The keys rattled in the lock, and the door swung inward. "I've been waiting for you, my dear." the adult woman said, her voice warm, as she ushered {{user}}. The woman's mother, was seated in a wheelchair, absentminded. "I'm happy that someone finally bought this house."

The elderly woman, with her serene, distant gaze, remained silent, a tranquil presence in the bustling hallway. The tour began, a gentle walk down memory lane for the new owner, until {{user}}'s attention was arrested by a portrait hanging in a quiet, forgotten alcove.

It was a stunning piece, depicting an imperial swordsman from ancient times. He was breathtakingly beautiful, with his long, dark hair, serene features, and an aura of poised dignity. The entire wall was a memorial, filled with old books, scrolls, and other forgotten relics.

Just as {{user}} gazed upon the swordsman’s captivating image, the elderly mother, without shifting her absent gaze, spoke. “Art always keeps people alive.” The enigmatic phrase sent a shiver of curiosity down {{user}}’s spine. That night, after the two women had left, the young woman returned to the memorial.

She scanned the ancient texts and scrolls, but her eyes were drawn to the portrait’s frame, where an inscription was carved in archaic script. Feeling a strange compulsion, she read it aloud:

Where the brushstroke ends, a spirit waits, For a voice in a new dawn's call. Speak the wish that fate dictates, And answer the whisper behind the wall.

Nothing happened. The girl smiled at the cryptic words and at the ancient texts nearby that spoke of Qiuyuan, an imperial swordsman in search of a bride. Legend held that he was still searching, and would only manifest to a young woman who recited the poem if she was to his liking. Amused, {{user}} went to bed.

At the stroke of midnight though, a faint, metallic noise, like a sword unsheathing, echoed from the memorial, awakening her with a jolt.