"God…"
The sound seemed to freeze the air in the hall. The heavy door swung open completely, and the people entering the hall stopped. The faint light of the candles stretched their shadows along the walls, as if those shadows had entered first, and the people later.
Ju Qingqiong was sitting silently under the table. His heart was beating so loudly in his chest that he felt like the sound would leak out at any moment. He covered his mouth with both hands, trying to take his breath slowly, so that even the air wouldn't betray him.
"This… this was the party hall, right?" one said in a low voice.
"Yes," another's voice trembled, "The Welsen family's event… there were supposed to be so many people."
Ju Qingqiong could only see their boots and the bottom of their long coats through the gap in the table. From their attire, it was clear that they were no ordinary guests—perhaps guards, perhaps city officials. The realization deepened his fear.
"Is anyone alive?" Someone asked.
Then a few seconds of silence. The silence was so heavy that Ju Qingqiong could hear the sound of his own blood in his ears.
He knew that if he made a sound now, it would be over. Slowly, he moved his body further inward, pulling down the tablecloth a little so that he himself would blend in with the shadows. Only one thought was running through his mind—he had to get out of here, no matter what.
People began to disperse in the hall. The sound of boots was getting closer, then farther away. Ju Qingqiong's breath caught with each step. He understood that time was not on his side—but still, to get out now meant certain capture.
He closed his eyes for a moment. A strange determination was growing in his head. The fear was still there, but somewhere beneath it was a decision forming—he would not die here. No matter what, he would get out of this hall, out of this night, alive.
One of them In a low but urgent voice, he said,
"It's only been three minutes. We have to finish the job quickly. Find the 001-4 relic before everyone finds out. If it falls into the hands of a church, nothing will be hidden anymore."
Hearing these words, Ju Qingqiong's body went cold. He held his breath under the table. People scattered around the hall, the sound of chairs being moved, the sound of tables being pushed, the tiny sound of hands touching glass and metal objects—all of it made time seem tense.
One minute… two minutes… time passed. Ju Qingqiong's legs were getting numb, but he didn't move. Every moment, he felt like someone would lift the tablecloth and look. The candlelight was swaying, and with that sway, the fear inside him was also swaying.
Suddenly, someone said in an excited voice,
"I found it."
Before he could say anything else, the air seemed to become unusually heavy. The candle flames flickered together, and the next moment—the hall was empty. No one opened the door, no one stepped out. It was as if they had suddenly disappeared from this place.
Silence reigned for a few seconds.
Ju Qingqiong slowly emerged from under the table. His body was trembling, but he knew he couldn't stay here for another moment. He looked around—the silent hall, the dim candles, and the terrible silence that spread.
There was no time to think.
He started running. He ran through the long corridors inside the palace, the grand staircase, the cold stone floor—all of it, and ran to the large windows. Pushing the curtains aside, he jumped out through the glass.
The cold night wind hit his face. He didn't look back. He only knew that this palace, this The bloody night—he must flee now, leaving everything behind.
Because what had happened here was beyond the comprehension of ordinary people.
He finally reached the street. Surprisingly, the surroundings were relatively well-lit—the yellow light of the gaslamps spread over the stone street, the shadows stretched and trembled on the walls. He had never imagined that such a quiet street would exist near such a large palace. This peace rather created an unknown unease in his heart.
Out of habit, he glanced at his watch. The ticking clearly indicated eleven o'clock. At this time, the city in his familiar world was almost asleep—and it was probably the same here too. Most of the windows were dark, there were no people on the streets, only the faint sound of a car could be heard in the distance.
He took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. The moon was hanging over his head—a crescent moon, but unusually large. As if it were very close, you could reach out and touch it. It was much brighter than the moon in his world, the light was clear and sharp, and he felt a kind of pressure in his chest as soon as he saw it.
Ju Qingqiong stopped involuntarily. Standing in that light, he felt that this sky, this moon—all familiar, and at the same time not at all. This world had not accepted him, but it was not letting him go either. Looking at the crescent moon, he clearly understood for the first time—he was really no longer in the previous world, and he might never be able to return.
The realization was terrifying, but somewhere inside him a strange determination was also being born. The night was still long, and he had to live to find out what awaited him in this unfamiliar world.
He grabbed the fragments of his memories and made his way home. The house was in the middle of this city—about twenty minutes' walk from the palace. Tram Street, house number 201. The path seemed unfamiliar to his feet, but strangely familiar to his mind, as if someone had already drawn a map. This house was the only family treasure left by his dead father—a nominal inheritance, but loaded with memories.
He stopped in front of the door. An unknown tightness in his chest, his breath caught for a moment. Then he knocked.
