The taste of blood.
Lin Wei's consciousness hadn't fully awakened yet when a heavy, rusty scent assaulted her senses. Then came the cold—the surface her fingertips touched wasn't the familiar rubber mat of her lab bench, but rough, damp stone tiles.
She snapped her eyes open.
Dim light slanted through a narrow window high above, casting trails of dust dancing in the air. Beneath her lay cold stone slabs; dark moss crept through cracks in the distant stone walls. She pushed herself up, her palms pressing against something damp—in the faint light, she saw the dark red on her hands.
Blood. Blood not yet fully dried.
"Miss!" A terrified female voice came from the doorway, trembling with choked sobs.
Lin Wei turned her head toward the sound and saw a girl in a linen dress and a white soft cap rushing toward her. She was about fifteen or sixteen, her face as pale as paper, her eyes red and swollen. The girl knelt on the ground, trying to help her up, but her fingers trembled violently the moment they touched Lin Wei's arm.
"You're awake, Miss... Thank goodness... I thought... I thought..." The girl wept uncontrollably. "You fell from such a height, and there was blood everywhere..."
Lin Wei opened her mouth to say, "You've mistaken me for someone else," but her throat was too parched to form coherent syllables. Simultaneously, fragmented images flooded her mind like a tidal wave—
A cold, rainy night, the towering shadow of a stone pagoda.
A man's retreating back, his iris-patterned cloak billowing in the wind.
"Lord Philip says... the betrothal must be reconsidered."
Then another man's voice, slick and cunning: "Isabella, your father is gravely ill. Your uncle will manage the estate for you."
Finally, darkness, falling, the howling wind. And the cold touch of the cross pendant on her wrist, its red gem shattering mid-fall, shards slicing into her palm—
Lin Wei snapped her head down to her right hand. A fresh gash ran across her palm, blood already congealing into a dark brown. Along the wound's edge, tiny red crystals were embedded deep into the flesh.
These were no ordinary gem fragments. Her archaeologist's instincts screamed—the crystals' facets refracted an unnatural glow in the dim light, pulsing faintly as if alive.
"Ella..." The unfamiliar name flowed naturally from her lips, as if she'd called it a thousand times before. "What... what time is it now?"
The maid Ella stared blankly at her, tears still clinging to her lashes. "It's... it's almost time for evening prayers, Miss. You've been unconscious all day."
"The date." Lin Wei's voice was hoarse but steady now. "I need the exact date."
Ella stammered out a year. Lin Wei's heart sank.
1348. The year the Black Death ravaged Europe. The period of most intense border friction between the Holy Roman Empire and the Kingdom of France. It was precisely the era corresponding to the archaeological project she had researched in the modern world—the tomb of the Count of Black Eagle family.
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down. Time travel. This word, which had only appeared in academic discussions and online novels, was now the only term that could explain her current situation. And the body she now occupied—
"Isabella de Morey." She murmured the name softly. Fragments of this young woman's memories slowly surfaced: daughter of a declining border baron, mother deceased, father gravely ill and bedridden, barren lands, and her sole betrothed, Philippe de La Roche, who had begun distancing himself three months prior. Just yesterday, Philippe's messenger arrived with the formal notice: the betrothal was postponed.
In medieval frontier noble circles, such a "suspension" was virtually equivalent to a publicly humiliating broken engagement.
"Don't be sad, my lady," Ella offered clumsy comfort, wiping the corner of her eye with her sleeve. "Perhaps... perhaps Lord Philippe is merely temporarily occupied with family affairs..."
Lin Wei remained silent. Leaning against the wall, she rose slowly, the aching in her limbs reminding her this was no dream. She walked to the blurred bronze mirror in the corner of the room. Reflected in its surface was a face she did not recognize—
Pale, gaunt, with dark brown hair scattered wildly across her shoulders. Emerald eyes, enlarged by shock and blood loss. No older than eighteen, her features delicate yet lifeless, the corners of her mouth naturally turned down in a timid curve.
This was not her face. Lin Wei Chen, thirty-one, PhD in Medieval Archaeology from Oxford University, possessed an Asian face colleagues joked was "always pondering a puzzle," with a small mole beneath her right eye.
But the person in the mirror now was Isabella. A young woman recently abandoned by her fiancé, who had "accidentally" fallen from the tower of her family castle.
"The fall was no accident," Lin Wei heard her own voice, eerily calm.
