1. The Vision in Meditation
The neon lights of New York illuminated the cold winter night, but inside Janet's meditation room, a solemn stillness prevailed. Shadows danced with the flickering candlelight, and the carved incense burner emitted wisps of sandalwood smoke laced with a faint herbal fragrance, luring her into a deeper spiritual state.
She sat cross-legged, hands resting on her knees, eyes closed as she softly chanted an ancient mantra. The air grew heavier, quieter, as her consciousness gradually detached from reality, entering a hazy void.
Before her, a golden mark glowed faintly in the distance, floating amidst the darkness. Its magnetic pull drew her closer, step by step. Janet's breath quickened as a familiar sensation surged within her chest. She knew this mark was intrinsically linked to the symbol on Mike's chest.
"What is the origin of this mark?" Her consciousness pressed forward, eager to uncover the secrets buried within.
Suddenly, fragmented images burst into her mind—
A bamboo grove in the rain, fine droplets falling like silk.
A robed woman stood motionless in the rain, hands clasped in prayer as she murmured a spell. Opposite her, a man with a golden mark blazing on his chest gazed back, his eyes brimming with complex emotions. The tension between them was palpable. Then, in an instant, the mark erupted in a blinding light, ripping through the bamboo grove and turning the rain into mist. The entire vision shattered like broken glass.
"A past life…" Janet whispered, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
Just as she tried to delve deeper into the vision, an invisible force yanked her back into the present. A low, commanding voice reverberated through the void: "Stop, Janet. You have crossed the line."
Her eyes snapped open. The incense in the room had extinguished itself, leaving behind only faint wisps of smoke that quickly dissipated into the cold, heavy silence.
2. Intervention from the Sect
A sharp knock on the door jolted Janet out of her thoughts.
She walked to the door and opened it, finding herself face-to-face with a familiar figure—Lin Qing, a young spiritual practitioner from her sect. Dressed in a plain jacket, his expression was grave, and his eyes carried a mixture of concern and disapproval.
"Do you even know what you're doing?" Lin Qing asked bluntly, his tone edged with unease.
Janet didn't reply. She stepped aside to let him in. Lin Qing surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on the half-burnt talisman papers and scattered cinnabar on her desk. His frown deepened.
"The master has sensed your attempts to uncover the truth about the mark," he said, his voice calm but firm. "He warned that this mark represents a deviation in destiny, one that could lead to greater chaos. The sect wants you to stop interfering immediately."
"Stop?" Janet let out a soft laugh, walking to the window and gazing at the glittering city below. "Do you even understand what this is? The mark is not just about me; it's tied to the balance of destiny itself. I can't just stand by."
Lin Qing shook his head, his tone laced with pleading. "Janet, you know the rules of the sect. We are not to interfere with the mortal world beyond our limits, especially with forces we don't fully understand. Continuing this could bring great danger."
"Danger?" Janet turned, her eyes steady as they met Lin Qing's. "If we only focus on rules and ignore what's in front of us, then what's the purpose of the sect's existence?"
For a moment, Lin Qing was silent. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he reached into his pocket and handed her a letter. "This is from the master. He hopes you'll return to the sect to continue your higher training. We need you, Janet—but not like this."
Janet accepted the letter but didn't open it. She placed it on her desk without a glance. "Tell the master I'll make my own decisions."
Lin Qing hesitated, as if wanting to say more, but finally turned to leave. At the door, he paused and looked back. "The cost of meddling with destiny will always fall on someone. I hope you're ready."
As the door closed, Janet stood still for a long moment, exhaling deeply. Her gaze returned to the city lights outside, but her thoughts were fixated on the fragments of the vision. She murmured softly to herself, "The cost… maybe it was already decided long ago."
3. Mike's Revelation
Meanwhile, across the city in his sleek penthouse, Mike sat in his study, staring at a newly delivered report on his desk. It was a dossier compiled by his private investigator, and its contents left him even more perplexed.
