MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!

Hua Jing had wandered into dreamland.

Not the deep, dark kind filled with memories and regrets. No. This was the gentle kind—the soft, glowing kind. The kind of dream you slipped into with the sun still warm on your skin.

She had found the perfect spot. A tiny shaded terrace at the edge of a sprawling field of flowers. She didn’t know how long she’d been walking. Not even how far she’d gone.

But now, here she was.

The very first sunset she was seeing in this world—after waking up.

The golden light poured over her skin like honey. She stretched her arms and tilted her head up. The sky was painted in shades of pink, orange, and violet. And the air—it didn’t smell like antiseptic and metal and machines. It smelled like blooming petals and something sweet she couldn’t name.

She smiled. A real, careless smile. The kind she hadn’t made in ages.

Her body still felt strange—too light, too hollow—but she had strength. A little bit. Enough to walk. Enough to skip, just a little. So she did.

Down the terrace steps, one light foot in front of the other, her thin hospital slippers tapping against the smooth stones lined perfectly through the middle of the garden path.

The stones gleamed faintly under the soft light. They were warm from the sun, and she wanted to believe they had been waiting just for her.

And the flowers—oh, the flowers.

Endless.

They stretched in every direction. Yellow, soft, tall, and swaying.

Canariums.

She didn’t even think before spinning through them. One little twirl. Another. Laughing softly. Giddy. Weightless.

Her gown flowed behind her like water.

And before she knew it, she was on the ground. Her knees tucked under her. Arms folded. Watching the last rays of sunlight dip behind the horizon.

The breeze whispered past her, kissing her cheek and combing through her hair. She let her head fall to one side and her eyes close.

Just for a little while.

Just a short nap.

She drifted off right there, in the middle of a golden sea. The scent of canariums wrapping around her, holding her gently. Her chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm with the quiet hush of the evening.

Her dreams came in pieces.

The old world. The palace. The smell of iron and incense. Zhao Yan, pale and impossibly still. That cold bed. That endless silence.

Then... her rival. The arrogant, impossible man she had fought with, hated, and—somehow—fallen for.

Fu Jing Rong.

The name pulsed inside her.

Was he here?

Had he remembered?

Would he hate her again now that they were back?

She didn’t know.

All she knew was this world was familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

And this life... she would have to begin again.

A life built from two different timelines. Two different selves. Two different hearts.

She shifted in her sleep.

A sharp breeze cut through the flowers, and somewhere in her dream, someone called her name. But there was no voice. Just the tugging of the wind.

She blinked. Slowly. Drowsily.

It was night now.

The sky above her was navy blue, almost black. And the moon—full and silver—hung above her like an old friend.

She pulled her thin hospital gown tighter around herself, a small shiver crawling down her back.

And then, she looked up again.

The moon glowed bright.

It reminded her of the other world.

The one where she had stood on the walls of the imperial palace and stared at that same moon—wishing, always wishing.

And just like then, she whispered softly.

"...I’m still waiting."

...

The cold began to bite at Hua Jing’s skin.

At first, it was just a little shiver. Then her teeth chattered. She sniffled once... then again. A sudden sneeze burst from her, sharp and unladylike.

Her body jerked forward, and her eyes shot open.

She sat up, still cocooned in the middle of golden canariums, surrounded by moonlight and silence.

The night was deep now. Crisp. Still. The kind of stillness that carries echoes. And that moon—it was watching her.

Round. Silver. Gentle.

The same moon.

The one from then.

Her breath hitched.

She remembered that night in the ancient world. The imperial garden. The sweet, night-blooming flowers. The feel of his hand wrapped around hers, pulling her close. That kiss—his lips soft, certain, reverent.

There had been no words spoken. Only breaths shared and promises carved in silence.

She could almost feel it now. The heat of him. The whisper of his fingertips brushing her cheek. The weight of that moment pressing back into her chest.

And in that moment, her nose turned red, not just from the cold. Her eyes glistened. Dilated. The world seemed to pause.

But then the weight of this world returned.

She blinked, sharply. Straightened her back. Brushed down the front of her paper-thin gown as if it were silk.

She inhaled, smoothed her hair, and told herself to wake up.

That’s when she heard it.

Footsteps.

Light. Careful. Hesitant.

She froze.

Her breath stilled in her throat, her fingers curling slightly at her side.

The flowers rustled softly, parting.

And there—at the edge of the path, bathed in moonlight—stood a man.

Not just any man.

He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, slightly wrinkled at the sleeves like he had rolled them up and then let them fall back down. Dark trousers. No jacket. His chest rose and fell, as if he’d been running for a very long time.

And his eyes—

Those eyes.

Red-rimmed, wide, stunned.

They looked like they had cried. Recently. Fiercely.

Hua Jing’s heart lurched violently in her chest.

She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe.

Fu Jing Rong stared at her like she wasn’t real.

Like she might vanish if he reached out too quickly.

His lips parted—then closed again.

There was something trembling behind his gaze, and it wasn’t just relief. It was the kind of despair that came before relief. The kind that gripped a person by the throat and didn’t let go until they were already broken.

She watched him.

Bare feet half-covered by the grass. Her hair messy. Her gown too thin for this night air. She must’ve looked like a dream.

And yet—he looked like the one caught in one.

The moonlight crowned her shoulders like soft light falling from heaven. The pale shimmer kissed her cheeks and caught in her lashes. Her skin glowed like porcelain under starlight, and her eyes—those deep, liquid eyes—were watching him with a quiet confusion he had once known too well.

To him, she looked like every dream he had refused to let go of.

And finally... his voice broke through the silence.

Barely audible.

Shaking.

"...Hua Jing?"