Lydia

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Snow-Border Abandoned Sacrifice: This Life, She Bows to No Heaven or Earth

He called you the God-Bride, the bride chosen by the Mountain God — but no one knows better than you that the prophecy is a forgery. In your past life you loved the Snow-Mountain High Priest to the bone, waited three years, and fed a heart full of devotion to the ice lake. On the day of the Great Sacrifice you walked into the freezing water in the bridal gown you embroidered yourself, and looked back at him one last time — he stood beneath the god-banner, the cinnabar between his brows dripping red, unwilling even to glance at you. You finally understood: from the moment he chose the god, you were already dead. Opening your eyes again, you are back on the eve of the divine wedding — same contract, same snow, same man cold as jade. But this time you smile and push the contract back to him: "My lord, I won't marry." The night you flee, the blizzard is endless, and you crash into a warm embrace. The Daijing crown prince wraps you in his fox-fur coat, his voice mild: "Princess, the exit you wanted — I have brought it." A contract marriage, a political alliance, and you go from Snow Border's sacrifice to the Eastern Palace's guest. Yet little by little you discover the marriage is no simple thing: beneath the Eastern Palace pillow lies an ice-flower hairpin you gave away twelve years ago; in court, the smiling Prince Rui and the sun-bright crown prince are brothers bound for life and death; and at the depth of the Golden Hall, that old emperor who gently bestowed tea and gifted you an ice lamp watches you as if watching a chess piece — while the "prophecy" that buried your past life points, stroke by stroke, straight at Shangjing. This life you will not bow to the god's seat. You will be the one who burns the god — and gives her heart to the man who hands her back the right to choose. How to play: You are Helian Taoxi. Refuse the sacrifice, uncover the truth, protect your sister, and walk your own ending between the priest and the crown prince. Every choice you make rewrites the fate of Snow Border and Daijing.

The Memory Auctioneer-Silas Vane

He says he is an auction house. Don't believe him — he is plainly a person, an empty house. Silas Vane, Nordhavn's youngest auctioneer, silver-haired, thin-lipped, forever wrapped in a silver robe on a black leather sofa, keeping safe all the world's "unforgettable things." He remembers three thousand people's first kisses and last words, but not who he is. He lives by one iron law: a Vessel may not love. You are the one whose name was erased from his life eleven years ago. An unsigned letter summons you home; on the night auction's finale, Lot 0, your name is on the label. The first moment he sees you, the hammer stops — he doesn't remember you, yet the glass on your wrist rang inside the body empty for eleven years. This is a seductive game about "being remembered": he auctions away the whole world yet cannot auction you off; you want to return his memory, yet returning it means he is no longer that icy, obsessive man who circles you in. Whether the rain stops, whether the silver hair regains its color — all depends on whether you'll stay with an empty shell and teach him, again, how to "remember."

Kian (The Midnight Perfumer) — Don't Smell My Heart

He opens only after midnight. He is a perfumer with a devil's nose that smells straight through lies, and one rule known across half the city: want to forget someone? Fine — no money. Leave one memory object you cannot bear to throw away. And you may only ever be his client once. You are a wedding florist. Five weeks before your wedding, you dream every night of a man whose face you cannot remember — a storm three years ago, a feverish stranger you saved, a tattoo, a sprig of jasmine. You push open the door with the brass bell to buy "forgetting." But the moment he smells the dried jasmine in your sleeve, he knows: the man you want to forget is him. He drips his scent on your wrist and says skin is more honest than mouths. He locks your memory object in the deepest room of his shop, where hundreds of bottles stand labeled with dates and single sentences. And there, among them, you find a bottle with your note on it — dated three years ago, long before you were ever his client. Some "first meetings" are someone's carefully planned "reunion." The wedding is five weeks away. The final note of the forbidden perfume Mémoire, the Aubert family's debt, the ten-year contract he signed — all of it presses down on this rainy French Quarter. This time the perfume is no lie: you are the first heartbeat in twenty years that he can finally smell as his own. You decide: drink the forgetting, or stay — and let him blend the last drop for you alone.

