2,000 years old.”

“…You really know how to joke…”

“I never joke.”

Yu Cui woke with a jolt, only to find herself unable to move.

The sensation felt eerily familiar—like the suffocating grip of sleep paralysis, what folks called ‘Old Hag’ syndrome.

Yet even during sleep paralysis, one’s surroundings never vanished completely into this abyssal darkness. And if this were a dream, surely she would have woken by now?

She waited in silence, unsure how much time had passed before she became aware of a new discomfort of thirst. However, it was unlike any thirst she had known, the kind one couldn’t ignore. 

It clawed at her, desperate and consuming, as if she might die from it.

She tried to call out, but no sound came out. Not even the faintest whisper.

If this was a dream, wasn’t it way too real?

Yu Cui willed her limbs to move, but there was no response. All she could feel was the sensation of being encased, enveloped so tightly that even her own body felt distant.

What was happening to her?

She racked her brain, struggling to recall yesterday’s events. She had ditched class, gone home, and while taking off her coat, the Papaver rhoeas seed had fallen to the floor. Without much thought, she had buried it in the snake plant pot by the entrance.

After that, everything had been as usual—books, homework, internet, her nightly routine. Then sleep.

And now, this!

Just as panic threatened to overwhelm her, a cool rush of water poured over her from above. She wanted to open her mouth to drink, but she found that her whole body was absorbing the water itself, quickly relieving her near-death thirst.

What exactly was going on with her?

Even Yu Cui, never the most perceptive, could no longer dismiss this as a dream. No dream could be this bizarre.

“Drink plenty,” came a warm, gentle male voice, “the sooner you sprout, the better.”

Sprout? 

Sprout! 

Sprout—Sprout—Sprout—

The word echoed in her mind like a broken record, looping over and over until her thoughts collapsed under the weight of it. To which her mind went crashing into a standstill in that very instant.

No wonder she felt as if she were being wrapped tightly in something dark; she had been buried in soil. 

No wonder she was dying of thirst; she wasn’t merely parched, she needed water to germinate.

Could it be… she had turned into a seed?

Yu Cui was officially losing her mind…

Humanity succumbed to the forces of fate. Yu Cui came to a profound understanding of this. On the third day after her transformation into a seed, she finally resigned herself to her fate and resolved to be a good seed.

Buried beneath the earth, she could occasionally sense the faint light filtering through cracks in the soil, and so she learned to tell day from night.

She had also learned that the person watering her lived with his uncle, who addressed him as Ji. Ji seemed to be in his teens, about the same age as her.

Well, at least, the age she had been in her previous life.

Yu Cui was convinced she had died and been reincarnated as a seed. Yet she couldn’t ignore how bizarre it all was. The antique shop owner had handed her a seed that very day… and that very night, she became one. 

She distinctly remembered him saying it was a Papaver rhoeas seed. If so, then was she now a Papaver rhoeas?

Yu Cui wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or not. After all, Papaver rhoeas was merely an annual herbaceous plant—its life cycle lasted only one year. She just had to endure this bizarre existence, and maybe, in the next life, King Yama would grant her a better reincarnation.

So she settled into her new life as a seed, while Ji watered her diligently each day. 

As she idled away her time, half-drinking and half-waiting for death, she entertained herself by eavesdropping on the small dramas unfolding above the soil. 

Like today—

“Ji, your uncle has found you a teacher. You begin poetry and calligraphy lessons tomorrow,” the uncle announced sternly. 

Of course, what Yu Cui heard was half classical, half vernacular speech, which her mind helpfully translated into plain modern language. She was beginning to suspect she hadn’t only become a seed, but had somehow traveled back in time.

“Alright,” Ji replied politely.

“A real man should speak with force! Say it like you mean it!” the uncle snapped.

“Alright!” Ji repeated, mimicking his uncle’s forceful tone.

His uncle seemed satisfied before abruptly changing topics. “Ji, you are no longer a child. Why are you still wasting your time with flowers and plants? It is unseemly.”

Ji said nothing. Yu Cui, however, was suddenly gripped by a sense of danger. 

Surely this man was not going to persuade Ji to toss her out? 

Her life might be miserable as it was, but she had no desire to die just yet. Without Ji’s daily watering, she would dry up and perish!

Fortunately, the uncle didn’t pursue the matter further. However, within a few days, his temper flared once again. Ji refused not only the poetry and calligraphy lessons but also the martial training, even after the uncle invited a mentor.

Fuming, the man threatened to smash every flowerpot in Ji’s room. Yu Cui felt her whole body shake and realized Ji had likely picked her up to protect her.

