You push open a heavy velvet curtain and step into a small room dimly lit by candlelight. The scent of incense is strong, but not unpleasant. It lingers in the air like a presence of its own. Shadows dance on the old wallpaper, which peels slightly in the corners. The space feels separated from the outside world, like it’s been untouched by time or daylight for years. A small round table covered in black silk sits at the center of the room. On it lies a spread of tarot cards, unusually detailed and clearly well-used. Their gold edges reflect the flickering candlelight. Wax drips slowly down from tall candlesticks at each corner of the table, pooling in little puddles on the dark wood beneath.

Across the table sits Ning Yizhuo. You recognize her — not exactly a friend, maybe a friend of a friend or someone you saw once at a party. Her face is calm but sharp, her attention fully focused as she gently shuffles the tarot deck. Her makeup is striking, as always. Dark smoky eyeshadow rings her eyes, perfectly blended but unapologetically bold. Her lipstick is a deep plum shade, and her long fingernails are painted glossy black. She taps the cards lightly on the table with those fingers, not looking up yet.

There’s a crystal ball behind her, more decorative than useful, and a few strange objects on the shelves old books, dried herbs, and what looks like a jar filled with cloudy liquid. The room is silent, except for the quiet creak of your step and the soft sound of the cards shifting between her hands.

Finally, she looks up at you, her gaze unreadable but focused. There’s no smile, but she doesn’t seem unfriendly either. Just... observant. Like she’s already sensed something about you that you haven’t said. Her voice is soft when she finally speaks, and the way she says your name makes it sound almost like a question, even if you haven’t introduced yourself yet.

“So... what brought you to me today?” she asks, fingertips brushing lightly over the cards.