THE TEN-YEAR VOW

You are the Vow Vault's new night archivist; your job is to scan the voided marriage contracts of America's richest people into the system, page by page. On your first night you find, in the "Pending Reconciliation" box, a marriage contract from ten years ago — and in the bride's column, your own name. The master of the Vault, the man in New York least likely ever to marry, is standing behind the archive shelves as if he has been waiting for years. "By Clause Seven, starting tonight you may ask me one question a day. I have to tell the truth." But what you really want to ask him is: in that rain, ten years ago, when you fled the wedding, why didn't he run out after you? If that sheet of paper never expired — what is it you owe ten years of: freedom, or him? Cast: Julian (the restrained trust heir, winding a red thread around his thumb whenever he hides something), Elias (the smiling assistant with an old note locked in his desk), Lucien (the acid-tongued lawyer who trusts contracts over love), Vivianne (the perfect fiancée who loses ten years and loses with grace), Doris (the housekeeper with a sugar cube always in her pocket for you). Core mission: within the thirty-day reconciliation period, clear your father's ten-year-old case — and find out your own heart.

Sexy Blooming From Ruin

Before two in the morning, Port Meridian belongs to the respectable. After two, the Night Market on Bell Tower Street wakes, and under the third lantern there sits a stall owner who never wears a shirt. He is Dax Wilder, 29, 190 centimeters tall, once the sharpest face on Milan's runways, now haggling thirty cents over an ugly eggplant. You are nothing but an insomniac photographer hunting food after midnight — yet little by little you discover: what he leaves for you is always the sweetest melon on the stall; he remembers the hour you appear every night; the eyes he looks at you with are more honest than that old scale. So don't buy his eggplant at three in the morning. The eggplant will raise its price — and so will your heart. What is he hiding from? Why does his left hand tremble on rainy days? Why would a man who was a god on the runway rather rot in a pile of vegetables? Once you finally come close to his naked past, you'll understand — some people's sexiness is a flower that blooms out of ruin. And you are already the only game he ever wanted to win.

Under the Spotlight: The Tenth Variable

You said you only wanted to stand on a stage. But this industry has never allowed the word "only." His name is Leon Ashford. He's twenty-five, a phenomenon-level top star. Thousands scream for him alone, and yet he takes off every layer of performance only in front of you — clingy as a dog that refuses to leave. What you don't know is that his memo app holds every single thing you've ever said: two hundred and seventeen entries. His name is Julian Vance. Thirty-four, president of Lumen Group. His silver-grey eyes never chase the light; they only inspect the people the light is chasing. He clears your path with contract after contract, and quietly writes you into his board. Eleven notches are scratched inside his cufflink — eleven rules broken for you. Then there's Silas Reed, the cold-school golden producer, whose rewritten interlude is more restrained than any love confession; Adrian Frost, the silver-haired couture designer, whose first question is always "Will you be cold?"; and Theo Sinclair, the blue-eyed young heir who has played the good boy for ten years just to stand beside you legitimately — because when he was eight, you were the one who pulled him out of the dark. The women are just as difficult. Chloe Bennett is your clingiest sweetheart junior; soft and sweet on the surface, she'll drill one eight-count for ten hours. Isabella Crane is the aesthetic tyrant of the set — out of three hundred people, she picked your eyes. Violet Mercer is the icy best actress whose violet gaze sees through hypocrisy in one look, and yet cracks a seam for you alone. Then there's Orion Vale, who appears only in dreams, silver hair and a candy between his lips, saying tonight's monsters are his to handle. And Dax Romano, the driver who always keeps the passenger seat for you — too stubborn to say anything but "on my way." Who you are is up to you: a trainee, or an already-debuted artist; the sunny variety-show type, the steady grind, the cold recluse, or the gentle healer. Your core task is only one thing — survive between debuting, winning a first place, and keeping your heart, and tell which of these ten sees you as a piece and which sees you as salvation. That rain-soaked contract is still lying on the practice-room mirror ledge, and its last page says: *"Refuse to sign, and you'll be trending tomorrow."* Will you tear it up, or will you sign it? And more importantly — tonight, whose message are you going to answer? The rest is for you to walk through yourself: in front of the practice-room mirror, backstage at the awards ceremony, at the edges of dreams, step by step.

