I sat on my couch, phone pressed to my ear, listening to my sister's familiar voice crackle through the line. My sister, Dr. Li Mei Ling, was the epitome of dedication, constantly buried in her work at the hospital. She had missed more family dinners than I could count, but I understood. Emergencies didn't wait for a convenient time.
"I'm sorry, Ah Lin," she said, her voice tinged with regret. "I can't make it to dinner tonight. There's an emergency at the hospital."
I sighed but smiled, knowing she was doing what she loved. "It's okay, Jiejie. I get it. Just make sure you don't overwork yourself."
"You're one to talk," she retorted, a hint of teasing in her tone. "Remember last week? You worked yourself to the bone and ended up collapsing. I had to rush over and take you to the hospital. You're lucky I was on call."
I winced at the memory. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I've been resting and taking it easy all this time, I promise."
"Good," she said, her voice softening. "I prepared the medication for you before I left. Have you taken it today?"
"Yes, Dr. Mei Ling," I replied, rolling my eyes even though she couldn't see me. "I've been a good girl and taken my meds."
"Excellent. So, what's on the agenda for the rest of the day?" she asked, her voice brightening. "Another marathon of your favorite drama?"
"You know me too well," I said, laughing. "Yep, it's The Untamed again."
"How many times have you watched that now?" she asked, incredulous.
"Not enough times," I replied with a grin. "There's always something new to catch. Besides, the chemistry between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian is just too good. I'm almost at the end of the drama anyway."
Mei Ling chuckled. "You're hopeless. Well, enjoy your drama. And Mei Lin, remember to relax, okay? No more overworking yourself."
"Got it, Jiejie. Thanks for checking in. Good luck with your emergency."
"Thanks, Ah Lin. Talk to you later."
I hung up the phone, a familiar little ache tugging at me despite how warm the conversation had been. Mei Ling was always busy, and once the call ended, the apartment felt too quiet, too still. Usually, I'd lose myself in my favorite dramas—the perfect distraction from work stress and the ridiculous hours that came with my manager job. Ever since I fainted mid-phone call, Mei Ling had been extra vigilant, practically turning into my personal health app with all the reminders to take my meds and for the love of all things holy, stop working so much. Honestly, I probably should've listened before the whole collapsing incident—scaring the life out of my poor sister hadn't exactly been my proudest moment.
With no one home and Mei Ling gone until midnight, an idea hit me. You know what? Why not? I might as well wear that traditional dress she bought me. Just for fun, just while watching my drama. Who's going to judge me—the couch? I'm an adult. I pay my own bills. If I want to cosplay as a historical heroine in my own living room, that's my business.
I stood in front of the mirror, slipping into the light pink dress. The fabric was soft, almost too delicate for someone like me, and the floral embroidery danced along the edges in a way that felt unfairly romantic. As I fastened the buttons, I caught a glimpse of myself and nearly laughed.
Was this me?
I smoothed a hand over the dress, feeling a little awkward, a little pretty, and a lot like someone pretending she knew what she was doing.
Yep. Peak grown-up moment here. Maybe I was ridiculous, but hey—no audience, no shame.
I flopped onto the couch, hit play, and let The Untamed sweep me away for the umpteenth time. I should probably be embarrassed by how many times I'd watched it, but honestly? The tangled plots, the stunning scenery, the brooding, magnetic characters—it was still the best kind of escape.
The final episode drew near, and my emotions swirled within me like a whirlwind. I watched intently as Wei Wuxian played his flute, the haunting melody resonating with both sorrow and hope. As he played, I could see the determination in his eyes, a reflection of all the hardships he had endured. Suddenly, a familiar voice called out his name. I swear, if the man blinked wrong, I'd cry.
"Wei Ying."
He turned around, his eyes wide with surprise. When he saw someone standing there, a radiant smile broke across his face, lighting up his entire expression. I was watching it on a 4K 80-inch screen, so, of course, I could see the reflection in his eyes. The white robe could not be mistaken.
As the credits rolled and the theme song tried to emotionally assassinate me one final time, my stomach let out an ungodly growl. Right. Food. That thing I forgot since... lunch? Breakfast? Time was fake anyway. I sighed, paused the episode before I rewatched it again (for science), and dragged myself toward the kitchen.
The echo of the music still clung to my brain like a ghost. All I could think about was that last look between them—the weight of everything unsaid, wrapped in a thousand lifetimes of understanding. Was it love? Friendship? Soulmate energy? All of the above? I didn't care. I just wanted someone to look at me like that after I did literally… anything, including microwaving noodles.
Work had been chaotic lately, and The Untamed was my favorite emotional support chaos. But just as I opened the fridge and started the mental math of Is this leftover dead or just questionable?, a wave of dizziness hit me like a slow, sneaky freight train.
The kitchen floor tilted. I blinked, tried to focus, but everything was starting to blur.
Oh no, not again.
Urg, hypoglycemia? I thought, panic rising within me. As I felt the onset of dizziness, I steadied myself against the kitchen counter, heart pounding with anxiety. Okay, deep breath. First aid kit. I know where that is.
I staggered toward the cabinet and opened it. My fingers scrambled past old cough drops and expired band-aids until they landed on the kit—my little box of medical miracles.
I patted myself frantically. Where's my phone? Mei Ling. I need to call Mei Ling. She'll know what to do. She always knows what to do.
The dizziness surged again, like my brain was doing interpretive dance. I gripped the counter tightly.
Oh my god, this is it. I'm going to pass out in my kitchen while wearing a costume. Someone will find me and think I was performing a one-woman reenactment of a historical drama when I died.
But before I could make one last sarcastic remark to myself, everything went black. Not even a dramatic fade out. Just—poof. Gone.
I didn't know how long I'd been out, but when I woke up, my entire body screamed wrong. My back ached, my hands were scraped, and my hair felt like a bird's nest had declared war on it. The chill in the air crept into my bones, and when I opened my eyes, I nearly screamed.
I wasn't in my kitchen. I wasn't even in my apartment. I was on the damn forest floor.
Tall, looming trees blocked out the sky, and the rain—because of course there had to be rain—drizzled down in a steady, miserable mist, like the heavens were sighing at me in disappointment.
My clothes clung to me with a damp chill, not quite soaked but cold enough to make my limbs ache. In the distance, thunder rumbled low and steady—like the universe had queued up a storm just for the drama of it all.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," I muttered like a broken record, my heart jackhammering in my chest. How did I even get here?
The cold mud squished under me, reality grounding itself with a very unpleasant texture. My brain was screaming questions at me like an overexcited game show host.
Where the hell am I? Why am I not on the kitchen floor? What cosmic nonsense did I fall into?
There were no answers. Just trees. And drizzle. And me—sitting in the middle of a forest in a traditional Chinese dress, clutching my first aid kit like it held the secrets of the universe.