At two o'clock in the afternoon, Rong Qian sat in a café, resting her chin in her hand and gazing absentmindedly out the window. Her coffee, long cold, remained untouched as she idly stirred it with a spoon, fighting off the urge to yawn.

The man sitting across from her kept talking, trying to capture her attention. Yet, despite having exhausted every possible topic, the woman across from him gave no reaction.

With a wry smile, he shook his head and finally asked, "Miss Rong, don't you feel like talking to me?"

Hearing this, Rong Qian turned her head and replied bluntly, "Mr. Xu, I made it clear when you invited me that I have no intention of getting married right now, nor am I interested in blind dates. It was only because you insisted that I reluctantly came."

Xu Yang's lips curved into a bitter smile. He had thought she was just being polite but quickly realized she truly had no interest in him.

"Miss Rong, I must have miscalculated. I genuinely like you and assumed you wouldn't find me too unappealing," he said, still maintaining his poise. As a polished overseas returnee, Xu Yang was eloquent, courteous, and carried himself with gentlemanly charm.

Ordinarily, a man of his appearance and status would rarely face rejection, especially not from someone like Rong Qian, who spent her days working with rugged colleagues. She should have found him irresistible—or so he thought.

But Rong Qian's disinterest was unequivocal. She rejected him cleanly, leaving no room for ambiguity.

Resigned, Xu Yang asked, "Miss Rong, do you already have someone you like?"

"Not at all. What gave you that idea?" Rong Qian scooped a generous spoonful of strawberry mousse into her mouth, eating with an unabashed gusto that dismissed any pretense of decorum.

Xu Yang studied her for a moment before responding, "You seem preoccupied, especially when you're staring off into space. It's as if you're thinking about someone."

"Do I?" Rong Qian frowned. She had heard similar remarks before.

Whenever she was caught daydreaming, people often assumed she was heartbroken. She always felt the urge to roll her eyes at such comments.

As someone who had never been in a relationship, let alone suffered heartbreak, where would such melancholy even come from?

At most, she occasionally felt a vague sense of emptiness…

Xu Yang tried to prolong the conversation, but Rong Qian's phone rang. It was a call from the station about a case, and she hurriedly excused herself.

Watching her leave, Xu Yang could only sigh in regret.

When Rong Qian arrived at the police station, she learned about a peculiar case. A real estate company developing a new property had unearthed a buried car during excavation. Disturbingly, it contained what appeared to be human remains.

The construction team had immediately called the police. Under police supervision, they cautiously extracted the vehicle using heavy equipment.

The investigation revealed that the car was an old Shanghai sedan from over thirty years ago, meaning its owner had been buried for decades.

Initially, there were suspicions of foul play. However, geological experts examined the site and suggested that a natural disaster might have been responsible. Over thirty years ago, the area had been a mountainside with loose soil, prone to landslides during heavy rains. A car passing through during such an event could have easily been buried.

Leaving these theories to the experts, Rong Qian focused on the remains. The body had decomposed completely, leaving only a skeleton.

Based on the bone structure, the deceased was a man in his thirties. Forensic analysis showed no signs of trauma, ruling out homicide as a likely cause of death.

Among the items found in the car were a deteriorated wallet, a rusty set of keys, a popular music album from the era, and several photographs, though they were heavily corroded and beyond restoration.

As the case details were finalized, the media was notified in the hopes of identifying the deceased through potential relatives.

When the news aired, Rong Qian casually checked her phone and frowned. The reporters had unintentionally captured her in the background, phone in hand. Although blurry, she was still recognizable. Resigned, she decided to ignore it.

A few days later, just before clocking out, the evidence room called her with something intriguing.

When she arrived, a colleague handed her an old photograph sealed in a transparent bag. "We found this tucked inside the album case," he said. "Take a look and tell me if you notice anything unusual."

The photograph, though yellowed with age, was still legible. It depicted an indoor scene with 20th-century European decor.

A man in a white shirt sat on an antique sofa, legs crossed, cradling a white cat. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, and his gentle eyes and refined demeanor exuded an air of sophistication.

Behind him stood a woman in a tailored trench coat, arms crossed. Her confident, playful smile and radiant eyes gave her an almost mischievous charm.

Rong Qian blinked. Was it her imagination, or did this woman look eerily familiar?

Noticing her hesitation, the officer chuckled. "Officer Rong, doesn't this woman look a lot like you?"

"What? Oh my god, she really does!" Rong Qian exclaimed, startled by the uncanny resemblance.

"Take the photo and investigate," he suggested. "Maybe it'll lead us to the identity of the deceased."

Rong Qian stared at the image for a long time, her frown deepening. She wasn't naïve enough to believe the woman was her, but how could someone look so identical?

If the woman were still alive, she'd be an elderly lady by now, right?

After thanking her colleague, Rong Qian took the photo and drove home.

Rong Qian lived with her parents, who never missed an opportunity to badger her about marriage. At 27, she had yet to date, much to their dismay.

Despite her reassurances that she wasn't lacking in charm or suitors, they always asked, "So when do you plan to settle down? We'd like to help you find someone."

"...Can we not talk about this?" she groaned in surrender.

That night, after a shower, Rong Qian lay in bed scrutinizing the photograph again. The more she stared, the more convinced she became of the resemblance.

Impulsively, she rummaged through her wardrobe and found an outfit nearly identical to the one in the photo.

Everything matched, save for the photo's faded details.

The eerie similarity kept her awake, and before long, she drifted off with the photo still in her hand.

Around 2 a.m., a sudden sound startled her awake. It was the television.

Confused, she stumbled downstairs. The living room was empty, yet the TV was on, playing an old black-and-white war film dated 1975.

Rong Qian frowned, suspecting her father had forgotten to turn it off. She approached to switch it off but froze when her eyes caught the screen.

In the film, a man in a military uniform, draped in a cape, exuded an imposing aura.

But that wasn't what stunned her.

The man was the spitting image of the one in the photograph.