Chapter 11: Echoes of the Past

Liang Zhi's heart hammered against his chest as he stepped inside the crumbling building. The air was thick with dust and age, and the scent of mildew lingered in every corner. The building looked abandoned, yet there was something eerily alive about it—like it was waiting for him, like it had been waiting for this moment for years.

The man who had led him here stood behind him, silent, his face as unreadable as ever. Liang Zhi felt his gaze on his back, but he couldn't bring himself to turn around. His attention was fixed entirely on the dark, narrow hallway in front of him.

The wooden floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he walked cautiously forward. With each step, he could feel the weight of the place pressing down on him—like it was alive, like it knew the secrets he was about to uncover.

"What is this place?" Liang Zhi asked, his voice echoing off the walls. The silence around him felt oppressive, like the building itself was holding its breath.

The man remained quiet for a moment, as if carefully considering his words. "This is where everything began," he said finally. "This is where your life changed. Where you met her."

The words sent a shockwave through Liang Zhi. Her. The woman. The one who haunted his memories. The one whose name he couldn't recall, but whose face—her smile, her laugh—he could never forget.

"Why are we here?" Liang Zhi asked again, his voice shaking with the weight of the moment. "What happened here?"

The man's eyes darkened, but his expression remained calm. "You'll see for yourself. But be prepared. The truth is not something you can erase from your mind once you've seen it."

Liang Zhi swallowed hard. He had already decided to face the truth, but now that he was standing at the threshold of something he couldn't fully understand, the fear crept in. The uncertainty gnawed at him. What if this was a mistake? What if some things were better left forgotten?

"Come," the man urged, his tone soft but insistent. "You need to see the room."

The door at the end of the hall loomed like a dark sentinel, and Liang Zhi could feel his pulse quicken as they approached. As they reached it, the man pushed the door open slowly, revealing the room inside.

The room was small, its walls lined with bookshelves filled with old, dusty volumes. The faint light from the broken windows cast long shadows across the room, creating an atmosphere of melancholy and secrecy. It looked like a forgotten library, filled with remnants of a time that no longer existed. But what struck Liang Zhi the most was the small table in the center of the room, its surface covered in photographs—photographs he had never seen before, yet felt strangely familiar.

"This is where it all started," the man said softly, stepping aside to let Liang Zhi approach the table. "This is where you and she first met."

Liang Zhi felt a strange sense of déjà vu wash over him as he gazed at the photographs. In each one, there was the woman—standing with him, laughing with him, sharing moments that seemed so real, so vibrant, that it was hard to believe they were from his past. The love they shared was so apparent in each picture, so pure, that it felt like a lifetime ago.

His fingers trembled as he reached out to touch one of the photographs, his eyes scanning the image. There they were—he and the woman, standing in front of a small café, smiling at the camera. Their eyes locked in the photo, and it felt as though the moment had been frozen in time, capturing the love they had once shared.

But as his gaze shifted to the next photograph, something changed. The woman's smile seemed forced, her eyes distant. And then, in the background of the picture, something else caught his attention. A figure—a shadow—lurking just beyond the frame.

Liang Zhi's breath caught in his throat. He moved to the next photo, and then the next, his heart pounding harder with each one. There was a pattern in the images, a growing sense of unease. The further back in time the photographs went, the more distant the woman became. And in every image, that shadow—always present, always watching—grew stronger, more defined.

"Who is that?" Liang Zhi asked, his voice hoarse. "Who is that in the background?"

The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood silently, his gaze fixed on the photographs. Liang Zhi turned to him, his frustration mounting.

"Who is it?" Liang Zhi demanded.

The man's lips curled into a faint, sad smile. "You'll know soon enough."

With that, the man turned and walked toward the door, leaving Liang Zhi standing in the center of the room, surrounded by the echoes of his past. The weight of the photographs pressed heavily on him, their silent questions lingering in the air.

The room suddenly felt colder, as if the walls themselves were closing in. Liang Zhi glanced at the photographs once more, his mind racing. The shadows in the pictures, the distance in the woman's eyes—everything about these images felt wrong. But why?

He moved to the next photograph, his hands trembling as he reached for it. As he lifted it from the table, something fell from the back of the frame. A small, folded piece of paper.

Liang Zhi unfolded it carefully, his fingers brushing against the yellowed edges. The handwriting was familiar, but it took him a moment to place it. The woman's handwriting.

"I'm sorry. I never wanted you to find this. But it's time you knew the truth. The love we had wasn't what it seemed. There was a price, a terrible price, and I paid it in ways you'll never understand. But you need to know—there's something in your past that you must face. Something you've forgotten, but that will haunt you until you do."

Liang Zhi's heart stopped. The words on the paper were like a punch to his gut. What had happened? What price had she paid? And why had she never told him?

The silence in the room felt suffocating, and for the first time, Liang Zhi felt a deep, unshakable fear. He had always believed in their love, in the connection they had shared. But now, the foundation of that belief was crumbling, piece by piece.

His hands shook as he turned the photograph over, his eyes scanning the back. There, in the corner, was something he hadn't noticed before—a name, written in small, delicate letters.

"Han Xue."

Liang Zhi's breath caught in his throat. Han Xue. The name was a whisper from the past—a name he should have remembered, but had never once crossed his mind. Why was it so important? Why was it written on the back of the photograph?

A cold shiver ran down his spine as he realized the terrible truth. The woman he had loved, the woman whose memory he had been trying so desperately to piece together—her name was not what he thought it was. And the secrets she had kept from him were darker than he had ever imagined.

Later That Night:

Liang Zhi lay awake in the small, dimly lit room, the words of the letter, the photographs, and the mysterious name swirling in his mind. Everything he had thought he knew about his life was slipping through his fingers, and all he could do was try to hold on—to hold on to the fragments of the past that now seemed so distant, so out of reach.

His heart ached with an unbearable sadness, but beneath that sadness, there was something else—a burning need to uncover the truth. He couldn't escape the feeling that the answers were right in front of him, waiting to be uncovered.

And so, with a heavy heart, Liang Zhi made a decision. He would follow the trail of Han Xue. He would dig deeper into his past, no matter how painful it might be. Because he knew now—there was no turning back.