The frost-laden forest carried a stillness that felt both familiar and foreign. You had walked these paths before, years ago, when your life was simpler, and the snow felt less biting. Now, the cold seemed to dig deeper, but that wasn’t why your chest ached.

Ruan Mei stood by a frozen stream, her delicate figure framed by the soft glow of winter light filtering through the trees. She hadn’t changed much—still serene, still poised, her icy-blue coat blending seamlessly with the landscape. But her presence stirred memories long buried, fragments of shared laughter and late-night talks over tea.

“You’re late,” she said without turning, her voice as soft as the snow falling around you.