“To learn to read and write is only to be able to remember one’s name. To master swordsmanship is to stand against only a single adversary. I would learn instead to fight 10,000 enemies!” Ji said suddenly.

Yu Cui was taken aback by what she heard, feeling like the sentence was very familiar, but she couldn’t remember where she had encountered it.

The uncle, of course, was delighted. He began personally tutoring Ji in military strategy.

Yu Cui was forced to listen in, but because it was too boring, even the surrounding flowers wilted in boredom—Chinese peony, tree peony, and threadleaf coreopsis, all silently protested. 

Ji, too, showed no interest. After a few days, he outright refused to continue. His uncle exploded in rage, declaring him a hopeless case, and gave up entirely.

Freed from the torturous military classes, Ji began taking his time to care for the flowers and plants and rarely leaving the house.

From Yu Cui’s perspective, he was undoubtedly an excellent ancient homebody!

Freed from the ancient military strategy lessons, Yu Cui continued to languish in the soil, living without purpose and merely waiting for the end, perpetually drowsy as the days stretched out monotonously.

Having reincarnated as a seed, she no longer knew what purpose her days served. There was nothing to do but drink water and sleep. Although studying used to be hard, she longed for the days when she possessed a body capable of free movement and a mouth with which she could speak without restraint.

“Ji! Do you realize what trouble you almost caused today?” The uncle’s voice thundered through the room as he burst in.

Yu Cui perked up immediately.

Showtime!

The uncle-nephew dynamic was her entertainment. Though she couldn’t see their expressions, eavesdropping on their radio drama was far better than nothing.

“What about the King of Qin? He’s someone who can be replaced,” Ji’s voice remained indifferent. “Uncle, you often say, ‘Though Chu be but three clans, it is Chu that will destroy Qin!’ As descendants of Chu, how is it wrong for us to think this way?”

“King of Qin? Ying Zheng has crowned himself the First Emperor—he is no mere king now,” the uncle snapped. “You… never say such things in public again!”

Yu Cui was stunned. It was at that moment that she finally understood which era she had been transported to. It was, in fact, the Qin dynasty!

Ji remained silent.

His uncle changed topics. “Enough about politics. You’ll be twenty in a few days. Have you chosen a courtesy name yet?”

“I have. It is Yu.” Ji’s voice was calm.

Good. Xiang Ji, courtesy name Yu—Xiang Yu, it shall be when you come of age. Good, very good.

His uncle muttered “good” several times.

Yu Cui was speechless. 

Xiang Yu? 

The dull, awkward homeboy who had been watering her all this time… was Xiang Yu? 

No one had told her that Xiang Yu’s personal name was Ji and his courtesy name was Yu! 

Her scalp tingled. If only she had paid more attention in history class, she would have realized this much sooner.

Still reeling from the revelation, she heard the uncle’s cold voice again, “Now that you’re coming of age, it’s time to give up your childish fascination with plants—especially that pot—”

Yu Cui didn’t need to look to know Uncle was pointing straight at her. “Yes! It’s that plate in your hand! Hiding it behind your back won’t help! Three years of watering, and not a single sprout? That seed’s been dead for ages!”

First, she died, then found herself stranded in the unfamiliar world of the Qin dynasty. Next, she realized the clumsy oaf who had been tending to her so devotedly was none other than that fated man—Xiang Yu. And now, to top it all off, she was facing the cruel prospect of being abandoned… even as a flower.

One blow after another…

Yu Cui broke down. It was only now that she finally understood that ever since coming to this world, she had failed to be a proper seed.

She began to reflect. 

Yes, a proper seed ought to strive to sprout!

“Please don’t give up on me!” she screamed silently. “I’ll try my best to grow!”

Despite his uncle’s orders, Xiang Yu neither protested nor agreed; he simply continued to water her, day after day.

Yu Cui admired his revolutionary spirit to no end. If their roles were reversed, she was sure she could never water a seed every single day for three years. She had no idea why he was so stubborn, but she knew she had to do her best to keep him from giving up on her. So she resolved to burst through the soil with all her might.

There was just one problem—she had only been a seed for three years and had absolutely no idea how to sprout.

Meanwhile, ever since vowing to seize the throne from the First Emperor, Xiang Yu had been training rigorously, poring over military treatises. Yu Cui could see how determined this man truly was. The fact that he continued to water her every single day without fail proved just how unwavering he was once he set his mind to something.

