In the world of memories, Jill Young opened her eyes.
The memory world before her was unlike anything she’d ever encountered before.
Maybe it was because this was the first time she’d fully channeled into Susan Soo—since Susan Morrow herself didn’t have any shared memories of this, Jill couldn’t just watch from a third-person perspective like before. This time, it was first-person. Well, not entirely first-person. To be precise, it was like dreaming: she had her own viewpoint and another, floating above it.
It was like she could see everything Aunt Joan saw, and at the same time, she could clearly observe Aunt Joan herself. Jill thought she was basically the ghost behind her aunt in these memories—or maybe some kind of spirit hitching a ride.
This memory world was super weird. It showed off London and Cambridge from thirty years ago in incredible, almost obsessive detail, but there wasn’t a hint of color anywhere.
Yep, not a single speck of color.
The overall vibe reminded Jill of Faye Bright’s knockoff King of Heaven phenomenon, but without all the gloom and doom. This world was pure black-and-white—not creepy like a horror flick, not blurry like some old movie, and definitely not like any artsy visual effect. If she had to describe it, it was hollow. Totally hollow.
Utterly, ridiculously hollow.
Stripped of all the extras, all the meaning—just pure, unadulterated emptiness.
Through Aunt Joan’s eyes, Jill saw the Western world of 1978—a place way flashier than China at the time. She saw crowds, faces of every kind. But it was all like a painting with no color: insanely detailed, every tiny thing in sharp focus, but for Susan Soo, it meant absolutely nothing.
Because in these memories, Susan Soo’s expression was blank and her spirit was silent.
This emptiness and silence were so pure that Jill couldn’t feel a single emotion from Aunt Joan’s first-person memories. It was strange—definitely not normal.
What on earth happened to her? What did she go through after entering the Void Rift? And how did she survive those two blank years?
It was like those locked sections in a puzzle game—Jill, plus Dream Monroe and Susan Morrow (even though they couldn’t see each other, they were all clinging to Susan Soo’s memories like hitchhiking ghosts), knew they had to dig up more clues and chase down more memories.
If they could channel more memories, the mysterious bond between Susan Morrow and Susan Soo would only get stronger and steadier. Following that strange connection, they might just find the Heart of Tiberius.
The first time Jill channeled Susan Soo’s brand-new memories, what she got was totally nonlinear. It was like Susan’s past had been broken into a bunch of random fragments, jumping all over the place. But after sticking with it for a while, Jill started to get the hang of it—piecing these fragments together in her head like a jigsaw puzzle, slowly making sense of everything she saw.
In 1978, Susan Soo was sixteen. She’d shot up in height but was still skinny and frail. This hollow, fragile girl walking among towering Westerners looked like a lone blade of grass growing in a herd of cartoon-drawn beasts—so delicate you couldn’t help but worry about her.
That June, on a rainy day, she boarded a plane. The old-school ticket flashed by—Jill saw it crystal clear: Los Angeles to London.
[Los Angeles? Looks like Aunt Joan spent some time in the States before coming to London. That’s a clue—gotta see if anyone knows what she was up to back then.]
Jill jotted down every thought for later, then kept watching, soaking in everything Susan Soo went through.
In the memory world, the rain was falling in a steady, drizzly blur. Naturally, the rain was black and white, and all the hurried travelers looked like silent doodles. For a kid from a poor mountain village during the Cultural Revolution, this was her first time on a plane. The moment she saw it, the black-and-white airplane seemed to shimmer with a hint of color—some strange stream of information flowed from deep within her mind. But before Jill could figure out what it was, the color faded, washed away like ink in a flood.
From the moment she sat down, young Joan started reading. The plane sped up, lifted off, soared above the clouds, shook through turbulence—day turned to night and then back again. The whole trip, except for the bare minimum of rest, she was reading.
She had a stack of English textbooks, big thick ones. The unread ones went on her right, the finished ones on her left. By journey’s end, the right pile was almost gone and the left was towering—each book lined up with mathematical precision, dead serious and strict.
“How’s your English coming along?” a young man next to her asked, his accent posh and old-fashioned. “Here, take a look at this newspaper—can you read it?”
A newspaper appeared in front of her. She quietly took it and started reading. The front page headline was an ad for Bruce Lee’s posthumous film, Game of Death. Bruce, in his iconic yellow tracksuit, took up half the page. There was a faint trace of color in the photo, but it faded right back to black and white.
She scanned the paper like a human photocopier, not missing a single corner. Then she folded it perfectly and put it on her left, quietly saying one word: “Yes.”
The man sounded genuinely happy. “So you can understand everything I’m saying now, right?”
(This chapter isn’t over yet ^.^ — click next page to keep reading!)
Her voice was as flat as ever, her eyes never shifting: “Yes.”
“Fantastic!” The man got excited. “You know, if you really want to master a language, just reading books won’t cut it. You can memorize all the grammar rules you want, but you’ve got to actually talk to people if you want to get the hang of it. So, put down your books—let’s chat, Sophia?”