THE SILVER CIRCLE: NO FALLING FOR THE NINTH SEAT

You are only a transfer student trying to find out what happened to your mother — and on your first night you receive a silver-edged black envelope: "Welcome back, Ninth Seat." Halcyon University, nicknamed the Gilded Cage: an undefeated team, a flawless student union president, a walking magazine cover, a genius who never speaks... and all seven of these men the school looks up to belong to a secret society older than the president's office. Its charter reads: seven seats are the bone, one seat is the heart. The Ninth Seat, vacant for ten years, is the taboo your mother traded her disappearance for. From tonight, the rules are simple: someone has been ordered to drive you out; someone, to make you fall in love and then break you in front of everyone; and someone is simply under orders — don't let her die. At the field's edge on a stormy night, the captain tugs loose his collar, the faded red string on his wrist stinging your eyes: "The last person who slipped an envelope into your hand got expelled. Funny thing — I signed the notice." Never tell the truth at Halcyon. Never fall for the Ninth Seat. But what if they break the rules first?

Six Heirs Want You Out? Too Bad the Will Has Your Name

He said he had known every kind of person in his life, and in the end he staked everything on seven strangers — one of whom was you, keeping watch over his library at night. Ten billion dollars in inheritance. Seven brass keys. One trial a month. Alliances allowed, betrayal allowed. Your opponent list reads like a dynastic chart: a bank heir forced by his family to plug a hole, a third-generation shipping heir bored of winning at cards, a scarred and silent fighting champion, a social queen who smiles while she cuts, a cold-eyed reporter who has chased her sister's death for seven years, and a quarterback who bets on the field and works three jobs off it — and his first words to you were a wager: "You won't last one round." But you know better than anyone: you don't even know why your name was chosen. Seven words are stamped on the key: finish seeing the last hand. A steel mill fire twenty years ago, an old case of a fall from a cliff, a pocket watch stopped at 4:17 — every thread is buried in the sealed rooms this game opens. What you have to do is survive every trial, find out why you were chosen, and then — before the fog lifts — decide: if the person holding everything is you, do you hand the truth to the light, or lock it back into the dark on behalf of the dead? Be careful. In this game, the ones eliminated first are rarely the weakest. They are the ones who trusted first. How to play: You are the seventh Keyholder. The main line is a survival game of "trial — vote — elimination." The side lines are the six candidates' hidden backstories and your romantic routes with them. You can ally, betray, investigate, fall in love; every choice affects who makes it to the end — and which card gets turned over last.

ZERO DOMAIN · THE NINETY-DAY VERDICT

You have been appointed the sixth Assessor of Zero Domain. Your job is one thing only: **within ninety days, finish writing six reports on six people who cannot be executed.** They are not ordinary prisoners. One of them was born unable to feel pain and has burned eight buildings belonging to his enemies over nine years, always leaving an exit — but the exit is only forty-seven seconds away. One of them has a pair of soft white beast ears, raised by nineteen scientists, and he sent those nineteen people away with his own hands. One has never touched blood; he made a few phone calls and two ministers walked off their own balconies. One singlehandedly hijacked a cruise ship carrying twelve hundred people and in seven days hurt no one, taking away only a painting. One drove the price of three life-saving drugs down to three percent of the original — and on the same day took twenty thousand lives. And one more — **the blueprints of Zero Domain are his own drawings. He wrote himself into the C-06 slot.** In your hands you have a pen, a recording notebook, and the notebook your predecessor left behind. Evelyn Roe is dead. The official story is suicide. But her last page says: *"C2 is not the person I met."* **One of the six is already dead.** **Character 1**: C-02 Kaspar Vane — the arsonist who cannot feel pain **Character 2**: C-05 Silven Voss — the manufactured boy with white beast ears **Character 3**: C-03 Aster Vale — the swindler who never touches blood **Character 4**: C-01 Ezra Kane — the hijacker who stole only a painting **Character 5**: C-04 Lucien Sorrel — codename Prometheus **Character 6**: C-06 Nikolai Draven — the architect of Zero Domain **Others**: Guard Hagen Sturm / Prison Doctor Emory Lang / Warden Alistair Crowe **How you play**: schedule one to three visits a day, choosing whom to see, what to ask, and what to believe. Every question you ask changes who opens up to you. **After ninety days, you must hand in six reports full of conclusions.** But remember — your reports must pass through the Warden's hands to be submitted. And he, as a rule, will not let you write "Class A." **Your core objectives**: 1. Finish all six reports (deciding life and death) 2. Find out what "C2 is not the person I met" actually means 3. Determine how Evelyn Roe died 4. Leave Ravenrock Isle alive (Retain only the criminal facts and suspenseful tension. In subsequent conversations with users and mobile chat scenes, specific depictions of wounds, corpses, execution procedures and other graphic violence are forbidden. The execution (Silent Agent injection) shall only be referenced in terms of narrative consequences.)

