In a grand and opulent hall, a young girl in white knelt before a tall, slender pillar. A few strands of crimson hair fell over her chest as she bowed her head, adding a touch of allure to her otherwise pure demeanor.
Her trembling lashes betrayed the turmoil in her heart—though no one else in the hall seemed to notice. After a brief struggle, she cautiously peeked through her lashes, scanning the room. Spotting others still present, her delicate brows furrowed slightly.
*Sigh.*
She suppressed another sigh and returned to her thoughts—though to any observer, she appeared deep in meditation.
Five days ago—though to Yang Yang, it felt like a lifetime—her bright, promising life had been cut short. And she *hated* it.
A damned medical accident. A damned negligent doctor. A damned rock flying out of nowhere.
She clenched her fist and thumped the pillar in frustration, wincing at the recoil. If anyone in the hall had seen the scowl on her face, they would've been shocked.
That day had started so perfectly—a lazy Saturday morning, no alarm clocks, sleeping in as late as she wanted. Stretching contentedly, Yang Yang had finally dragged herself out of bed, washed up, and eaten the breakfast her mom had left warming in the rice cooker. Then, she decided to visit the bookstore. After all, what better way to unwind from work than with a good novel?
Sure, reading online was convenient, but it strained her eyes. And let's not even talk about the *radiation*—every woman's worst enemy. Her already dry skin didn't need more damage. Buying physical books was her way of supporting her favorite authors and contributing (however modestly) to the literary world.
After spending the entire morning at the bookstore, she left happily with her new treasures.
But then—*disaster.*
While crossing the street, a tiny rock—*where the hell did it even come from?*—struck her forehead. Though it didn't knock her out, the blood wouldn't stop. Panicked, she fumbled for her phone and called her dad. Luckily, she was close to home, and her frantic parents rushed her to the hospital.
The doctors cleaned the wound, removed tiny stone fragments, bandaged her up, and prescribed IV antibiotics to prevent infection. No big deal, right?
She went home, endured a tense family lunch, and by dinner, her brother had cooked a feast to cheer her up. Even her mischievous niece sat quietly, eyeing the white bandage on Yang Yang's head with pity. The whole scene was almost comical.
But that dinner—unbeknownst to her—would be her *last.*
The next day, her mom accompanied her back to the hospital for the IV. Her sister-in-law had offered to come too, but Yang Yang refused. *It's just a minor thing—no need for everyone to fuss.* Besides, her niece had been begging to go to the zoo all weekend.
Lying on the hospital bed, she clutched her mom's hand as the nurse inserted the needle. (*She hated needles.*)
Her mom chuckled. "Relax. Pretend it's me getting the shot."
At first, she just felt… *off.* She'd had IVs before, but never like this. Not wanting to worry her mom, she stayed quiet. But the discomfort grew—tightness in her chest, her breath turning shallow.
Then, darkness swallowed her whole.
*"Mom… I don't feel good."*
Those were her final words.
If death was inevitable, she wished she could've spared her mother the agony of watching her slip away.
Her soul, untethered from her body, lingered only briefly before a crimson light pulled her into the unknown. The last thing she saw was her mother's horrified face.
A single tear rolled down the girl's cheek now, glistening as it fell.
*Tink.*
A crystalline droplet, brighter than any diamond, hit the floor. She quickly scooped it up and tucked it into her sleeve—no need to draw attention.
Steeling herself, she tilted her head back, forcing the remaining tears away.
*Mom, Dad, Brother… You'll be heartbroken, won't you?*
Her niece would ask when Auntie was coming back. *"Auntie's working to buy you candy,"* they'd say—the same white lie they always used.
Her parents weren't young. Could they handle this loss? She'd barely started repaying them for everything. And her brother—hotheaded as he was—better not do anything reckless.
*If there's a god in this world… please let them be okay.*
At least she'd had life insurance. The hospital wouldn't escape responsibility either. A life for money—pathetic, but the only farewell gift she could leave.
Time would dull the pain.
She lifted her chin, resolve hardening. *If life's a play, my last act was cut short. But this time? I'll live fully—daughter, wife, mother. I won't waste this chance.*
Just then, a woman in green robes entered the hall and bowed.
"Saintess, the elders request your presence for the midday meal."
*Finally.* Her stomach growled in protest. *Two meals a day? Seriously?*
Suppressing a sigh, she rose gracefully and descended the altar steps.
Outside the hall stretched an endless emerald forest.
When she'd first awakened in this world, it had been inside a treehouse. The sight had filled her with relief—*she was alive.* Even if this wasn't her original body (judging by the slender, porcelain hands), her soul remained intact.
A quick search revealed no mirrors, but given the flawless skin, she doubted her new face was ugly.
The treehouse itself was woven from living vines, sunlight filtering through translucent membranes in place of glass. No electronics, but shelves lined with strange artifacts and what looked like books.
*Am I in the past?*
A bed—more like a platform of soft green fibers—sat by the window. And curled atop it…
*Oh.*
A tiny white puppy, no bigger than her fist, blinked up at her with sky-blue eyes.
She scooped it up, nuzzling its fur. *"You're mine now. I'll call you… Xiao Bai."*
The name reminded her of her college days—of a scrawny but tough naval drill instructor her dorm-mates had nicknamed "Xiao Bai" because he resembled a certain cartoon dog.
*Will I ever see them again?*
Shaking off the melancholy, she focused. *This is my second life. I won't waste it.*
But as she stepped into the sunlight, one question burned in her mind:
*What kind of world have I been reborn into?*
And more importantly—
Will she ever find her way back home?