In a moment, the door opened. The woman standing in front of him had unusually fair skin, yet dirty—as if the light couldn't penetrate it even though it was shining on her. Her eyes shone in the soft light of the lamp she held in her hand, just like the eyes she had seen in the mirror a moment ago. Her reddish hair looked even darker in the dim light. Yet there was a kind of calm smile on her face, which made it seem as if she knew a lot but didn't want to ask anything.
She looked and said,
"You went to the party. It hasn't even been an hour yet."
Ju Qingqiong paused for a moment. Then, trying to look normal, she lied—she didn't go to the party. As soon as the words left her mouth, a slight unease spread through her, but she hid it.
The woman didn't ask anything more. She just opened the door a little wider and said,
"Come in."
He entered the room. The air in this house smelled different—old wood, clean clothes, and the silence accumulated through long-standing habits. This woman was Erwin Feulgen's mother—Rosie Feulgen. The look in his eyes, hidden behind his smile, seemed to understand something, and at the same time, it didn't understand anything—in this dilemma, Ju Kyongkiong realized that this house might be safe for now, but even here he couldn't hide the whole truth.
His father's name was Krish Feulgen. He died suddenly three years ago. After his father's death, this house was no longer just a brick and wood structure; rather, it fell on Ju Kyongkiong's shoulders like a silent responsibility. He understood that he was not just a son in this family—he was now the last pillar of hope.
Besides his mother, he has another younger sister—Cherry Feulgen. She is only sixteen years old. The world has not completely collapsed in Cherry's eyes yet, but after his father's death, a strange alertness has been born in those eyes. He doesn't talk much, but notices everything. Ju Kyongkiong knew that his every decision in this house is connected to Cherry's future.
In the body he is in right now, he is 22 years old. His name is Erwin Feulgen—a real person, with a real past. He is a final year student at Maseo University. He is studying at the Department of History & Archaeology. According to his studies, there are only two months left. Graduation in two months, then a job, then responsibilities—everything was so clearly arranged that there was no chance to ask questions.
That night in the palace, the blood-soaked halls, the words of strange people, and the "001–4 relic"—which he didn't think was in any university curriculum.
He forced these thoughts out of his head. Now was not the time to think—survival was the most important thing. He took a deep breath, gripped the doorknob tightly, and without hesitation entered the room.
He reached his room. The room was small but tidy—lined with rows of books, some old, some new, and some that looked like they had been read over and over again. This room was a permanent part of Erwin Feulgen's identity, where everything still pretended to be normal.
His mother's voice came from the next room.
"Have you eaten?"
He answered without hesitation, "Yes."
The lie came out so easily that he himself paused, but he didn't have the strength to tell the truth now.
He quickly changed out of the clothes he had left at the party. He took off his heavy coat and formal clothes and put on a simple shirt and pants. As he changed, it was as if he wanted to temporarily shake off the smell of the palace, the memory of blood, and the terror.
Then he lay down on the bed. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes open, his breathing slow. Everything that had happened since the beginning began to flash through his mind one after another—the pain, the palace, the corpses, the conversations of strangers, and the words "001–4 relic." The more he tried to think, the more the events began to seem real, and he realized—these were not fantasies. These were now his reality.
He soon fell asleep.
. . . . . . . .
Fog descended around him. At first it was light, soft, like a floating smoke. But with each step, the fog grew thicker, as if an invisible veil was forming around him, swallowing all light and sound. Ju Qingqiong looked around and sighed, helplessly. "Where is this again, why is there so much fog around?" The words came in his own voice, but the thoughts inside seemed to tremble even more. The heart is rapidly deteriorating, an unfamiliar friction in the brain, which tells us that he is alone here, and normal reality is no longer there.
Suddenly the fogs began to react. It is not just thickening; the particles of fog seem to be alive, trembling, moving, and testing his mind. Ju Qiongqiong felt that there is a strange power in each particle—a power that penetrates his arteries, his breath, and even his inner thoughts. In a few moments, a huge building appeared in front of him. The building is modern, but its lines are floating, not fixed; every wall, window, and pillar seems to be able to tilt and push at will.
Above the gate in front of the building, half-shadowed writing floated in the fog. It was written in Chinese—"Ancient Domainers Mental Hospital." As the words murmured in his mind, a mist arose, thickening and trying to take shape, as if the power of the words themselves were floating in the mist. In an instant, the mist took the form of a woman. She was wearing a purple, long flowing dress that flowed in the soft breeze, each fold playing with light. Her beauty was strange, heavenly; but Ju Qingqiong understood that this was no ordinary woman—this was a mysterious, powerful existence.
The girl knelt before him without saying a word. A gentle, terrible, and holy respect was reflected in her voice—"Lord, you are welcome." These words were not just heard; each word deepened the fear within him, as if the words were being engraved in his brain. Ju Qingqiong stood still. Surprise, fear, and strange curiosity all at once overwhelmed his mind.