Chapter 180: The Great Remembrance

The crack of the gunshot was followed by a wet thud, the sound of lead meeting flesh. Bai Yue didn’t feel the pain immediately. There was only a sudden, icy numbness that bloomed in her shoulder and chest, followed by a heat so intense it felt like she had been branded.

She slumped forward, her weight dragging the gunman down just enough for his grip on Zhēn to loosen.

“Zhēn…” Bai Yue gasped, but the word came out as a red spray.

“BA IYUE!”

The scream didn’t come from one man, it was a collective howl of agony.

Zhāo Yàn was the first to reach them. With a snarl that was purely animal, he slammed into the lead gunman. There was a sickening crunch of bone as Zhāo Yàn’s fist connected with the man’s face, sending him flying backward.

Behind him, a fleet of black SUVs, Zhāo Yàn’s security detail, shrieked to a halt. Men in tactical gear swarmed the grass, but they were barely needed. Han Shān had reached the man holding Zhēn and he grabbed the attacker’s wrist. With a brutal twist, he disarmed the man and threw him to the ground with such force the earth seemed to tremble.

But the chaos of the fight was white noise to Yàn Shū.

The scholar had collapsed onto the grass beside Bai Yue. His hands, usually so careful with old manuscripts, were now pressing against the dark, spreading stain on her floral blouse.

“No, no, no,” Yàn Shū whimpered, his glasses sliding down his nose, fogged by his frantic breath. “Bai Yue, look at me. Stay with me. We can calculate this. You just need to breathe.”

Bai Yue’s head lolled back against his arm. Her skin, usually warm and sun-kissed, was turning the color of ash. She tried to speak, but a bubble of blood rose to her lips, breaking with a soft hiss. She was choking on her own life.

“Bai Yue!” Zhēn screamed, scrambling toward them, her little face streaked with tears. Ruì Xuě and Yòu Lín were right behind her, their eyes wide with a terror that looked centuries old.

“Don’t look, kids! Don’t look!” Yàn Shū cried, trying to shield her body with his blazer, but he was shaking too hard.

Han Shān and Zhāo Yàn dropped to their knees on the other side of her. Han Shān’s face was a mask of frozen horror, his hands hovering over her, afraid that touching her would break what was left. Zhāo Yàn was cursing, his voice cracking, as he stripped off his silk shirt to use as a bandage.

“You idiot!” Zhāo Yàn choked out, his eyes wet. “Why would you do that? We were right there! We’re the ones who are supposed to bleed, not you!”

Bai Yue’s eyes drifted, struggling to focus on the three faces above her. For a flickering second, the botanical garden faded. The high-end suits turned into furs, the smell of freshly cut grass turned into the scent of damp earth and ancient pine.

Damn it. She hadn’t even made her first million!

“Snow… ball…” she whispered, her voice a ghost of a sound. Her hand feebly brushed Han Shān’s cheek. “Big… Cat… Scholar…”

Why…..was she was saying those words?

“I’m here,” Han Shān whispered, grabbing her hand and pressing it to his face. “Please don’t die.”

Her eyes rolled back. The choking sound stopped, replaced by a terrifying, hollow silence. Her hand slipped from Han Shān’s grip, falling limp onto the blood-soaked grass.

“Bai Yue?” Yàn Shū shook her shoulders gently. “Bai Yue! Wake up! The ambulance is coming! I can hear the sirens! Just stay awake for the sirens!”

But Bai Yue was gone.

~

Everything was white.

There was no pain. No heat. No sound of sirens or children crying.

Bai Yue stood in a space that had no floor and no ceiling. It was an endless expanse of pearl-colored mist. She looked down at her hands. They were clean. No blood. No scars. She was wearing the primitive fur wrap from her dreams, the clothes of the Beast World.

Eh? Beast World? How did she know to say that?

“Am I dead?” she asked. “Is this the afterlife?”

As if in answer, the mist began to swirl.

The white started to bleed into deep, vibrant greens. The smell of ginger and woodsmoke wafted past her nose. Suddenly, she wasn’t standing in a void anymore. She was standing in the center of a familiar forest, the trees so tall they pierced the clouds, the air thick with the humidity of a world that had never known a skyscraper.

She turned around, her heart racing.

In the distance, she could see the mouth of a cave. Smoke was curling out of it. She could hear the faint, echoing laughter of children, four voices, distinct and wild. And she could hear the low, rumbling drone of three men arguing over how to properly skin a deer.

It was home.

“You’re not supposed to be here yet,” a voice said.

Bai Yue whirled around.

Sitting on a moss-covered log was a woman. She was breathtakingly beautiful, wearing robes that seemed to be woven from starlight and shifting shadows. She was playing with a small, glowing orb that looked suspiciously like a marble.

Uh? Who’s this?

She looked up, a mischievous, almost sad smile playing on her lips. She looked at Bai Yue’s confused face, then looked down at the orb in her hand, which showed the image of three broken men huddled over a body in a botanical garden.

“I am the Goddess Tiān-Mìng. And well,” Tiān-Mìng sighed. “This is poetic.”

Bai Yue took a step forward, her eyebrows shooting up. Goddess? Give her a break! This was some elaborate prank. “What is happening? Why am I back here? If I am not dead……they’re back there! They were crying!”

Tiān-Mìng stood up, the light from her robes illuminating the forest floor. She walked toward Bai Yue, her eyes reflecting a thousand different timelines.

“They remembered,” the Goddess whispered. “The moment your heart stopped, the lock broke. The Snow Leopard, the Fox, and the Red Panda…..they finally know who they are. But a soul can’t exist in two places at once, little beast-mother.”

Tiān-Mìng reached out and touched Bai Yue’s forehead. A jolt of electricity shot through her, and suddenly, Bai Yue saw it, the threads of fate connecting the modern world to this one, fraying and snapping under the weight of the gunshot.

“You proved you would die for them without a drop of magic to force you,” Tiān-Mìng said, her voice dropping to a hum. “But now, the experiment has a bug in the system. Your body is dying in one world, and your soul is waking up in this one.”

The forest began to shake. The trees started to flicker like a bad television signal. One moment Bai Yue was in the lush jungle, the next she could hear the distant, muffled sound of a heart monitor beeping, flatline.

“Wait!” Bai Yue screamed, reaching for the Goddess. “What happens to them? What happens to the kids?”

Tiān-Mìng leaned in close.

“That depends,” the Goddess whispered. “Do you want to wake up in the hospital…..or do you want to stay in the dream?”

Before Bai Yue could answer, the Goddess blew a puff of starlight into her face.

The forest vanished. The white void returned. And then, a single, deafening sound tore through the silence.

Clear!

The sensation of a massive electrical shock slammed into her chest, and Bai Yue’s eyes snapped open.

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