Yàn Shū’s hands were shaking so badly he had to shove them into the pockets of his corduroy blazer. He stood in the lobby of The Apex, a glass-and-steel monolith that served as the headquarters for Han Shān’s tech empire.

He felt like a stray cat that had accidentally wandered into a lion’s den.

He dealt with data, ink-stained journals, and quiet libraries. He did not deal with men like Han Shān, the "Ice King" of the tech world, or Zhāo Yàn, the fiery, unpredictable venture capitalist whose face was on every business magazine in the country.

"Mr. Yàn Shū? They’re ready for you in the private lounge," a receptionist said, her voice as polished as the marble floor.

Yàn Shū swallowed hard, his Adam’s neck moving convulsively. I’m insane, he thought. I’m officially going crazy. I’m about to tell two of the most powerful men in the city that I’m dreaming about us being a family in a world where people turn into tigers and wolves.

When the elevator doors opened to the penthouse lounge, the atmosphere was already thick enough to choke on.

Han Shān was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to the room. Even from behind, the man radiated a chilling authority. His suit was charcoal, tailored so sharply it looked like armor.

"You have five minutes," Han Shān said without turning around. "I don’t care how many academic credentials you sent in your email. Who are you, and why did you insist on a joint meeting? Don’t waste my time."

Yàn Shū opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He felt like a mouse under the gaze of a snow leopard.

"Oh, come now, brother. Don’t be so mean to the poor man. He looks like he’s about to faint."

The elevator dinked again, and Zhāo Yàn stepped out. He was the complete opposite of Han Shān, top three buttons of his silk shirt undone, hair windswept, a smirk playing on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked like he had just come from a race track or a fight. Probably both.

Zhāo Yàn lounged on a leather sofa, kicking his boots up on a table. "He’s a little cute, isn’t he? Very... studious."

Han Shān finally turned, his gaze narrowing. "Zhāo Yàn. You’re late."

"And you’re boring," Zhāo Yàn shot back, his eyes sparking. "So, Mr. Scholar. You sent us both a very frantic, very cryptic message saying you had ’crucial information regarding a shared psychological phenomenon.’ Speak."

Yàn Shū took a deep breath, clutching his notebook. "I... I know this is going to sound like a delusion. If I were my own professor, I would recommend a heavy dose of antipsychotics. But..." He looked at them, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I have been having dreams. Every night for the past two weeks."

Han Shān scoffed, turning back to the window. "I don’t have time for your night terrors."

"There was a woman," Yàn Shū blurted out.

The room went deathly silent. Han Shān’s shoulders tensed. Zhāo Yàn’s smirk didn’t just fade, it vanished.

"Amethyst eyes," Yàn Shū continued, his voice gaining strength as the images flashed in his mind. "A forest that never ends. A cave during a blizzard. And there was a soup....it smelled like ginger and wild herbs. She called me ’scholar.’ She called you ’Snowball’."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Zhāo Yàn sat bolt upright, his fingers gripping the edge of the sofa so hard the leather groaned. Han Shān turned slowly, his face a mask of frozen shock.

"You..." Han Shān’s voice was barely a growl. "You had a dream about us? And Bai Yue?"

Yàn Shū’s heart nearly stopped. "Wait you know her name? You... you see her too?"

Zhāo Yàn let out a shaky, hysterical laugh, running a hand through his hair. "See her? I’ve been losing my damn mind! I thought I was hallucinating from overwork. I see her in the fire, I see her when I’m driving, I even saw her at a library last week!"

"The library," Yàn Shū whispered. "That’s where I met her."

Han Shān stepped forward, his presence overwhelming. He grabbed Yàn Shū’s collar, not roughly, but with a crushing intensity. "What is the meaning of this?! If this is some kind of sick game, some elaborate corporate espionage—"

"It’s not a game!" Yàn Shū cried out. "I have a son. Hóng Yè. He’s sixteen. In my dreams, he’s a red-furred cub. In this world, he’s a moody teenager who loves spicy food. Don’t you see? It’s not just dreams. It’s... it’s like we’re living two lives at once."

Han Shān let go, stumbling back a step. He looked at his hands as if he expected them to be covered in fur.

"This is getting awkward and weird," Han Shān muttered, rubbing his temples. He looked at Zhāo Yàn, then at Yàn Shū. The three of them, the CEO, the Rebel, and the Scholar. It was the exact tableau from the dream by the fire. "It’s a coincidence. A mass hallucination. Maybe a gas leak."

"A gas leak that makes us all dream of the same woman’s cooking?" Zhāo Yàn stood up, his eyes pacing the room like a caged tiger. "No. This is something else. It might be an old life or something similar."

Han Shān groaned, a deep, guttural sound. "Don’t start with the mysticism, Zhāo Yàn."

"I know a guy," Zhāo Yàn said, ignoring him. "A Xiānshēng, a spiritual consultant. He lives in the old district. People say he can see the threads of fate. If we’re all going crazy, he’s the one who can tell us why."

Han Shān let out a harsh, mocking breath. "A shaman? You want me, to visit a street-side fortune teller? I don’t believe in that crap."

He grabbed his coat, his face hardening back into the Ice King persona. "I am leaving for a meeting. Forget this happened. Stay away from me, and stay away from that woman. She’s a distraction."

"You’re lying!" Zhāo Yàn shouted as Han Shān walked toward the elevator. "I saw your face when he mentioned the eyes! You’re just as terrified as we are!"

The elevator doors slid shut on Han Shān’s icy silhouette.

Zhāo Yàn cursed, kicking the coffee table. "Stubborn fool. He’ll come around. He can’t help it."

He turned to Yàn Shū, who was leaning against a wall, trying to remember how to breathe. The scholar looked small, his glasses sliding down his nose.

"Well, Scholar," Zhāo Yàn said, his smirk returning, though it was softer now. He walked over and slung a heavy arm around Yàn Shū’s shoulders. "Looks like it’s just you and me for now. Don’t look so scared. I don’t bite... much."

Yàn Shū shivered. "Are we really going to see a... a shaman?"

"Yup. And you’re paying for the taxi," Zhāo Yàn teased, ruffling Yàn Shū’s hair like he was a younger brother.....or a cub. "Come on. If we’re lucky, maybe he can tell me why I have the sudden urge to mark my territory on Han Shān’s expensive rugs."

Yàn Shū adjusted his glasses, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Wait," Yàn Shū said as they walked toward the exit. "Why do you think Han Shān ran away like that?"

Zhāo Yàn laughed. "Because, my dear Scholar, in the dreams, he’s the one who gets teased the most for being a ’good boy.’ He can’t handle the fact that in another life, a woman made him sit and stay like a puppy."

They stepped out into the bright modern sunlight, and for some reason Yàn Shū couldn’t help but look at the shadows on the pavement. For a split second, Zhāo Yàn’s shadow didn’t look like a man in a silk shirt. It looked like a massive, prowling beast with a lashing tail.

The hunt for the truth had officially begun.