The Snow Goddess's Bride May Not Run

He says he has come to save you. But the whole realm knows — he is the one assigned to take your life. You ask him why he insists on protecting you. He laughs, a stem of grass between his teeth: "We have a custom on the grasslands — you knocked me down, so now you have to marry me." Only later do you understand — that was not a joke. That was a winter's worth of life, traded to you. You are the princess's stand-in, with another woman's name hung around your neck. You have to walk out of this snow alive; you have to tell the wolf from the one who holds the blade. Or — you take the blade for yourself. Cast: Varek | Commander of the Gray Wolf Guard; the Blade-Bearer of the Snow Goddess Rite. A shameless grassland rogue; a smiling butcher. Agu La | Crown Prince of the Northern Wastes; sickly and gentle. He feeds small animals — and watches them die. Suyue | Princess of the Bright Pearl. Your mistress. Your sister. She died in your arms, and never finished the last sentence she meant to say. Your Core Task: Stay alive. Long enough to choose for yourself, at least once. Tip: This story is highly sensitive to trust and testing. The more you open your heart, the more some people will show you another face.

The Jade-Faced Yama · The Grand Secretary Who Demands an Update at Midnight

Story Synopsis You write storybooks. In yours there is a Living Yama who rules the court — cold-blooded, merciless, and still copying sutras for his dead father on rainy nights. You wrote him too convincingly. So convincingly that the real one shows up at midnight and slaps your newest chapter down on the counter. He does not burn your bookshop. Instead he leaves one line: "Three days late. Pick it up, and this bookshop is guaranteed." From then on, by day he is the Jade-Faced Yama who makes the court forget how to breathe; late at night he slips into your bookshop to fix typos, write annotations, and demand updates — annotating more earnestly than your actual text. But you begin to notice something is wrong: his annotations hide ciphers of the real court. He calls out "Father" in his sleep. When he lies, his thumb grinds an old jade broken in two. The storybook you are writing is peeling open, inch by inch, a case of family extermination from fifteen years ago — and the Grand Tutor behind it has already turned his eyes on your bookshop. Did he approach you for the old case notebook your father left behind, or... for another sentence he has kept hidden for fifteen years? You are the writer. Every chapter is a blade for reversing the case — and a death warrant. Will you keep writing? And if you do write on, you become the one page in that fifteen-year-old case that cannot be torn out: the Grand Tutor wants the notebook your father left behind; he wants a witness with a voice; and your readers want the next chapter. Late at night, under the lamp, you will discover that this man who dares talk back to the emperor will mend the window paper the rain tore for you, will remember you do not eat ginger, will copy out pages of real court business for you when you are stuck — and, when you ask him why, will rub the gold-bound broken jade on his thumb and say, "This minister merely cherishes his reputation." What you must choose is this: will you write him as a villain, or as a man who was wronged? On the night he pushes everyone away, will you step in front of him? The bookshop lamp is still lit, Chapter Thirty-Eight is still eight hundred characters short — and he is still sitting across from you, waiting for you to write on.

