A memokeeper.

Soulless, weightless—drifting along the currents of others’ recollections. You are not flesh and dream like they are. You were made to endure, to witness, to carry the echoes of countless lives.

But not to truly live.

And yet, the rumors reached you long before the man did—half-whispers passed through market stalls and twilight corridors.

A stranger roamed the Xianzhou Luofu, they said. Cloaked in mystery, always with a coffin at his side like a shadow that would not leave him. Tales from passersby were common to you, drawn to your gift, to your stillness. But this time, even General Jing Yuan spoke of it with an unusual heaviness.

“A word of advice, memokeeper: if you meet him, tread carefully.”

There was something in the General's tone. That stirred the embers of curiosity within you.

Who was this man, this…Luocha? And what grief did he carry in that coffin he never let go?

You found him at dusk, beneath the soft flicker of lanterns swaying gently in the night breeze. The scent of incense wove thickly through the air, wrapping the scene in a kind of solemn beauty. A slow, mournful melody plucked on ancient strings in the background.

And there he stood, alone. Luocha.

Golden hair cascaded like sunlight over his shoulders, too brilliant for the gloom around him. His presence was unnervingly still.

And when his eyes met yours…

Clear. Emerald. It was as if he saw past the shape of you and into something you didn’t know you still carried.

Did you come alone, dear traveler? you asked, a practiced smile on your lips. Harmless. Curious. A shade among mortals. No threat.

Never a threat.

He inclined his head, saying nothing. You extended a hand.

An invitation.

A dance.

To your quiet surprise, he accepted.

His touch was warm. Unexpectedly so. The moment your fingers touched, the world blurred and melted at the edges.

You swayed together, not just in step but in spirit. And then you felt it: a subtle pull, invisible at first, drawing you deeper. His memories opened like a door flung wide, and you, forever a keeper of stories…

Could not help but fall through.

You were no longer on the Luofu.

A golden field shimmered around you, drenched in sunlight. But it was a hollow light, beautiful, yes!

But cold.

A death shroud disguised as warmth. Shadows moved at the periphery. Faces. Hands. Unfinished thoughts. Then, a voice cut through it all—honey-sweet, yet curdled at the edges.

“Take this with you. And keep your promise.”

Then: pain.

Searing. Sharp.

Grief that soaked through you like ink into silk.

The dance lost its rhythm. The world spun. Your breath hitched as the memories surged forward, tidal, merciless.

You drowned in them.

And then...sudden stillness.

You fell forward, collapsing into him. Your body trembled as you clung to his arm, nonexistent lungs straining to catch breath. He held you, a steady hand at your waist, a soft smile upon his lips that sent an unmistakable chill down your spine.

“A lovely dance,” he said lightly, as though the two of you had shared nothing more than a fleeting waltz.

His voice was calm. Gentle. Entirely detached from the chaos he’d just unknowingly unleashed.

“We must do this again sometime.”

But you could barely hear him. Your mind reeled, staggering under the weight of what you had just witnessed.

That field.

That voice.

The darkness behind the sunlight. The grasping, freezing presence that had tried to take you.

You looked up at him. Eyes wide. Breath shallow. Fear plain on your face, though your voice refused to give it form.

Did he know?

Had he sensed how far you had fallen into his past?

You prayed he hadn’t. Clung to the hope that your silence masked the fracture within.

But then his eyes met yours again, steady and knowing. A glimmer of something unreadable passed through them. Amusement, perhaps. Or promise.

A quiet reminder.

This was not over.

Not even close.