A shroud of silver mist, delicate as gossamer silk, draped itself over the bamboo forest. Each passing breeze stirred the tall stalks, making them sway and whisper, as if the forest itself were murmuring ancient secrets to the moonlit sky. Moonbeams, faint and trembling, slipped through the canopy of leaves, falling in pale slivers onto the damp forest floor where dew still lingered—like fragments of shattered crystal, trembling in the breath of night. The silence was so deep, so pure, that even the soft plip of water dripping from a leaf was like a bell toll in the dark.
But the peace shattered—ripped apart by urgent cries, the thunder of approaching feet, and the savage blaze of torches flaring to life in the shadows. Firelight painted the trees in flickering reds and golds, casting monstrous silhouettes across the fog. Flames rose, brandished like spears of fury, searing away the night's stillness.
"Whoosh!"
A sudden flash cut through the mist.
A white figure streaked through the bamboo graceful as a falling petal, swift as wind, yet trembling with fear.
"Tiểu Bạch! Where are you? Don't run... please come out... I won't let them hurt you!"
That voice—so achingly tender, so full of anguish—it pulled at her chest like a string tied to her very soul. But she didn't stop. Her silken fur brushed past leaves, leaving trails of motion in the stillness. She ran—not just to escape the chase—but to flee from something deeper, more dreadful than mere pursuit.
"Trạch Hiên… I'm sorry… I can't let you see me…"
Her voice, barely a breath, was laced with sorrow. She didn't dare look back. She couldn't. If she did, her resolve might falter. And behind her, the storm closed in—footsteps louder, voices sharper:
"That fox spirit must be nearby! Search every inch—surround the place!"
"There! Over there! Get her!"
She turned.
Her eyes—deep pools of black—shimmered with panic. Standing before her was Trạch Hiên, the man whose smile had once set her heart trembling like bamboo in the wind. And behind her? Torches crackled. Steel hissed from scabbards. Hatred spat through clenched teeth. The forest had become a noose.
"Stop!" Trạch Hiên cried out, rushing forward, arms spread wide to shield her. "She's innocent! She hasn't harmed anyone!"
But his words were lost on the crowd—drowned by the roar of fear and righteous fury. A middle-aged man stepped forward, his voice like a blade:
"Step aside! Don't defend a monster!"
A knife suddenly slashed.
"Phew!"
Blood splattered.
Trạch Hiên fell, his shoulder blades were cut deeply, and blood flowed red from the whole piece of his shirt. He was knocked down and immediately tied up by two strong men. His face was white, sweat was pouring out, but his eyes were still looking at her, gentle as if there was no pain.
Droplets of blood from his wound landed on her white fur. Each drop burned into her like a blade to the heart, and her entire body trembled with violent shudders.
"Her eyes—look, they're turning red!"
"She's really transforming… the demon aura—it's rising!"
She stumbled backward in panic. In her chest, a strange force surged to life. It didn't come from her flesh or bones—but from deep within her spirit, from a sealed place within her soul where something ancient had begun to crack open.
The air suddenly grew heavy, thick with pressure. The wind began to howl, swirling around them in a rising storm.
Just then,
Boom!
A thunderous roar echoed from the distant mountaintop. The entire forest quaked violently. The mist was torn apart, ripped open by the force. Wind howled ferociously, fanning the torches into furious whirlwinds of flame.
A towering figure appeared—plunging down like a falling star. His hair, the color of ash, whipped wildly in the wind. His form was broad and powerful, as if carved straight from the mountains themselves.
He said nothing. With a single leap, he kicked aside three men surrounding the girl, sending them flying.
His gaze was razor-sharp—every step he took carried an immense pressure that crashed into those watching like an invisible wave. His entire being radiated killing intent so intense that, for a brief moment, the mob hesitated, startled by the overwhelming aura.
But he was still too far away.
Bạch Lan caught sight of him—just a fleeting glance—yet her heart thundered in her chest.
It wasn't fear.
No... it was something else.