Ella jerked her head up, panic flashing in her eyes. "What did you say, Miss? Of course, of course it was an accident! You must have been so distraught, you didn't notice your foot—"
"The tower's railings were reinforced just last month," Lin Wei interrupted her, fragments of Isabella's memories reassembling. "Father specifically ordered it because I mentioned wanting to watch the sunrise. The railings couldn't have suddenly snapped."
Ella's face paled further, her lips trembling so she couldn't speak.
Lin Wei turned toward the simple wooden bed. A damaged silver cross lay beside the pillow, its center where a gemstone should have been now an empty socket. She picked up the cross, her fingertips tracing its edges—the fracture bore faint pry marks, not natural damage.
Someone had taken the gem. Either before or after her fall.
"Who entered my room?" she demanded.
"Only... only Baron came this morning. He said he needed to take some of your mother's belongings to pray for the ailing Baron," Ella's voice grew fainter. "But... but he only opened your jewelry box briefly before leaving..."
Baron. Isabella's distant uncle, who had moved into the castle under the pretense of "helping manage the estate" after her father fell ill, but secretly siphoned off assets and skimmed the servants' wages. Lin Wei pictured his slick face, those small eyes never holding genuine concern, only calculations about property.
"Ella." Lin Wei set down the cross and turned to meet the maid's eyes directly. "From this moment on, you must remember every word I say, and tell no one else."
The girl was startled by something in her gaze and nodded involuntarily.
"First, after falling from the balcony, I hit my head. I can't recall many things, and my personality might be different from before. If anyone asks, that's what you'll say."
"Second, do not let me touch any food or medicine given by Uncle Baron. If he inquires about my condition, tell him I've been unconscious, occasionally speaking nonsense."
"Third—" Lin Wei paused, clenching her right hand. The gem fragment embedded in the wound on her palm grew faintly warm. "Go find something for me. A red gemstone, about the size of a fingernail. It might be broken now, but its edges should have a cross-shaped cut. It could be where I fell, or... someone might have taken it."
Ella's eyes widened. "Miss, that's your protective gemstone! The one the Lady left you—"
"That's why it's important." Lin Wei's voice softened. "Go. Be careful. Don't let anyone see you."
The maid hesitated, then nodded. Lifting her skirt, she hurried out of the room.
The moment the door closed, Lin Wei collapsed against the wall, sliding slowly to the floor. The archaeologist's rational mind raced through the possibilities: the time travel was most likely connected to that cross-shaped gemstone. The cross she had touched at the excavation site and Isabella's were clearly the same object. A temporal portal? Soul transfer? These concepts lay beyond her academic expertise, but now was no time to dwell on principles.
She had to survive. Survive in this medieval frontier where human life was cheap, women held little status, and noble struggles ran bloody.
A more pronounced burning sensation spread across her palm. She opened her hand to see the red shards embedded in the wound emitting an extremely faint glow, flickering rhythmically like a heartbeat. Even more eerie was the flesh around the wound, which began to heal at a visible pace, slowly enveloping the shards deeper within.
"A magical artifact," she murmured, her heart pounding. This defied every scientific principle she had ever learned, yet the undeniable evidence before her could not be dismissed.
The clock outside the window chimed at that moment—deep and solemn, stroke after stroke, seven in total. The evening prayer bell. Footsteps echoed through the castle as servants prepared to head to the chapel.
Lin Wei steadied herself against the wall and rose to her feet. She needed more information, needed to understand her exact situation. She walked to the wardrobe and opened it—inside lay only a few faded, washed-out dresses, made of coarse fabric in dull colors. At the bottom lay a slightly better dark green velvet gown, its cuffs embroidered with a faded family crest: a lark perched on an olive branch.
The straitened circumstances of a fallen noble family were plain to see.
She changed into the green gown, her movements slightly awkward with the unfamiliarity of her body. As she fastened the belt, she felt a folded parchment in the dress's hidden pocket. Unfolding it, she found childish cursive script recording fragmented accounts—this year's estate harvest, taxes owed to the lord, wages owed to servants...
On the reverse, newer lines of ink, heavy and tremulous:
"Philip declared the betrothal void.
Uncle Baron seized the deeds.
Father coughed up blood.
No one can be trusted.
God, if you can hear—"
The sentence broke off, the final word only half-written, a dried tear stain smudging the paper.
Lin Wei clenched the parchment. This was Isabella's final record. A girl trapped in despair, utterly alone, who ultimately chose to fall.
"I won't walk your path," she whispered to the air, as if the vanished soul could still hear her. "I will live. For both of us."
The door creaked open. Ella slipped inside, clutching something in her hand. Her expression was strange, a mix of excitement and fear.
"Miss, I found it!" she whispered, opening her palm.
