Budapest, Hungary – September 2048

The afternoon sun hit the Parliament building, turning the Danube into a ribbon of liquid gold. Inside the family restaurant, The Red Thread, Zhanxan (known as Zénó to his local friends) was being put to work by his mother.

"Zhanxan! The new group of international exchange students is coming for the welcome dinner," his mother called, wiping a table.

"Stop daydreaming about old buildings and help me set the private room. They just arrived from the airport!"

Zhanxan sighed and grabbed a stack of menus.

For twenty years, he had been a man of two cultures, yet he always felt like he belonged to a third, forgotten world.

He was haunted by a single face in his dreams – a companion-in-arms from a life of snow and iron.

He had seen that face every night, but never in the streets of Budapest.

***

MEANWHILE:

Hei Yanshan stepped off the bus at Clark Ádám Square, clutching his camera bag.

He was exhausted. The flight from Beijing had been fourteen hours, and the jet lag was setting in. He was here on a full scholarship to the Moholy-Nagy University of Art and Design.

He looked up at the Castle Hill, then at the bridge. His breath caught.

He had seen this bridge in his dreams, but in the dreams, it was made of white stone and mist, and an old woman was offering him a bowl of soup he had refused to drink.

"I’m here," Yanshan whispered. "I don't know why, but I'm here."

He walked toward the restaurant mentioned in his welcome packet –  a place called The Red Thread.

He thought the name was a bit cliché, but the moment he stepped inside, the noise of the city vanished.

***

The bell above the door chimed.

The exchange group had just arrived, and Yanshan was the first to step inside, leading the way for the other exhausted students.

Zhanxan didn't look up at first; overwhelmed by the sudden rush, he instinctively spoke in Chinese without thinking.

"Welcome, we'll be ready in five minutes," he said, his eyes still fixed on the tables he was settting.

I'm sorry, we arrived a bit sooner than expected," a pleasant voice replied in Chinese.

Zhanxan froze.

The world seemed to tilt. He turned slowly, and the menus scattered on the floor like falling leaves.

Standing there was a young man with a camera bag, looking weary from the long flight from Beijing.

As their eyes met, the noise of the busy café died away.

***

Yanshan felt his heart stop.

He had spent his life in Beijing sketching a face he had never officially met. In his dreams, this man was a General, a silhouette of silver and shadow.

Seeing him now, in the middle of this warm café in Hungary, the memory of the Bridge of Forgetfulness rushed back with a violent clarity.

He remembered the grey mist and the moment they had both grabbed the bowls of soup and cast them into the abyss.

"I remember now," Yanshan whispered, his voice trembling as the dreams and reality finally collided.

"The soup... we spilled it on purpose. That’s why I saw you every night. I saw your face in my dreams because you promised we wouldn't forget each other."

***

Zhanxan crossed the room in three long strides, his eyes burning with the shock of recognition.

He gripped Yanshan’s shoulders, searching the face he had memorized through a thousand years of dreams.

"I recognized you the second you walked in," Zhanxan rasped, his voice thick with a century of unshed tears.

"I’ve been chasing a ghost through the streets of Budapest since I was a child. But it was you. It was always you."

He cupped Yanshan’s face, his thumb brushing against his skin to confirm he was real.

"We kept the memories just so we wouldn't have to meet as strangers. We chose to carry the pain of the past just to find our way back."

Yanshan laughed through his tears, leaning into the touch. "You’re taller in person than in the dreams, General."

"And you," Zhanxan said, pulling him into an unbreakable embrace, "are finally, finally home."

***

In the Heavenly Realm...

Official Wang and Junior Official Chen watched the two soul-signatures finally lock into a permanent, golden embrace.

"The Hungarian-Chinese connection worked," Chen noted, smiling. "A new start, but with all the old love."

"And no Emperors," Wang added, closing the ledger with a satisfied thud. "Just two boys, a camera, and a very long life ahead of them."

***

The War God and his General had finally come home.

THE END

**A.N.: Stay tuned for exciting extras from the past and the present!**