Back when his uncle had tried to teach him, he had resisted because he saw no purpose in it. Whereas now that he had a lofty ambition, he was giving it everything he had.

Yu Cui, too, had her own ambition—to sprout! Sprout! Sprout!

…Yet months passed, and still nothing happened. Worst of all, that blockhead Xiang Yu had no idea how much despair she was in! Every day, he would mumble to the flowerpot—

“Today, I tripped over a rock while practicing swordplay in the garden. Good thing Uncle didn’t see.”

…Yeah, right! The entire garden of flowers and weeds saw it!

“Today I came up with a new formation, but the tutor said I was being unrealistic… Should I draw it out for you?”

…Yeah, right! I haven’t even sprouted, what’s there to see? And stop drawing on the dirt above my head!

“Why haven’t you come up yet? Is the spring water not enough?”

…Your daily watering’s practically drowned me!

“Why haven’t you sprouted yet? Is the fertilizer not enough?”

…How would I know?! I want to sprout too, you know!

“It’s alright. I’ll keep waiting for you.”

…Even Yu Cui was at a loss for words by this point.

Even she began to suspect that the seed she had possessed might actually be dead. Yet despite these thoughts, Yu Cui still drank the water and slept each day, silently mocking Xiang Yu’s ramblings and eavesdropping on her uncle’s daily dramas. 

Life as a seed, surprisingly, was rather comfortable.

Then another four years passed.

One day, Yu Cui realized that Xiang Yu hadn’t come to water her.

Where did that idiot run off to?

Yu Cui had vaguely heard about Chen Sheng and Wu Guang’s uprising, but she hadn’t paid attention to what Xiang Yu specifically was going to do. She thought it was because she was too used to his company, always assuming he wouldn’t leave her, always feeling that he cared about her, even though she hadn’t sprouted for seven whole years.

One day passed. Then another… and another…

Yu Cui didn’t know how she had endured it. The soil in the flowerpot had already cracked, but she tried hard to squeeze upwards through the cracks in the soil.

She had no idea how many days had passed. Then, all at once, light broke through. The long-lost warmth of the sun spilled over her body. She had no eyes, and yet somehow, she saw him—bursting through the doorway, bathed in golden light.

He stood tall as a mountain, with a face carved in valor and a presence that seemed to command the very air around him. 

In his hand, the Tiger Dragon Halberd still dripped with fresh blood, each drop falling to the ground and blooming into dark stains upon the dust. The fierce sunlight struck the blued steel lamellar armor clinging to his blood-smeared form, casting back a blinding brilliance that dazzled the eye.

Within his eyes, widened with delighted surprise, she caught sight of herself.

A tiny, vibrant green sprout.

In 209 BCE, the first year of Qin Er Shi’s reign, Chen Sheng and Wu Guang raised the banner of rebellion at Dazexiang, rallying the peasants to rise against the Qin. In response, Xiang Yu and his uncle Xiang Liang assassinated Yin Tong, the governor of Wu Zhong, and ignited their rebellion.

In this battle, Xiang Yu single-handedly slaughtered nearly a hundred of Yin Tong’s guards, marking the first time he revealed his unparalleled martial prowess.

At the time, Xiang Yu had just turned twenty-four.

As for Yu Cui, she had finally shed her reputation as the seed that would never sprout. 

Not only was she freed from the shame of being an eternally dormant seed, but to her delight, she discovered something even more incredible—when Xiang Yu touched the flowerpot, they could communicate mentally.

Though he was stunned at first, Xiang Yu quickly adapted to the fact that the seed he had watered for seven years now possessed a spiritual consciousness that could speak.

He recalled that the Daoist who had given him the seed had told him it was different from all others. Only by nurturing it with true intention would it bloom into the most beautiful flower. However, he had never expected that nurturing would take a full seven years.

Tch. Yu Cui was deeply annoyed when she heard this. 

What “nurturing it with true intention?” 

She sprouted purely because she couldn’t take him anymore! If things had kept it up any longer, she would have rotted in the soil forever!

After seven years without anyone to talk to, Yu Cui burst into chatter the moment she discovered Xiang Yu could hear her. Like beans spilled from a basket, she poured out her entire story.

“You’re saying… You were originally human?” Xiang Yu was dumbfounded.

Yu Cui nodded frantically. However, since she couldn’t move her body, all she could do was wiggle her tiny leaves.

“Then…” he asked, hesitating for a long while before finally finding his voice again, “what may I call you, young lady?”

“My surname is Yu…” Yu Cui suddenly fell silent as she remembered the curse bound to her name.