Something hauntingly familiar.
Like a memory buried beneath centuries of silence, brushing against the edges of her soul.
She didn't know what it was, only that it made her chest tighten, made the world spin for a heartbeat too long.
But there was no time to dwell on it.
Trạch Hiên, his voice faint and trembling with pain, murmured:
"If you don't leave… both of us… will die here…"
His face was drained of color, yet his eyes still held that same gentleness—unwavering, like the very first time they met.
She looked at him, torn. Conflicted.
Memories surged like a flood—of soft-spoken promises, of warm embraces under the moonlight, of days that once felt endless.
But in that very moment, a voice—not his, not hers, but something ancient and primal—screamed inside her:
"Run!"
"Trạch Hiên…" she whispered, her voice quivering like the final note of a farewell never meant to be spoken.
A dim, misty light suddenly enveloped her entire body.
From beneath her feet, a surge of energy rose—gentle yet unstoppable—lifting her slender form high into the air.
The wind howled like a mourning soul.
The mist parted before her.
Her body dissolved into a stream of pale smoke, swirling upward into the sky, vanishing into the heavens—leaving everything behind.
Leaving him behind—the one who had taken the blow for her, who now lay wounded and bound in her place.
"Trạch Hiên… in this life, in this lifetime… I owe you…"
***
Bạch Lan jolted awake in the middle of the night.
The ceiling fan creaked rhythmically overhead.
Moonlight poured through the window, casting a cold silver streak across the wooden floor.
She sat up abruptly, arms wrapped around her chest, heart pounding as if she had just escaped from something unspeakably terrifying.
Sweat soaked through her collar. Her long hair clung to her forehead in damp strands.
She raised a trembling hand to her face, feeling skin drenched not only with sweat… but with tears.
That dream.
It was the same one again.
That same forest.
Those same eyes, filled with aching tenderness.
And that same pain, so deep it had no name.
Beside her, Thanh Nhi stirred and murmured sleepily,
"Bạch Lan... was it that dream again?"
She gave a slight nod, her eyes still distant, staring blankly into the darkness ahead.
"Yes... I've lost count of how many times now...
All I know is, every time I wake up, it feels like my heart is being torn apart."
She couldn't recall the face from the dream.
Couldn't name the man.
And yet, she couldn't forget the overwhelming surge of love—and sorrow—that washed over her each time the dream faded.
"Who... was he?" she whispered to herself, her voice so soft it was nearly swallowed by the night air.
"Why is his face so vague… and yet so painfully familiar? Why does my heart ache so much every time I see him in my sleep?"
She lay back down, turning toward the window, her hand pressed gently against her chest.
Her heartbeat hadn't settled yet—still racing, as if she were being chased through a forest that refused to release her.
"Thanh Nhi," she whispered, her voice barely a breath, dissolving into the quiet night.
"Do you think... dreams can be memories? Memories from a life we once lived?"
Thanh Nhi didn't answer right away.
She remained still, eyes closed, her voice soft and half-drowsy:
"Maybe... you've just been reading too many novels…"
Bạch Lan let out a soft laugh—a laugh with no trace of joy, only a vast, aching loneliness as deep as the night sea.
If it were just a story, then why did the tears feel so real?
If it were only a dream, then why did her heart ache this much?
Outside the window, the moon still hung suspended in the sky—silent and still, like a witness to a sorrow that had no name.
In the stillness of the night, there was only the sound of quiet breathing, the gentle rhythm of a heartbeat...
and a longing she didn't know how to name.
A dream—or a memory?
She couldn't tell.
But she knew—something was about to begin.
Note:
Bạch Lan is the main character's full name.
Her family and close ones often call her Tiểu Bạch or Bạch Nhi — affectionate nicknames that mean "little Bạch" or "dear Bạch."
They all refer to the same person.
© The work When the Heart Remembers (Nhất Dạ Chiêu Tâm) – Copyright belongs to Zieny.
Reproduction, reposting, or use in any form is strictly prohibited without the author's written permission.