The moment Han Yue stepped into the room, her heart stopped.
It looked almost untouched, frozen in time.
Soft, warm light filtered in through sheer curtains, casting a golden glow over the familiar wooden floors. The wallpaper—floral and a little faded—remained the same. A plush bunny still sat on the window seat, and framed paintings of storybook forests lined the walls.
Nothing had changed.
But everything had.
She walked in slowly, fingertips brushing over the dresser, the edge of the bookshelf, the corner of the old writing desk. All of it was just as she remembered, like a quiet echo of her forgotten childhood.
In her last life, she had once wondered aloud, "Why does my room look so tidy when I never lived here?"
The maids had just smiled awkwardly.
Now she understood.
Her grandparents.
They must've been the ones who kept her memory alive. Who cleaned the dust and changed the bedsheets. Who left the stuffed toys in place and made sure the books were in order.
But they had died when she was only ten. After that, no one came.
Even so, her room remained tidy—not updated, not changed, just... maintained.
As if someone still waited for her return.
Tears stung her eyes.
She stepped toward the old closet. The heavy doors creaked open, revealing shelves of neatly folded clothes—years out of fashion now. Shoes too small. A pair of mittens she vaguely remembered.
And then she saw it.
A small wooden box, nestled between sweaters.
With trembling hands, she pulled it out and opened the lid.
Inside, on top of an aged velvet cloth, was a folded letter sealed with wax. Beneath it, nestled carefully, was a deep green jade pendant—slightly translucent, shaped like a droplet, with faint cloud-like swirls inside.
She unfolded the letter.
To our dearest granddaughter,
If you're reading this, then... our hearts can rest a little easier.
We searched for you, every day. The whole family did. But your grandfather and I—we were getting old. Our bodies slowed, but our hope never did. We asked your parents to leave your room as it was, and every week, we'd come clean it ourselves. We'd bring fresh flowers, buy clothes we thought you might like, change the curtains with the seasons. Silly, maybe. But we wanted to welcome you home properly.
We weren't sure you'd ever read this. But just in case...
There's something very important we left for you.
This jade pendant belonged to your grandmother's side of the family, passed down through many generations. It is to be inherited by the female grandchild. That's you. I don't fully know what it is, only that it's old... special... and once saved my grandmother's life. She told me to pass it on "when the time is right."
Maybe the time is now.
You should know that when you return to the family, you're entitled to ten percent of the Han inheritance. We fought for that. It's written and signed.
But more importantly, please take care of yourself. This world isn't always kind. People's hearts are hard to see clearly. You must learn to protect your own.
We love you. So, so much. We hope you can find happiness. And above all... live for yourself.
With love,
Your Grandfather & Grandmother
Han Yue covered her mouth with her hand, tears slipping down her cheeks, falling onto the parchment.
"Grandma... Grandpa..."
They didn't even know what name she'd been given. Just "Granddaughter." And yet their love was clear—every line of ink soaked with it.
She gently picked up the jade pendant and held it in her palm.
It pulsed faintly.
She bit her lip, then pricked her fingertip with a small hairpin and let a drop of blood fall onto the jade.
In the blink of an eye—
The world shifted.
Han Yue was pulled inward, her vision warping, senses twisting as if she were being sucked through space itself.
When she landed, it was... silent.
She looked around.
A pale sky arched overhead, neither day nor night. She stood on a small patch of rich black soil, roughly 2 meters wide—about the size of a round table. To her right was a stream, its water barely enough to fill a cup. Ahead stood a dilapidated wooden hut, crooked, dusty, and abandoned.
"This... this is the Space Jade Amulet?"
She blinked in disbelief. The space was tiny. Twenty cubic meters, at most. Not nearly what she'd imagined.
"But in my last life... Jiaojiao had this."
"She was treated like royalty at the Base. Her storage ability saved lives. She lived well while others starved."
Han Yue frowned, thinking hard.
"She couldn't grow food," she muttered aloud. "No crops, no animals. I never saw her pull out fresh meat or fruit. Only dry rations, bottles, gear..."
Her eyes sharpened.
So that's it.
Jiaojiao had only accessed the storage function, not the true core of the amulet. No upgrades. No farming. No interaction.
But Han Yue... had the real bloodline. She could feel it.
This space could grow.
She just needed to experiment.
She stepped closer to the patch of soil and knelt. It looked fertile—like it could nurture life. Her fingers curled with excitement. She dipped her hand in the stream—clean, fresh, cold. A perfect water source. Limited, but pure.
And that hut… what secrets did it hold?
Her lips curved into a determined smile.
She would make this space her sanctuary.
Not just for survival.
But for revenge.
And tomorrow, she would face the Han Family.
This time, she would be ready.