Shen Zhitang woke to a whisper of wind slipping through the half-open window. Moonlight spilled softly across the scattered sketches on her desk, each one unfinished, shadowed by a face she couldn't quite place.
She didn't know why she kept dreaming of him—the man with eyes like storm clouds, distant yet searching. A stranger she should have forgotten, but never could.
Across the city, Mo Yan sat alone in his sleek apartment, the quiet hum of the night interrupted only by the steady pulse of his thoughts. His fingers brushed the jade pendant resting against his chest—a keepsake whose origin carried memories that belonged to another time, another world.
Somewhere between dreams and reality, their lives were quietly pulling toward each other, tangled in moments both new and ancient.
Because sometimes, the heart remembers what the soul has forgotten.