The Eternal Thread

Chapter 1: The Thread That Shouldn’t Exist

Jiàn Lian never feared the dead. He feared the forgotten.

The city of Shuoyun was built on fate—woven, stitched, and spun into the very fabric of existence. Every soul carried a thread, an invisible strand that bound them to their destiny. Some threads shimmered golden with fortune. Others were frayed, warning of untimely death.

But red threads… red threads were sacred.

A red thread had once connected Jiàn Lian to Mei Rin, the woman he was meant to marry. They had traced its path together beneath lantern-lit skies, whispering promises of forever.

And then, on the night of their wedding, her thread unraveled.

No one had seen her leave. No doors had opened. No screams had been heard.

She simply ceased to exist.

Jiàn Lian had searched for five years, chasing whispers, unraveling silk, begging the gods for an answer. But fate had remained silent.

Until tonight.

The air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked wood and burning incense. As Jiàn Lian stepped onto the empty streets of Shuoyun, he saw it.

A red thread.

His breath stilled.

It hovered before him, swaying gently, as if caught in an invisible breeze. A trembling thread of fate—alive, pulsing, calling.

Jiàn Lian reached out. The thread curled away, weaving through the streets like a living thing, guiding him through familiar alleys that had never felt so silent.

Shuoyun had always been a city of voices—merchants calling, silk rustling, temple bells ringing.

Tonight, there was only silence.

Jiàn Lian’s pulse quickened. Something was wrong.

The buildings leaned closer, their wooden beams groaning as if whispering to one another. The paper lanterns above flickered, though there was no wind. Shadows stretched unnaturally, longer than they should be.

And then, the red thread led him to a street that did not exist.

Jiàn Lian halted. His throat tightened.

At the end of this impossible path, past bridges that led nowhere and roads that twisted in on themselves, stood a door.

It was made of woven silk, strands of white fabric shifting, unraveling, twisting back together. One moment it was aged wood, the next it was nothing at all.

A chill wrapped around Jiàn Lian’s ribs.

This door should not exist.

And yet, he knew what lay beyond it.

His fingers trembled as he reached forward. His heartbeat roared in his ears. The silk pulsed beneath his touch, a whispering hum vibrating beneath his skin—

Then a voice spoke behind him.

"You should not have come."

Cold breath brushed the back of his neck.

Jiàn Lian spun.

The street was empty.

His breath came sharp, his pulse a steady drum against his ribs. He forced himself to turn back—but the red thread was gone.

Jiàn Lian’s stomach twisted. No. It had led him here. It had brought him to this place, to this moment—

A sharp, snapping sound rang through the air.

The thread had broken.

Before Jiàn Lian could move, the silk door rippled violently.

The ground beneath his feet lurched. The world shattered.

Darkness swallowed him whole.