Cui (翠) consists of the characters Yu (羽) and Zu (卒), meaning “Xiang Yu’s death.”

Absurd as that interpretation might be, what was truly absurd was the fact that she had been reborn as a flower grown from Xiang Yu’s care. 

What else could possibly be out of the realm of possibility?

Her sudden silence led Xiang Yu to misinterpret her hesitation. He thought it improper to ask a young lady’s name directly and, with a knowing air, said, “Since your surname is Yu, then I shall call you Consort Yu.”

Consort Yu?

Consort Yu?

Consort Yu… Consort Yu… Consort Yu…

The name echoed like a thunderclap in her mind, leaving it utterly blank. There was a strange sense of something being off—this Xiang Yu had no Consort Yu at his side.

Though Yu Cui knew little of Xiang Yu’s life, she had heard her chatterbox father mention it a few times—legend told that the Hegemon-King of Western Chu and Consort Yu had fallen in love at first sight in their youth, and from then on, she had followed him devotedly across every battlefield…

“Consort Yu,” Xiang Yu declared with boyish pride, “Uncle has installed Xiong Xin as the King Huai of Chu and has been appointed Commander of the Wuxin Army. I’ll be riding to war with him from now on! Don’t worry, I’ll take you with me. I want to see what kind of flower you’ll bloom into!”

He laughed heartily. The gentleness of youth had faded from his voice, now edged with the fierce spirit of a warrior.

Wait, What?

To her horror, Yu Cui found herself placed in a new clay pot, cradled in Xiang Yu’s arms as he mounted a striking black steed with only white hooves.

“Xiang Yu, why are you bringing that flowerpot onto the battlefield?” His uncle shot him a bewildered look.

“Uncle, this is Consort Yu,” Xiang Yu replied solemnly, as if introducing a noble lady.

“Hah! Giving a flower a woman’s name? What next—are you calling her Yu the Beauty?” the uncle scoffed.

“Mn, this flower is indeed Yu the Beauty.” Xiang Yu recalled the name Yu Cui had given him.

As the wind from Jiangdong swept across the plains, Yu Cui’s fragile sprout swayed uncontrollably. If she could cry, she would be shedding tears into the wind right now.

So this was the truth of history—why Consort Yu was called “Yu the beauty,” why “Yu the beauty” became a flower’s name, and how a woman like her had followed Xiang Yu through every battle…

Because… because Consort Yu had always been a flower!

[TL note: Meaning got lost in translation. 虞美人(yú měi rén), modernly known as Papaver rhoeas Linnaeus, is the flower Yu Cui reincarnated as. Also, 虞美人(yú měi rén), historically known as Yu the Beauty, was the other name of Consort Yu, for her exceptional beauty and grace. In Chinese, the name of the flower was named after Consort Yu.]

What made it truly tragic was when Yu Cui realized she was that unlucky flower.

“Consort Yu, Uncle wants me to become the Great General. But I’m afraid. I know how to fight on my own, but how does one lead thousands into battle?”

“What’s there to be afraid of? Just charge ahead! When you charge, how can the men behind you not follow?”

Xiang Yu understood. 

From that moment forward, he fought with unrelenting courage, always the first to storm the battlefield. His Tiger Dragon Halberd cleaved through enemy lines like a phantom through mist. 

No one could withstand him. 

Before long, he was bestowed the title of Supreme Commander.

“Consort Yu, Uncle wants me to speak before the troops, but I get scared in front of crowds. I might forget what I’m supposed to say…”

“What’s there to be afraid of? Just imagine everyone below you is a giant radish. Besides, hasn’t your uncle already written your speech? Scribble it onto your palm! What, your palms sweat? Then speak less, command with presence. Use your eyes. Dominate them with your eyes!”

Xiang Yu grasped it immediately. From then on, he spoke little in public. Yet when he stood there in his blued steel lamellar armor and red war cloak of tiger pelt, his aura alone could silence thousands. 

One word of command, a single cold glance—and not one man dared to question him.

To others, Xiang Yu seemed more and more like a true Supreme General. But to Yu Cui, he was still the same oversized, bumbling man who muttered endlessly to the flowerpot. 

Which was oddly endearing.

He might be fierce to his enemies—baring teeth and claws—but soft-spoken whenever he sat before her. He became again the boy who once whispered to her under the sky all those years ago.

Her flowerpot had also been replaced with a more beautiful terracotta vessel painted with vibrant patterns, specially chosen by Xiang Yu from among the spoils of war.

Perhaps it was those seven years she spent sleeping beneath the soil, but once she broke through the surface, she realized she was growing remarkably fast.

