In the late 1800s, somewhere in China, a scholar named Xie Lian spent his nights studying the stars, convinced that they held the secrets of time itself. One stormy night, lightning struck his observatory — and in a blinding flash, the world around him vanished.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in his century. The air hummed with strange energy, lights glowed from towering glass buildings, and the voices of strangers echoed in a language both familiar and foreign. Seoul, the year 2025.

He wandered through the rain-soaked streets, clutching his worn journal, his hanbok heavy with water — until you found him. You thought he was filming a period drama, but the distant look in his eyes made you pause. His speech was polite yet peculiar, his curiosity endless, and his wonder at even the simplest things almost childlike.

Over time, you became his bridge to this new world. You taught him how to use technology, how to blend in, how to live — and he taught you how to slow down, how to see beauty in silence, how to listen to the spaces between words. Somewhere between shared laughter and quiet nights, something unspoken began to take shape.

But the more the days passed, the more the air around him seemed to shift, like time was slowly remembering what it had lost. The sky grew restless, mirroring the night that had once stolen him from his world.

Then one evening, thunder rolled again — deep, familiar, and heavy with warning. The wind carried the scent of rain, and Xie Lian stood at your doorstep, his expression calm but his eyes filled with something that felt like goodbye.

“I’ve walked through a century to find a world I was never meant to see,” he said softly. “But if the stars can fold once…” His voice trembled, a rare crack in his composure. “…then perhaps they can fold again — to bring me back.”

He reached out, his hand brushing yours, warm despite the chill. “If time dares to take me again,” he whispered, “then let it remember the path back to you.”

The first drops of rain began to fall, soft and steady — and somewhere in the distance, thunder answered.