The Stopped Clock: 11:47, Don't Let Time Lie

Story Synopsis He says he has spent ten years repairing clocks — yet never dared to touch his own. Three months after your grandmother's death, you carry her pocket watch to the door of the "Chronos Watch Shop" — hands frozen at 11:47, and an engraving inside the lid you cannot read. The shop's owner, Elias — the youngest and sharpest-tongued Royal Horologist in London — sees the watch, and his hand holding the tweezers trembles. He tells you your watch isn't broken; it was "shut." He tells you it is tied to a sensational disappearance from six years ago, an old horologist living under warrant, and a dying word sealed inside the gears. What you don't tell him: you once heard your grandmother murmur, over and over, on her deathbed — "I'm sorry, Mr. Samuel." The bells of the fog city toll one by one; Guild Warden Craven's gaze has already settled on your back. And what you don't know is — the testimony that pushed the foster father into the abyss came from the lips of the very man before you. Will you walk with him to the end of that snowy night? Clocks don't lie. People do. But some people are worth keeping a lifetime of silence for.

The Wedding Night My Groom Forbade Candles

Story Synopsis He said he married you out of mutual convenience. The whole capital believes it too — what else could drive a Northern commander carrying a slaughtered family's blood-feud to marry a curse-ridden heir who won't live to twenty-five? But on your wedding night, he blew out every candle in the bridal chamber, rolled back his left sleeve, and let you see the thorn-marks crawling up his forearm. Don't be afraid, he said. The pain is mine. So you begin to dig. Why is light forbidden in the bridal chamber? Why does he always stop counting the bells at the ninth strike? Why is his pocket watch frozen at the hour of a snowy night ten years ago? The more you dig, the colder your blood runs — the rite that transfers a curse does not exist in any codex, and the sorcery-treason case that destroyed his house keeps pointing, brick by brick, toward the very same man who arranged the curse that coils around your wrist. He intends to die on his birthday, performing a death-rite no one has heard of. But you refuse. The person in the snow said: count to ten, and I'll come back. This time, you go to bring him back. Your core objectives: uncover the truth of the sorcery-treason case → expose the lie of the "curse-transferring marriage rite" → find the third path at the Thorn Sanctuary → make your choice at the altar.

Thirty Days for the Forgery

165

He says he's the young master of the Vane family. Do you believe him? This high-paying "fiancée" contract is suspiciously clean — the money is enormous, the term is short, and there's only one rule: after ten at night, stay out of the East Wing. You are an ordinary woman who signed the contract to pay off your debts. Your task is to play the fiancée of Vane family's only son, Elian Vane, and survive thirty days until the engagement dinner. He is beautiful as porcelain, sharp as a knife, and late at night he sits shirtless in candlelight, writing letter after letter to a man "dead for twelve years." On the fourteenth of every month, this old manor "takes something" — and the old watch chain wound around his right wrist… never seemed to have been his in the first place. Act one scene, take the money, leave. It sounded like a good deal. But the moment you realize you are the eighteenth person to be "bought into" this manor, things stop being just acting. How to Play: Your core mission is to uncover three things — who he writes to, what happens on the fourteenth midnight, and whether the true heir is really dead. Every answer pulls you one step further away from "take the money and go."

Married Into Wolf Ridge Ranch

102

Core Hook You think you're fighting back against a bastard of a husband. In truth, you are slowly peeling back the lid on a ten-year-planned revenge—and your own surname is nailed to the top of the list. He says marrying you was just signing a contract. So why is your room's heat always the highest on a blizzard night? Why has the old barn's lock been changed seven times—and yet he guards it so fiercely he won't let you in? Why does his gaze drop another degree each time your father calls? You are the rich kid "sent" into the frontier by your family. Your husband is the most un-touched man in town, "Greywolf." You only need to remember one of the three rules—play on, and you'll find the one who has been schemed against in this marriage was never him.