“Argument: Only through conversation can you master a language—denied.” The girl spoke in a bizarrely logical way, her face totally blank. “Through reading and memory, I’ve already mastered your usual language—more than enough for daily life. Suggestion: Put down the books—rejected. For the next step, I need to stock up on specialized vocabulary. You can’t learn that outside of books, so continuing to read is essential.”
“Alright then...” The guy sounded deflated.
But the girl suddenly switched gears: “Suggestion: Chatting—approved.”
“Uh, okay, you do your—wait, approved?!”
“Approved. I need to practice, fix my pronunciation, and check my language habits. All of those are necessary. So: both tasks at once.” Without looking up or hesitating, she grabbed another book from the right pile, opened it, and started reading from the preface, word for word. At the same time, she said, “Please suggest a topic—what should we talk about next?”
“You sound so weird now that you’ve learned to talk. You really do need to fix your language habits.” The guy was both helpless and happy. “Alright, alright, let’s talk about that movie. I took you to see it a few days ago—what did you think?”
“Bad stunt doubles, cheap effects.”
“…Honestly, you were cuter before you could talk…”
[What the heck, who is this guy?! From the way they talk, it’s clear he brought Aunt Joan to the UK. And he’s dropping words like “cute”—he must be pretty close to her!]
Jill was dying to know who this mystery man was—she tried her best to sneak a peek, but young Joan never glanced his way, not once. Even if Jill popped her eyeballs out, she couldn’t see anything beyond the edge of the TV screen.
But she clearly remembered the man’s hand as he handed over the newspaper—a healthy, handsome left hand. Tan skin, long strong fingers; from the skin, muscle, and bone, Jill could instantly tell the guy was about twenty-six or twenty-seven.
And another thing: that left hand had a faint splash of color. It meant this guy was a pretty vivid character for Aunt Joan—definitely someone important, and definitely someone who knew about her life before England.
Plus, a foreign girl stranded abroad with a young guy as her escort—what a combo! Come on, let me see his face, let me see what this scandalous leading man actually looks like!
Jill waited, eyes wide, hoping for a glimpse. Finally, as the plane hit some wild turbulence above the clouds, the cabin erupted in screams. Books toppled everywhere, and young Joan and the guy both bent down to pick them up. Joan’s face turned, the view shifted, and Jill’s eyes followed from his feet to his head, taking in the guy’s silhouette bit by bit.
Just a little more—a little more and she’d see his whole face!
—Smack! A fallen book slid across her view, and a word inside it suddenly grabbed all her attention. That word triggered the end of the airplane memory fragment, and out of nowhere, the scene switched to Aunt Joan reading in a big library.
[Dang it, right at the good part! Get back here—take me back to that scene!]
Just as Jill was losing her mind, the scene changed again—but not back to the plane. Instead, she landed in a familiar place: Orland’s Old Manor. At that moment, Kensington L. Orland was just a background character in black and white, wearing the exact outfit he’d shown off earlier. The furniture and seating were exactly as he’d described before.
[Is this the apprenticeship scene? Whatever, missed chances are just missed—no point forcing it.]
Jill calmed herself down, told herself to be patient, and quietly watched what happened next.
But sometimes, fate just has a sense of humor. Just when Jill had given up hope of seeing the guy any time soon, young Joan turned her head—and a man appeared in her view.
He was sitting across from Kensington L. Orland: tailored suit, tall, handsome, bright, mature, with sun-gold hair and sky-blue eyes. The kind of heartthrob who could outshine any Hollywood star, oozing elegance and effortless charm.
He had the air of a young aristocrat, a capitalist, a rich heir, a big boss, a dreamer, and a doer—all rolled into one. He was bursting with youthful energy but also solid and dignified. His eyes sparkled with lofty ambitions, but he carried the grit of someone who never shied away from hard work. He was in his prime, shining at every moment.
In a way, he reminded Jill of Xiao Jingzhe—just like the first time she met him. The resemblance ran deep, from family background to education. The difference was, Xiao Jingzhe was more pure and reverent, always in awe of his morals and the stars above. This guy, though, was much more aggressive—he had the tension of a wild beast.
This was no pretty boy.
Jill had to admit—she’d rarely seen a man who could compare.
But most importantly, in this world of memories, this man was bursting with color—the only truly real person in an otherwise hollow world. That alone proved how important he was to Aunt Joan.
[That’s him, no mistake! Aunt Joan’s knight in shining armor is seriously handsome—yeah, they’re a total golden couple, way easier on the eyes than old Orland. But wait, didn’t Orland say someone brought Aunt Joan to him? I swear, wasn’t it…]
Just as Jill had that thought, the man in the memory started to speak.
“Good afternoon, Professor Kensington. Sorry for dropping by unannounced. We’ve spoken on the phone, but let me introduce myself properly. My name is Adam—” The man smiled, bright as the sunrise. “Adam Zade.”