many_dreams

Did I steal someone’s life?

 The thought arrives not at ten years old, not at five — but the moment she opens her eyes as a newborn in a Haicheng hospital.

 She remembers who she was: Anya, a quiet dreamer from Country B, with her nose buried in novels and her heart tied to the idea of freedom. She longed to be unbound — to drift like the characters in her stories, free of expectations, free of rules. But reality clipped her wings. Strict parents. Financial limits. A life of quiet resignation.

 Then came the end she never saw coming — and a beginning she never asked for.

Now, she is Li Anqi, born into a world of lantern festivals, lullabies in a language she couldn’t name, and quiet luxury. Her new parents are kind. Her new life is peaceful. And yet, she carries within her the ache of a caged bird that once longed to fly.

 Every step forward as Li Anqi feels like a betrayal of Anya.

 But what does it mean to be “someone” when your soul has lived more than one life?

----
“Touch her and you will never know what happened to you,” he declared.
Who is this man? What is his connection to her? An admirer? A lover? Or... a villain in disguise?

Fragments of a Stolen Life

Li Anqi had just managed to sit up without losing her balance, a milestone that, to her tiny, determined self, felt like conquering a mountain. Crawling was still a puzzle she hadn't quite cracked, but that didn't stop her from trying. Again and again, she wobbled forward, pushing her hands against the soft mat, only to plop onto her belly with a frustrated little grunt.

Lin Shuang watched from the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to laugh too loudly.

"Enough, little dumpling," she chuckled. "Let's not break your back before lunch."

Li Anqi huffed and rolled onto her side, clearly done with being brave for the day. Her mother swooped in and lifted her effortlessly, planting a kiss on her soft forehead.

After a few spoonfuls of warm porridge, Li Anqi gave a loud burp as Lin Shuang slowly rubbed her back, a sound far too powerful for someone so small. Lin Shuang grinned and wiped her chin gently. "Impressive, my little dumpling."

Heavy-lidded and full, Li Anqi blinked slowly. Her eyes drifted toward her mother one last time before the world softened and she fell into slumber.

The room dimmed as Lin Shuang pulled the curtains halfway, then gently placed her daughter in the crib, wrapping a soft blanket around her.

She felt it before she opened her eyes, that quiet, echoing stillness. Like always, the door was there.

That strange door. Smooth, tall, standing in a place where nothing else existed. For the past few months, she had only felt it, sensed its presence just out of reach, like a thought that hovered at the edge of her dreams.

But this time... it was different.

She could see the door clearly... feel the floor beneath her feet, the odd weightlessness of this place. Her tiny hand reached out before she could think to stop it.

And this time… she touched the handle.

Panic bloomed in her chest. She yanked her hand back as if burned. The once-silent door seemed to hum, the air around it pulsing faintly.

She shook her head, or at least she felt like she did. The fear was sharp and real, even if her body in the real world was still asleep and drooling on her pillow.

She turned away from the door, heart racing, and let the dream dissolve into fog. Whatever that door was… whatever it held…

Outside her dreams, Lin Shuang sat beside the crib with a hand propped under her chin. Her expression was unreadable - tender, but lined with something deeper.

"She always furrows her brows in her sleep," she murmured to herself. "Just like Zixuan."

She reached out and lightly brushed the strands off Li Anqi's forehead. "What are you dreaming about, little one? You make the strangest faces sometimes."

A strange thought passed through Lin Shuang's mind, but she quickly dismissed it.

She didn't want to admit it aloud, but sometimes, when she looked into her daughter's eyes, she felt a sense of unfamiliarity. Not coldness… just a mystery. As if the tiny girl watching the world had thoughts far beyond her months.

Lin Shuang shook her head and chuckled. "No, I just haven't slept enough."

Still, she leaned down and kissed Li Anqi's temple again, holding her tiny hand in her fingers.

"You're my sweet girl," she whispered. "Whoever you are, whatever you become, you'll always be mine."

Meanwhile, far inside Anqi's dream-space, the door had begun to change.

Its glow flickered. Symbols started to carve themselves into its surface, curved, ancient, unreadable. But Anqi saw them. She didn't understand them yet, but her heart beat faster in recognition.

And when she was ready, she would answer.

The Door