In the silent moments of the night, the broken moonlight scattered on the stone walls of an ancient temple in the mountains. There sat a lonely man—Lan Wang Ji.
The dust of time had settled on his white robes, but his eyes held the same pure glow that had once been in front of Wei Ying.
A thousand years had passed, but time had stopped in his heart. Every night, he burned with memories of Wei Ying, trying to hear the sound of her laughter in the air.
"I promised that I would never forget you…" he said, looking up at the sky. "And I kept my promise."
His breathing in the moonlight seemed to be connected to another time. He stretched out his hand, as if an invisible shadow was touching.
"Wei Ying…" he said in a faint voice, "Will you come back?"
For a moment, the scent of roses wafted through the air—the same scent that was associated with Wei Ying's existence.
Wang Ji closed his eyes, but tears flowed from his eyelids.
Time was silent, but a storm of memories raged in his heart.
The world had changed. Centuries later, in the noise of the modern city, a young boy stood in front of the mirror—Wei Ying.
His smile had the same playfulness, but a strange emptiness in his heart.
Sometimes at night, he would wake up, his heart beating fast, as if someone had called his name.
"Who are you…?" he would ask his reflection in the mirror.
That night, when sleep took over his eyes, he had a dream—
An old temple, moonlight, and a man standing in white, his eyes filled with love.
Wei Ying looked up in surprise—"Who are you? Where have I seen you?"
The man smiled, stepped forward, and gently touched her face.
"You finally returned…" His voice was trembling.
A strange feeling awoke in Wei Ying's heart, as if a centuries-old yearning had been rekindled.
He felt as if he were in a dream, finding himself closer to her.
Then suddenly, his breathing stopped — as the white-robed man took him in his arms and said:
"I have wanted you for a thousand years, Wei Ying."
The dream broke. Wei Ying woke up drenched in sweat.
The moonlight outside the window was spreading, and somewhere far away, a name was on his lips — "Lan Wang Ji…"
Wei Ying woke up panting. Sweat on his forehead, heart pounding.
The dream was still echoing in his mind — that white-robed man, that touch of his eyes, and those heart-rending words:
"I have wanted you for a thousand years, Wei Ying…"
He sat up in bed, his eyes fixed on the wall.
"Who was this…? And why do I know his name?"
He kept asking himself questions, but there was no answer.