Of course, that was only in comparison to the fact that she hadn’t sprouted at all for seven years. Compared to ordinary plants, she was still slow. Nearly half a year passed before a single bud emerged.

That day, the sun was warm and the breeze was gentle. Xiang Yu brought her a bronze mirror so she could see herself—an egg-shaped bud wrapped in two green sepals tipped with white, hanging shyly from a slender, upright stem. 

In Xiang Yu’s words, she resembled a graceful and lovely maiden standing with her head bowed in contemplation.

Yu Cui was rather satisfied with her appearance.

However, Xiang Yu held the mirror in silence and hesitantly said. “Consort Yu… Don’t bloom too soon. If you finish blossoming… does that mean you’ll leave me?”

She was stunned by that question.

In truth, life as a flower had long lost its charm. It was dull and meaningless, just waiting for the end. Her initial desire had been to quickly end this existence and move on, but when she saw the pleading look in Xiang Yu’s eyes, she couldn’t help but hesitate.

This man—so fierce in form, yet unbearably tender in spirit—if she were to vanish, would he be able to go on?

“Stay with me, Consort Yu!”

So be it.

She would accept her fate and be his guiding older sister, right?

Her drooping bud nodded twice in agreement.

Her entire world now consisted of this verdant little garden—bathed in sunlight, fragrant with the fresh scent of blooming grass and flowers—and Xiang Yu. Everything was too beautiful, too serene.

For this fleeting moment, she had completely forgotten the cruelty of history.

The Battle of Dingtao ended in Xiang Liang’s death, a catastrophic loss for the Chu coalition.

That night, word came through a courier. In the quiet of his tent, Xiang Yu held her flowerpot in his arms and wept in silence.

“Consort Yu… Uncle… he’s dead…”

Yu Cui said nothing. No words of comfort would come.

She knew that to Xiang Yu, his uncle was more than family—he was a father. Having been with them for so many years, she had witnessed their cycle of arguments, reconciliations, further disagreements, and subsequent makeups. Xiang Liang, stern yet gentle, had raised him with the care of both a strict father and a doting mother.

That gruff old man who had always talked about tearing her out by the roots, yet never once lifted a finger to do it.

That irascible elder who often blew his beard in rage when Xiang Yu provoked him.

That man who would stroke his beard and laugh when something pleased him.

That man who slapped Xiang Yu’s shoulder with pride after every victory.

The old man with graying whiskers—so dignified, so formidable—was truly gone?

Would they never see him again?

When Yu Cui fully grasped this truth, an indescribable sorrow welled inside her.

Xiang Yu’s tears seeped through the soil, entering her root system without missing a drop. His sadness and unwillingness were completely conveyed to her heart. 

She wept along with him.

“Xiang Yu,” she asked softly, “what was Uncle’s wish?”

“To destroy Qin,” he answered coldly.

“Then fulfill his wish,” she heard herself say.

Xiang Yu gave no reply. He only clenched his fists.

That night, he grew up. The gentle boy who once tended flowers became the feared Hegemon-King of Western Chu, a name that would strike fear across the land.

That night, nourished by Xiang Yu’s sorrow, Yu Cui finally bloomed.

The two sepals that had enveloped the flower bud fell away, like a maiden shedding old clothes to reveal the red dress beneath. Her previously bent stem straightened, and the newly revealed petals, as thin as cicada wings, shone with the redness of lips and the smoothness of silk.

A perfect harmony of grace and grandeur. There was no imagining how such a stunning blossom could bloom from what appeared to be no more than a fragile roadside stem.

The next day, Yu Cui saw the soldier who had delivered the news of Xiang Liang’s death.

That familiar appearance, those distinctive phoenix eyes, that indifferent expression—it was clearly the owner of Ya She! Although he wasn’t wearing that Zhongshan suit embroidered with the crimson dragon!

Yu Cui shared her doubts with Xiang Yu, who, though visibly reluctant, allowed the soldier to touch her flowerpot. She had already spoken herself hoarse trying to explain, yet the man only stared blankly, clearly confused as to why the Supreme Commander had handed him a potted plant.

Apparently, the signal didn’t connect!

Curse you, XX Telecom!

Yu Cui grew even more frustrated. So it was only Xiang Yu who could hear her?

Xiang Yu, on the other hand, was secretly pleased—so the secret of Consort Yu belonged to him alone.

Xiang Yu kept this soldier by his side, appointing him as a halberd-bearing guard. The man said his name was Han Xin.