In her hand lay several larger fragments of red gemstone, barely enough to form one corner of a cross. The shards were coated in dirt and dried blood.
"Where did you find it?" Lin Wei took the fragments, a burning sensation immediately spreading from her fingertips.
"In the grass beneath the tower, but..." Ella swallowed hard. "It was strange. When I searched, the grass around the shards had all withered, like it had been scorched by fire. And... and I thought I heard someone speaking, very faintly... a man's voice..."
Lin Wei's hand froze. "What did he say?"
"I couldn't make it out clearly, just a few words." Ella strained to recall. "Something like... 'Don't die'... and 'This time for sure'..."
The shard suddenly burned intensely in Lin Wei's hand, nearly making her drop it. Simultaneously, a distant, phantom-like image flashed through her mind—
Jet-black armor, a banner embroidered with a black eagle spreading its wings.
A man knelt in a pool of blood, clutching a broken longsword, letting out a silent, guttural roar toward the sky.
Before him lay a girl in a green dress, an arrow piercing her chest, blood staining the grass beneath her. In her hand, she clutched a flawless cross-shaped ruby.
The vision shattered.
Lin Wei staggered, grabbing the table for support as her breath came in ragged gasps. This wasn't the memory Isabella knew—it belonged to a moment far more distant, far darker.
"Miss? What's wrong?" Ella rushed to support her.
"Nothing." Lin Wei steadied her breath, clutching the gem fragment tightly in her palm. The burning sensation gradually subsided, transforming into an odd warmth, as if a living thing pulsed within her hand.
She didn't know what the vision meant, didn't know who that man was, didn't know what the promise of "this time for sure" entailed.
But she knew two things: First, this cross-shaped gem was some kind of key, connecting to the secret of her time travel, and possibly to other things as well.
Second, thirty miles away at Black Eagle Castle, eighteen-year-old Karen von Blackwood suddenly jolted awake from a nightmare at this very moment, cold sweat soaking through her linen nightgown. He dashed to the secret chamber in his room and opened an oak box inlaid with obsidian—
The box was empty. The heirloom gem that should have lain quietly here, the cross-shaped ruby, was gone.
But strangely, he could feel it. Somewhere far away, faint yet undeniable, pulsing like a heartbeat.
And within that pulse, there was an unfamiliar essence.
Karen's fingers dug into the box's edge, knuckles turning white. Memories of her past life flooded back: Philip's betrayal, the screams of her clan, the castle engulfed in flames, and her own collapsing form.
For the past three months since her rebirth, she had calculated every move meticulously—eliminating threats early, consolidating power—all to prevent the tragedy of her former life. She believed everything was under control.
But now, the anomaly of the Cross Gem had thrown his plans into disarray.
"Isabella." He murmured the name, his voice echoing through the empty chamber with a tremor he hadn't even noticed himself.
This time, I won't let you die.
No matter the cost.
Far away at Moray Castle, Lin Wei suddenly shivered.
She walked to the narrow window and gazed northward—toward Black Eagle Castle, though it remained hidden from view. Twilight descended, staining the sky a deep purple, the distant mountain ridges like the spine of a beast.
Something had changed. She could feel it—like a bowstring being silently drawn taut, like the deathly calm before a storm.
She clenched the gem fragment in her hand, its sharp edges digging into her barely healed wound, delivering a sharp, clear pain.
The pain brought her clarity.
"Ella." She turned, her voice shedding its initial panic, regaining the calm and sharp focus of an archaeologist confronting an unknown ruin. "Prepare paper and ink for me. And I need the names of every person within the domain who can still be trusted, regardless of rank."
"Then go tell Uncle Baron—" She paused, her emerald eyes reflecting a steely resolve in the dim light. "Tell him I've awakened, lost my memory, and am easily controlled. Reassure him."
Ella's eyes widened. "Miss, what are you—"
"Fishing requires bait." Lin Wei strode toward the door, her steps still slightly unsteady, yet her spine held rigidly straight. "And now, we need to know exactly how many fish are circling this sinking reef."
She pushed open the door. The corridor was damp and cold, flickering torchlight crackling from the stone walls, casting shifting shadows.
Ahead lay the unknown medieval world—noble conspiracies, ecclesiastical trials, and the suffering of common folk.
But she had already stepped into it.
Armed with modern knowledge, an archaeologist's mind, and the scorching, secret-laden gem fragment in her palm.
And an inexplicable intuition—somewhere in the north, another soul was bound to this gem as tightly as she was.
From this moment, the gears of fate began to turn—slowly, yet irreversibly.