Anya gasped, fighting the scientific smells of the lab as the memory coalesced into a sharp image. The scent of jasmine and wet earth was overpowering now, mixed with the faint metallic tang of old blood.
"It was… it was the Dragon's Breath Pine," Anya whispered, her eyes flying open. "It was three hundred years old, and it smelled like rainwater and copper. I used to scratch my horns on the bark."
Madam Thorne let out a choked sound, her usually iron composure cracking completely. Her eyes filled with tears, a sight that stunned Anya more than any face-slapping scene.
"The Dragon's Breath Pine," the Matriarch repeated, her voice thick with emotion. "It was cut down the day after you… vanished. We thought you were gone forever." She reached out and hugged Anya fiercely, a genuine expression of relief and love. "My little Qilin, my precious Xiao Bao. You really came back."
Dr. Zuo, equally ecstatic, was scribbling furiously on a notepad. "A three-hundred-year-old pine! A perfect match for the crystalline particles in the trace scale fragment! This is not just reincarnation; this is a Soul-Signature Restoration!"
The Matriarch quickly regained her composure. "Lucien must know immediately. He is currently at the estate, dealing with the liquidation of Vane Industries. Anya, we are going home."
"Home?" Anya questioned, still overwhelmed.
"The original Thorne estate," the Matriarch clarified. "The one with the garden you remember. It has been locked and guarded for five years, but it's where you belong."
The journey was fast and silent. As they approached the estate, the wealth they had seen before felt trivial compared to the ancient grandeur of the manor. When they entered the grounds, Anya's heart rate quickened. She felt a magnetic pull toward the back of the house.
There, behind an imposing iron gate, was the garden from her memory. It was overgrown, neglected, and beautiful in its wildness. The scent of jasmine was heavy, and she could almost hear the rustle of leaves.
But the immense, ancient space where the Dragon's Breath Pine should have stood was a crater of churned, dry earth.
A sudden, sharp wave of grief—not human grief, but an animal's profound sorrow over the loss of its territory and its oldest friend—washed over Anya. She stumbled, clutching her chest.
"The tree," she whispered, tears finally blurring her vision. "It's gone."
"They took it the next day," Madam Thorne explained softly. "They didn't want anyone to remember you. They thought if the evidence was destroyed, the magic would leave."
Inside the house, the mood was tense. Lucien Thorne was in the drawing room, his face pale with exhaustion and fury. He was pacing as a team of lawyers attempted to brief him.
When he saw Anya, his cold mask shattered. He rushed forward, pushing the lawyers aside.
"Anya! Where have you been?!" His voice was rough, laced with the panic of a Master who had lost his most prized treasure. "I told you not to leave the penthouse! I had security tracking you, and you defied me for a shopping trip with Jax and Mother?"
He reached for her, ready to impose his possessive control. But Madam Thorne stepped sharply between them, blocking his path.
"Do not touch her, Lucien. Not yet," the Matriarch commanded, using a tone that hadn't been heard in the family for decades. "She is not a snow cat, and she is not just your asset. She is the Thorne Qilin, our guardian, and she has recovered the memory of the Dragon's Breath Pine."
Lucien froze, his eyes locked on Anya. The fury drained away, replaced by a devastating mix of hope and regret. "The Qilin…?"
"Yes," Anya said, finding her voice, stronger now than ever before. She looked him straight in the eye, determined to fight his control with her truth. "I am not your pet, Lucien. I am a spiritual guardian. And I remember the garden. I remember that someone called me Little Treasure."
A shadow crossed Lucien's face. He knew that name. Xiao Bao. It was a term of endearment he had reserved for his dearest companion.
"I only have fragmented memories, but I know this: the Qilin would never leave its Master unless it was forced," Anya continued, pushing the core conflict into the open. "And I know you have been looking for five years. So, Lucien, tell me the truth: How did the Qilin really die, and who was the one who forced me to leave you?"
Lucien took a slow, agonizing step back. The truth—the dark secret he had buried for five years, the reason his heart had become a block of ice—was now standing before him, demanding answers.
He looked away, his jaw clenching. He would rather destroy the world than admit his weakness.
"I don't know what you are talking about," he lied, his voice flat.
But Anya saw the flicker of pain, the deep, dark memory that haunted his eyes. She knew the truth was hidden right there.
"Fine," Anya said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Then you will be forced to face the past. Because if you won't tell me, I will find out, and when I do, I will walk away from this 'pampering' life, and the Thorne family, forever."
Lucien finally met her gaze, his expression a desperate cocktail of love and fear. The threat was not just personal; it was existential. The Thorne family fortune depended on the Qilin's presence.