Yu Cui twitched slightly at the name. 

Why did it sound so familiar? 

She once again regretted dozing through that history lesson.

In 208 BCE, the second year of Qin Er Shi’s reign, Xiang Yu led his army to capture Xianyang. Advancing to Yongqiu, he clashed fiercely with Li You, the governor of Qin’s Sanchuan Commandery. In a legendary feat, Xiang Yu charged through 10,000 enemy troops and slew Li You personally, crushing the Qin forces in a decisive victory.

That same year, he led troops to aid Zhao, shattered his cauldrons and sank his boats, and dealt the Qin army a devastating defeat.

That December, with an army of 100,000, Xiang Yu triumphed over 400,000 Qin soldiers at Julu. 

The Battle of Julu marked his meteoric rise in history.

The historical records state: “Every Chu warrior fought with the strength of ten; their battle cries shook the heavens, and the armies of the feudal lords trembled with terror.”

Yu Cui watched as Xiang Yu took step after step toward becoming the fearsome Hegemon-King of Western Chu. Yet to her, the boy she had once known was slowly fading into the distance. She saw him less and less, and when she did, their moments together were fleeting.

Thankfully, he never forgot to water her. Even during the harshest campaigns, even when water was scarce, he still remembered.

Over time, she noticed something had changed. He no longer touched her pot. He would only gaze at her from afar, his eyes veiled in sorrow, as if looking at something too pure for his bloodstained hands.

Not knowing what else she could do, she could only try her best to keep her flower blooming beautifully, hoping he would glance at her when he felt uneasy or lost.

When the army marched into Xianyang, she heard whispers that he had burned the Epang Palace and taken many lives. She longed to speak to him, to plead with him, but he was never around.

The Epang Palace burned for seven days straight, so much so that the very air was thick with an acrid smoke she couldn’t tolerate. Gazing at the towering flames and hearing the faint, mournful cries from afar, she felt as though she were in the depths of a hellish inferno.

At last, he returned with a new pot—an exquisite one, carved from a single piece of flawless jade—and transplanted her into it. Though dazzling to behold, it felt impossibly cold.

“Consort Yu,” he said gently, stroking her delicate petals, “I have avenged my uncle. We are going home now.”

His voice was soft, but it couldn’t conceal the violence that clung to him like a second skin.

She said nothing as her blood-red petals trembled.

Not long after, Xiang Yu appointed a new halberd-bearing guard. Han Xin had abandoned Chu for Han and departed to seek out Liu Bang.

Long ago, Yu Cui had once heard Xiang Yu speak of his dream. He had cradled her in his arms beneath the sun, with flowers and grasses flourishing around them in a sea of green.

His dream was, in truth, a simple one. He longed for a fertile piece of land where he could grow vegetables, live self-sufficiently, and find joy in the everyday.

However, as a descendant of Chu’s nobility, his uncle had never tolerated such idle thoughts. He had forced the boy to study the classics, to learn the art of war, and to bear the weight of duty. Now that he had avenged his uncle and brought down the Qin, Xiang Yu began to long for home.

The lands of Guanzhong were incomparably fertile, stretching rich and wide for a thousand miles. The palaces of Xianyang glittered with splendor, and beauties swarmed like clouds—yet Xiang Yu had no affection for any of it.

What was the value of ruling a kingdom when he cared nothing for the throne?

He knew himself. 

He was never meant to be emperor. 

He was a general, nothing more, and lacked the ambition for empire. After years of slaughter on the battlefield, his soul soaked with blood that no water could cleanse, all he wished for now was a quiet place to repent for his sins, to live out his days in obscurity with his beloved Consort Yu.

Even if his Consort Yu was nothing more than a flower.

Even though he knew she disapproved of the man he had become in recent years, he had no choice. War had taught him the hard truth—mercy to one’s enemies was cruelty to oneself. Only by leaving none alive could one ensure survival.

His uncle was dead.

The young soldiers who had once followed him were mostly gone. The rest feared his wrath, saying he was too brute, too cruel, and too violent. Only Yu Cui understood that he had always possessed a tender heart. 

How could someone who could patiently nurture a seed for seven years without sprouting be a cold and unfeeling man?

She was all he had left. As long as he could watch her petals sway with elegance, a strange calm would steal over him. That hollow emptiness after each battle—it would vanish in an instant.

Yet, he found that the act of extrication wasn’t an easy one. Neither those who served under him nor his adversaries were prepared to relinquish their hold on him with ease.

The man who once held a halberd at his side—a soldier who hadn’t aged a day—now stood against him, bearing the title of Great General.

