Hua Jing woke up with a start.
Her eyes flew open, and for a moment, all she could see was a blur of dim light.
Her body felt impossibly heavy, as though invisible weights were pressing her down into the softness beneath her.
She attempted to lift her arm, and to her surprise, her fingers obeyed, though sluggishly.
Her head throbbed in sharp pulses, the pain radiating from her temples and down her neck.
She winced, instinctively reaching up to touch her head, expecting to feel blood, shards of glass, or some other remnant of the crash.
But her fingers met nothing but warm, smooth skin.
"Where am I?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her mind raced back to the accident—the screeching tires, the blinding headlights, the deafening crash. The last thing she remembered was the taste of blood in her mouth and the icy cold seeping into her body as she lay slumped against the dashboard. She had been in her car. So why was she lying down now?
The air around her felt still, almost eerily quiet. No hum of traffic, no wailing sirens, no sound of falling snow. Hua Jing blinked, her vision finally clearing, and noticed something flimsy covering her face. It was soft, almost weightless, like a thin blanket.
Her first thought after feeling the flimsy covering was that she was in a morgue.
She had seen in movythat dead people were often covered in white sheets after they died.
So, was she dead?
The thought alone brought a lot of fear inside her heart.
No way...
She thought. If she was dead then how was it that she was able to move? How was she able to open her eyes and see?
Maybe they thought she was dead and brought her here?
That was the only plausible reason for everything.
But wait...
Something still did not feel right.
What was it?
She reached up and yanked it aside, her movements clumsy but frantic. A strange fabric brushed her fingertips—nothing like the luxurious leather or sleek finishes of her car. Her pulse quickened.
It was also not the morgues sheets...
She sat up abruptly, ignoring the dull ache in her muscles, and scanned her surroundings. Her breath caught in her throat.
This wasn't her car.
The room she found herself in was entirely unfamiliar. It was small, with wooden walls and sparse furnishings. A narrow bed was pressed against the corner, its mattress covered in a simple white sheet. The faint smell of herbs lingered in the air, and a single candle flickered on a nearby table.
"What… what is this place?" Hua Jing muttered, her voice quivering.
Her hands flew to her head again, frantically searching for the blood, the cuts, the bruises she was sure should be there. But there was nothing. Her skin was smooth, unblemished. Her fingers trembled as she examined them next. No pain, no scars, no broken nails.
Her heart pounded. This wasn't right.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet meeting the cold wooden floor. A wave of exhaustion washed over her, making her body feel like lead. Still, she forced herself to stand, gripping the edge of the bed for support.
Every inch of her body felt strange—heavy, yet oddly light at the same time, as though she were both herself and not herself. She stumbled forward, her legs weak, and her heart thudded harder with every step.
The room was dimly lit, the flickering candle casting shadows on the walls. There were no modern fixtures, no sleek minimalism, no sign of the world she had known. A wooden chair sat beside a small table, and a folded cloth lay neatly on top of it.
"Where… am I?" she said aloud this time, her voice breaking.
Hua Jing's breaths came quicker as she approached the window. She pulled the curtain aside, only to be greeted by an endless expanse of rolling hills, dotted with trees and covered in snow.
She froze.
This wasn't the city. This wasn't her world.
A chill ran down her spine, and her knees buckled. She clutched the windowsill for support, her mind a storm of confusion and terror.
"Is this a dream?" she whispered. "No, it can't be. It's too real."
Her fingers curled tightly around the wooden frame, her nails digging into the surface. She closed her eyes, willing herself to wake up, to return to the comfort of her bed—or even the wreckage of her car. Anything but this.
When she opened her eyes again, nothing had changed.
Panic surged in her chest, threatening to drown her. She spun around, scanning the room for answers, for something—anything—that could explain what was happening.
Her gaze landed on a small mirror propped against the far wall. Her steps faltered as she approached it, dread coiling in her stomach.
The face staring back at her was hers—mostly. But there was something different. The lines of her jaw, the curve of her cheeks, even the color of her eyes—they all seemed subtly altered, as though someone had taken her face and painted over it with delicate strokes.
"What the hell is going on?" she muttered, her voice barely audible.
Her legs felt like they might give out at any moment, but she forced herself to move, to think, to act. She stumbled toward the door, her hand trembling as she reached for the handle.
Before she could touch it, the door creaked open.
Hua Jing froze, her breath catching in her throat as a figure stepped inside. It was a woman, dressed in plain, old-fashioned clothes. Her face lit up the moment she saw Hua Jing, her eyes filling with tears of relief.
"Young Madam!" the woman exclaimed, bending down in a gesture of respect. "You are finally awake! Thank God. We can now begin preparations for your honeymoon!"
Hua Jing stared at her, dumbfounded. Her mind reeled, unable to process the words.
Honeymoon? Young Madam? What on earth was going on?