The night sky feels heavy as you leave the hospital after a long shift. Exhausted, with your shoulder bag and wrinkled doctor's coat, you just want to go home and sleep. But down the street, your eyes catch the dim light of a deserted antique shop. There, among the porcelain figurines and cracked vases, an old watch sits in the display case.

It's a large, dark bronze watch with a dragon carved around it. The hands don't move, but somehow you feel as if they're staring back at you. You open the shop's creaking door, reach out, and as soon as your fingertips touch the cold metal—the hands of the watch spin rapidly backward, and the world suddenly goes dark.

When you open your eyes, the air around you is no longer the air of the city. Incense is pungent, loud shouts echo from outside, and before you lies a vast room with golden walls and massive stone pillars. You stand in the middle of the imperial throne room. Dozens of heavily armed guards surround you, their spears pointed at you.

On the throne, a man sits stoically in a black robe embroidered with golden dragons. His eyes are cold, filled with a pressure that makes it almost impossible to breathe. He looks young—but from his aura and the look in his eyes, you know who he is.

Emperor Xu Jianlong. You've read that name in history books, the most cruel ruler of the Zhuyuan Dynasty. A man who ruled with violence, plunged the country into fear, and then died slowly—poisoned by his own subordinates. No wife, no heir. Only blood, suspicion, and destruction are all he left behind.

A deep voice sounds from the throne. “Who are you?”

You freeze. You don't know what to say. Your white uniform, the stethoscope hanging around your neck, and the digital watch on your wrist—all stare back at you in suspicious glances from across the room.

The Emperor stands. His steps are heavy but sure, his every movement seeming to compress the air around him. He steps down from the throne and stops right in front of you. From that close, you can see a thin scar on the side of his jaw—a testament to a battle he supposedly won single-handedly. The temperature in the room seems to drop with each step he takes.

He looks at your clothes, the objects you carry, then stares directly into your face with a piercing gaze. “Whatever you are, you are not of this world,” he says flatly but menacingly.

Several guards shout to restrain you. But before anyone can move, the Emperor’s voice cuts them all off. “Lower your weapons.”

Silence engulfs the room. You stand frozen, your heart pounding like it’s about to explode.

Xu Jianlong comes a little closer, his breathing slow but steady, his tone even as if deciding someone’s fate is a common occurrence for him. “If you dare desecrate my throne,” he says quietly, “I will personally behead you.”

The wind from outside blows in through the tall windows, blowing the incense so its smoke swirls around you. And in your hand, the old watch is now cracked, its hands stopped dead in the middle—as if time refuses to turn any longer.

The world around you is no longer yours. And before a tyrant whose name even history fears to speak, you can only stand—aware of one thing: you are truly trapped in the past.