Han Xin commanded 300,000 men; Xiang Yu, barely a third of that.

The climactic battle upon the plains was devoid of rivers, lacked strategic mountain passes, and was characterized by an absence of ostentation.

It was the first and final clash between the two greatest military forces of their age that faced each other on the battlefield.

He lost—for the first time, he lost.

Amidst the songs of Chu echoing on all sides, he stood silent before her. His fingers brushed the luminous petals of her bloom—so delicate, so hesitant, as if afraid his touch alone might bruise. 

These were the hands that had wielded swords, extinguished lives, and set empires ablaze. Yet in his earliest dreams, all he had ever wanted was to hold a hoe, till the earth, and nurture flowers.

“Consort Yu, what will you do when I’m gone?”

He held no fear of death. He had taken so many lives, his hands were steeped in so much blood; his death wouldn’t be a pity.

But what would become of her?

He knew she wasn’t any ordinary flower. She had lain dormant in the earth for seven years before sprouting, and then bloomed for seven more without fading—still as radiant, as breathtaking, as on the night she first opened.

“Idiot,” she replied, her voice soft and tender, “I’ll go with you if you die. No one else would ever water me so patiently, day after day. I would wither before long anyway.”

“Alright,” he whispered, heart quietly alight with joy.

Then she gently added, “This flowerpot’s too heavy. You should pluck me and carry me with you…”

He broke her stalk in two with the utmost care and fastened her close to his chest.

He chose eight hundred men and broke through to the south under the cover of night. He longed for home—for legend said only by returning to one’s homeland in death could a soul find eternal peace. 

Yet, upon his arrival at the banks of the Wujiang River, the Han army had him surrounded. Across those waters lay his homeland—the land where he had grown, fought, and dreamed.

A home he would never be able to return to.

He looked down one last time at the flower on his chest. She was battered beyond recognition. Her once-vibrant petals, now torn and wilted.

A sudden dread came over him—that he would never hear her voice again.

With the last of his strength, he pressed her into the soil.

He still couldn’t bear the thought of her dying. Although he couldn’t take her home, he didn’t want her to accompany him on his final journey. She was so bright and radiant; he had no right to deprive her of her brilliance.

“Consort Yu… Consort Yu… will you tell me your name?”

“… My… my name is Yu Cui… Cui (翠) as in ‘Yu’ (羽) and ‘Zu’ (卒)… “

“Cui? A lovely name… Cui as in ‘Yu’ and ‘Zu’… Consort Yu, in the end, let me water you one last time—with my blood…”

In 202 BC, Xiang Yu, the Hegemon-King of Western Chu, took his own life by the Wujiang River.

One year later—

“So this is where Xiang Yu suicided?” a man in armor asked casually.

“Yes, General Han. This is where he fell. I saw him myself before he died—he planted a flower, treated it as if it were a lover. Tch… it really makes one sigh in deep emotion.”

“Do you still remember where he planted it?” the general asked again.

The soldier turned, only to be struck speechless. Where once lay a battlefield, now stretched a sea of blossoms. Delicate red flowers, radiant and ethereal, bloomed across the land like a crimson tide—a sea of blood. 

There was something unspeakably tragic in their beauty.

“I remember… back then, no one ever took Xiang Yu’s Tiger Dragon Halberd. It should still be somewhere around here…” The young soldier thought the general had come in search of that legendary weapon. After all, it was said that this very commander had once served at Xiang Yu’s side as his halberd-bearer.

The man walked among the sea of flowers for a while before stopping. He knelt, gently parted the dense blossoms, and revealed the weapon buried beneath—its jade-blue shaft still partly hidden beneath layers of earth.

To the soldier’s surprise, the great general didn’t retrieve the halberd. Instead, he picked up a single seed resting beside it.

“General, what kind of person was Xiang Yu?” Seeing the Great General lower his head in thought over a seed, the soldier couldn’t help but ask boldly.

“An idiot,” the man replied coldly. “I thought he would destroy Qin. But instead, he slaughtered the Qin imperial clan and burned the palaces of Xianyang. He went too far—and so I made him pay the price. But it’s a pity for the flower… Perhaps one day, she will see him again.”

The soldier was taken aback by the hatred in the general’s voice. The tyranny of the First Emperor had turned the whole world against the Qin. Yet this man… he didn’t seem to hate Qin at all. He hated something else entirely.

“You may go,” the general said blandly. “You’ve served at my side long enough. You should be able to play my part well.”

The soldier licked his dry lips, then reached out to accept a fire-gilded ring.

