The rain did not stop.
Jiàn Lian walked through the temple courtyard, his steps slow, his mind distant. For the first time in five years, he had no direction. No thread pulling him forward. No fate guiding his steps.
And yet, something still lingered.
The memory of Mei Rin—the girl who was never meant to exist but had lived within him anyway.
Each drop of rain felt heavier than the last, soaking into his skin, seeping into the emptiness inside him.
"You choose."
The silk-veiled woman’s words echoed in his mind.
But choose what?
His fists clenched as he crossed the temple’s threshold.
Everything was the same as before. The world had continued as if nothing had happened—as if Mei Rin had never been here at all.
And yet, as Jiàn Lian moved forward, something felt wrong.
The temple was silent. Too silent.
His footsteps echoed against the stone, but there were no whispers of the monks tending to the threads of fate. No flickering candlelight illuminating the halls.
And then—
The scent of burning silk.
Jiàn Lian’s heart stopped.
He turned sharply, eyes scanning the dimly lit corridor. At first, there was nothing but shadows—but then, the air shimmered.
Threads hung limply from the walls, their golden glow fading, unraveling at the edges as if something had touched them that should not exist.
A creeping dread crawled up Jiàn Lian’s spine.
This was wrong.
Fate had corrected itself. Mei Rin had disappeared. The world should have moved forward as intended.
Then why did it feel like something had been left behind?
A chill brushed past him.
Jiàn Lian spun around.
The corridor stretched endlessly before him—empty, untouched. But he felt it.
Something was here.
Something was watching.
His breathing slowed. Carefully, he stepped forward, tracing the unraveling threads with his fingertips. They disintegrated at his touch—fraying like a life that had been erased.
And then—
A whisper.
Soft. Distant.
Calling his name.
Jiàn Lian’s pulse slammed against his ribs.
His blood turned ice.
He knew that voice.
It was impossible. It couldn’t be.
But the whisper came again, threading itself into the silence.
“…Jiàn Lian.”
His breath hitched.
Slowly, he turned his head—toward the shadowed hall behind him.
And there, at the very end of the corridor, barely visible in the flickering light—
A figure stood.
Draped in white.
Long, dark hair spilling over frail shoulders.
Head slightly tilted.
Not moving.
Not breathing.
Jiàn Lian’s heart thundered in his chest.
No.
No, it wasn’t possible.
She was gone.
But the whisper came again, threading through the silence like a fragile thread.
“…Did you forget me?”
Jiàn Lian’s vision blurred.
The world tilted.
His body refused to move, to breathe, to accept what he was seeing.
Because the girl standing in the darkness—the one who should not exist—
—was Mei Rin.
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