The world around Yan Rouxi blurred.
She felt a sudden rush, a dizzying haze, as the colors twisted—white, black, and red—until they swirled into a stream of images. Memories. Each was different, each sharp and fleeting. All of them belonged to Rong Xi. Her soul passed through them one by one, drifting, filtering, searching… until one memory hovered before her, still and heavy.
The day Rong Xi died.
Yan Rouxi focused, using her full potential to see it clearly. Then—with a push so intense it left her breathless—the memory split open. The world around her vanished. No longer was she sitting on her sofa in her modern, 21st-century apartment. She was somewhere else entirely.
She looked around and gasped.
A beautiful room unfolded around her, grand and majestic. The chamber shimmered under the soft golden glow of lanterns that hung from intricately carved wooden beams. Silk drapes billowed like ghosts in the breeze, and the air carried the faint scent of sandalwood and jasmine.