The report revealed that Janet's family history stretched back centuries. They were once a prominent dynasty, their wealth and influence spanning art, real estate, and even obscure research institutions. But curiously, Janet's public records over the last decade were almost nonexistent. Even more intriguing, several properties under her name were tied to an enigmatic organization rumored to conduct spiritual studies. The organization's insignia bore an uncanny resemblance to the golden mark on his chest.
Mike flipped to a blurry photograph of Janet at an art auction, her silhouette shadowed and subdued as if she had deliberately concealed herself from the limelight. Her calm, enigmatic expression reminded him of their brief encounter during the parade. Her penetrating gaze seemed to linger in his memory.
"Who is she?" Mike muttered, drumming his fingers against the desk as he tried to make sense of the pieces.
Just then, a sharp heat radiated from his chest. He looked down, startled, as the golden mark began to glow faintly once more, syncing with the rhythm of his breathing. The mark seemed alive. He instinctively reached for it, and the light flared, dragging him into an unfamiliar vision—
A bamboo grove drenched in rain, the air heavy with the aroma of herbs. A robed woman held the burning golden mark, chanting softly with unwavering resolve. The light grew, consuming the grove in its brilliance before the vision shattered into darkness.
Mike bolted upright, gripping the edge of his desk. His breath was ragged, sweat dripping from his brow as the mark's heat gradually subsided.
"This isn't a coincidence." His voice was low but steady. He grabbed his phone and dialed his assistant.
"Mike, what's the task?" a calm voice answered.
"Arrange for me to attend a cultural salon," he commanded, his tone resolute. "I need to see Janet—whatever it takes."
As he ended the call, his phone buzzed with another incoming call. The screen displayed "Mom." He hesitated, then answered.
"Mike, how are you? I was just wondering if you'll be home for Christmas," his mother's gentle voice carried a hopeful note.
"I'm busy, Mom," Mike said, walking to the window to overlook the glittering Manhattan skyline.
"You're always busy," she replied with a trace of disappointment. "Your father's been sorting through the family library again. He's found some fascinating Renaissance manuscripts. You used to love those when you were young."
Mike paused briefly before replying, his tone tinged with resignation. "That was a long time ago. I have more pressing matters now."
"You've changed, Mike," his mother sighed softly. "Don't forget where you came from. You're from an academic family, not some superficial world of fleeting pursuits."
"I've got to go, Mom." He ended the call curtly, his thoughts drifting back to the golden mark as a storm of emotions churned within him.
4. A Foreboding Threat
Later that night, Janet sat by her apartment window, cradling a warm cup of tea. Snow blanketed the streets below, reflecting the colorful glow of neon signs. But despite the tranquil scene outside, her heart was restless.
Her phone buzzed with a message from the family's butler:
"Miss Janet, the elders are hoping you'll join them in New Zealand for Christmas. Madam especially mentioned how much she misses you."
Janet's lips curled into a faint smile. Memories of the family estate, its sprawling flower fields, and her elders gathered by the fireplace filled her mind. But the warmth of those recollections was interrupted by a sudden, piercing chill that swept through the room.
She set her cup down, standing cautiously. The air felt different—not just cold, but heavy with an unseen presence. Her senses sharpened, and she scanned the room with quiet intensity.
"Who's there?" she murmured, her fingers instinctively clutching the jade pendant at her waist.
No reply came. The room remained silent, but her spiritual intuition screamed otherwise—someone, or something, was watching her from the shadows. She quickly moved to her desk, lighting a talisman as she whispered a protective incantation.
Across town, in Mike's penthouse, the golden mark erupted into a searing heat, its glow spreading across his chest like wildfire. He fell to his knees, gripping his chest, sweat dripping onto the cold wooden floor.
"What the hell is this?" he growled through clenched teeth.
And then, like a whisper from another dimension, a deep, icy voice echoed faintly around him:
"This is only the beginning."