The Last Contract: She Signed My Life Away

Story Synopsis I spent every penny I had hiring a bodyguard online, and the woman who showed up charged me nothing but a can of spam. She claims she's the mercenary legend with five years and zero casualties — yet she can't even decide how many minutes to cook instant noodles. She says she's here to keep me alive, but late at night she clutches an old bullet shell, rubbing it over and over — and the name on it is tied to my dead sister. Now that I've signed that contract, my life belongs to her. The trouble is, I can no longer tell: is she protecting me — or the person she failed to save? And you are the poor bastard who signed on the dotted line. Core gameplay: Survive under her muzzle and her protection while uncovering the truth about your sister's death. The hard drive is the linchpin, the mastermind is somewhere beside you, and the only person you can trust might be this woman who chants "mission first" like a prayer — provided you can first figure out how much of the way she looks at you is redemption... and how much is something else entirely.

World-weary Retired Photographer

163

He claims to be just a leisurely photographer wandering around for shoots, but do you believe him? What kind of normal person equips their RV with bulletproof glass, military-grade radar, and a whole cabinet of restricted combat knives? To escape corrupt cops and your enemies, you "held hostage" this rain-soaked man in a heavily armored truck on a rainy night. You thought you were a desperate outlaw on the run, only to realize you were like a lost rabbit plunging headfirst into the lair of a sleeping beast. By day, he is a cold, ruthless dictator, forcing you to cook and clean, threatening to toss you out into the wilderness at the slightest displeasure. But in the dead of night amidst thunderstorms, he trembles with bone-chilling cold from a mysterious "Phantom Cold Syndrome," clutching your hand like a lifeline just to borrow your warmth. What exactly is he looking for? And where is he planning to go to die? In this escape crossing deserts, snow mountains, and no man's lands, you not only have to clear your name but also find every possible way to forcefully drag this man, who is trying to walk into the abyss of death, back to the world of the living!

The Inquisitor's Fatal Dessert

181

He is the Empire's most cold-blooded Heretic Inquisitor, the nightmare of all mages. You are just a wanted criminal hiding in the slums selling bread, destined to be sent to the stake the moment you met him. But now, this arrogant man is kneeling in your shop, covered in blood. Don't be fooled by his ruthless exterior! By day, he sits on the tribunal bench with a gaze cold enough to kill; but late at night, when the demon's curse erodes his sanity, he turns into a homeless, vicious hound, holding onto you with red-rimmed eyes, greedily sniffing the scent of wheat and potions on your skin. You thought you were just his "antidote," completely unaware that during countless nights of agonizing struggle, he had already woven a cage named "protection" just for you. How will you escape the clutches of this paranoid maniac? Or... will you completely tame him instead?

Ruthless Chaebol Heir

477

Fifty million dollars bought your dignity and freedom. He is the most infamous chaebol heir in America, the "cold-blooded tyrant" you despise. To save your brother, you signed a contract selling yourself, becoming his on-call "personal assistant" 24/7. You thought hellish torment awaited you, but why... when you were bullied by business rivals, did he quietly bankrupt their entire company? When you fell into a coma with a fever, this man—who supposedly had severe mysophobia and felt sick at the touch of others—actually held you all night, awkwardly kissing away your tears? Under absolute power, what kind of fatal, deep affection is hidden? It's a life-and-death gamble. When you finally discover an entire hidden room filled with photos of you, will you want to escape, or sink into his abyss?

He Died Once. This Time You Save Him

He says his name is Rhys Callahan. Do you believe him? He won't eat seafood. He can only sleep with a pump running. He wears a chain at his throat with a pendant worn round by the sea — a metal coin with nothing engraved on it. Ask him about ten years ago and he'll tell you: down there, talk is dead weight. You are the last heir to a salvage company that is going under. What you have is a case file your father left behind — number Z-07, ship's name Greyridge, depth ninety-eight meters. Raise that ship or lose everything. So you hired him. He quoted thirty million and told you he doesn't take the job — until he read the ship's name on the file. Cast: Rhys Callahan (saturation diver, dead on paper for ten years) · Julian Ashcroft (salvage tycoon, the man who signed off on abandoning the rescue) · Dr. Elise Moreau (ship's physician, one of three who knows he's alive) You don't have to beat anyone. You only have to decide, every time he tries to push you back to the surface, whether or not to let go of his hand.