“This is Daji’s Bewitching Ring, a relic that can alter one’s face and fate. From now on, you are Han Xin, the Great General of Han. But remember—this was your choice. Whatever comes after… never regret it.”

“Y-yes, General. Take care…” The soldier slipped the ring on in haste, and in that very instant, his face changed. He now bore the countenance of Han Xin and rushed off eagerly to chase his dream of greatness.

A gust of wind swept through the flower field, setting the blossoms swaying like a dance. The person removed his helmet, revealing refined features, and sighed towards the heavens, “Fusu, I suppose this is my revenge for you…”

However, the wind swallowed his final words, carrying them away into silence.

Yu Cui stared blankly at the white ceiling above her.

What had happened to her?

The last thing she remembered was Xiang Yu, taking his own life before her eyes, his halberd plunging deep. His hot blood spilled onto her roots—she had screamed for him, over and over, but no answer ever came. All she could do was watch as his lifeblood seeped into the earth, drawn into her soil, swallowed bitterly into her veins.

It all felt unreal, yet it was etched into her mind with terrifying clarity.

Had it all… been a dream?

She lay motionless for half an hour until the distant clatter of pots and the soft murmur of her parents preparing breakfast broke the silence. Only then did she come to herself and realize she had returned to the modern world.

Was it truly just a dream?

She instantly leaped out of bed. Having been without a physical form for so long, she had almost forgotten how to walk; her legs buckled, and she fell straight off the side.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, she crawled to the entryway and froze.

The spot where she had once planted a Papaver rhoeas seed… had sprouted.

“Cui Cui! What on earth happened to you?” her father called in alarm.

Yu Cui paid no attention to respond. She scrambled to her feet and staggered out the door. She remembered a new flower shop had opened at the corner of the street. She needed a pot and some soil. She had to transplant that Papaver rhoeas immediately.

Could it be that in this lifetime, that towering brute Xiang Yu had reincarnated as a Papaver rhoeas seed?

Was it her turn now to plant him and watch him grow?

She could hardly imagine the Hegemon-King of Western Chu as a delicate flower… The thought alone made her shudder…

Muttering under her breath and cursing her fate, Yu Cui shoved open the door to the flower shop.

“Welcome,” came a warm and familiar voice.

Yu Cui froze.

Standing before her was a tall, broad-shouldered man, as handsome as she remembered him. The warrior’s topknot had become a neat modern cut, and the cold, bloodstained armor had been traded for a casual sweater, complete with an adorable Snoopy apron.

“…Xiang Yu?” Yu Cui’s voice trembled as she spoke his name.

The man gave her a gentle nod, smiling as he replied, “And you must be Yu Cui? You’re even cuter than I imagined.”

Her jaw clenched. To which she launched herself at him with fists flying.

Xiang Yu held his head and said aggrievedly, “I thought when you saw me again, you would hug me and cry your eyes out!”

“Damn you, Xiang Yu! I’ve dreamed of beating you up for ages! Just because I’m a plant doesn’t mean I have no temper—Argh!”

“… Have some mercy, young lady!”

Yu Cui hugged Xiang Yu’s head, punching, hitting, and nibbling at it…

“What’s wrong? Did you run into someone?” the owner asked, raising an eyebrow as the doctor stepped through the door with a puzzled look clouding his face.

The doctor placed the breakfast he had bought onto the counter, chewing on a pair of disposable chopsticks as he said with a frown, “I think I just saw that girl we met yesterday. She was at the flower shop on the corner, transplanting a freshly sprouted seed into a pot… Don’t tell me the one you gave her actually grew?”

“What’s so surprising about that?” the owner said lightly. “It was a seed. Sooner or later, all seeds sprout, whether they’re a year old or 2,000. Now that it’s begun to grow, I suppose those two who were meant to meet have found their way to each other once again…”

“Hey! What was that seed, anyway?” the doctor asked, clearly flustered. 

The endless stream of mysterious objects in Ya She was something he still couldn’t quite get used to.

“Nothing much. Everything in the Ya She is just an antique,” the owner replied with a faint smile. With a crisp snap, he broke apart the disposable chopsticks. “Next time, don’t bother taking the convenience store ones. I have chopsticks here, just wash and reuse them.”

The doctor kept his head down and focused on eating, too wary to say another word. 

Who was it that just claimed everything in Ya She was an antique? 

Those chopsticks were probably antiques too! 

He had no desire to use something that might be a few centuries old to pick up his food!

Who knew if they had once belonged in someone’s burial goods!