By morning, Aiden had convinced himself that it was all a hallucination — too much caffeine, not enough sleep, and a touch of stress from managing two lives: university and corporate empire.
He even laughed about it in the mirror.
"Come on, Aiden," he muttered to his reflection. "You're the director of a billion-yen company. You don't get haunted. You get audited."
His reflection smiled back — a second too late.
Aiden froze.
He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and when he looked again, the reflection was normal. Just him — bed hair, sarcasm, and mild trauma.
"Cool," he said to himself. "Even my mirror's lagging. Great start to the day."
Classes were worse. He couldn't focus — every sound felt amplified, every shadow too long. His mind kept circling back to one name: Aiji Zhou.
That afternoon, he skipped his economics lecture and went straight to the university archives. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for, but curiosity had always been his curse.
The elderly librarian peered at him over her glasses. "Zhou? As in the business family?"
"Yes," Aiden said. "I'm… looking into genealogy. Family roots, that kind of thing."
The woman nodded slowly, then disappeared into the back room.
She returned with a thin folder wrapped in aged silk.
"This was donated years ago," she said. "Came from your great-grandfather's estate in Suzhou. Rare, personal records. Handle with care."
Inside, the papers smelled of dust and ink — records, letters, even fragments of scrolls. One photograph caught his eye — a black-and-white portrait of a stern man in traditional robes. The caption read:
Zhou Aiji (1769–1802)
His pulse quickened.
He scanned the notes beneath. The entry was short — too short.
"A respected merchant and scholar. Died unmarried. Rumored connection with a temple guardian known as Lady Lian, executed for witchcraft."
Aiden's mouth went dry.
Lady Lian.
The air around him grew cold again — that same scent of cherry blossoms filling the small archive room.
He whispered, "You've got to be kidding me."
The overhead light flickered. The photo trembled — just slightly — as if touched by invisible fingers.
Then, for the briefest moment, the ink on the page shimmered and changed. The words "died unmarried" faded — replaced by "died betrayed."
Aiden stumbled backward, knocking over a stack of books.
The librarian looked up sharply. "Everything all right, Mr. Zhou?"
He forced a grin. "Yeah! Just bonding with my dead relatives."
She didn't smile.
That night, he called Kenji again.
"Dude," Aiden said, "ever heard of a guy named Zhou Aiji?"
Kenji groaned. "Is this about your family's founder or the ghost you think is flirting with you?"
"Both," Aiden admitted.
There was a pause. "Man, I don't know what's worse — that you have a ghost girlfriend, or that she's into your great-great-great-grandpa."
"Technically, she's into me," Aiden said. "Same face, maybe. Better skincare."
Kenji snorted. "You need therapy."
Later that night, Aiden sat on his balcony, scrolling through online archives on his tablet. The city lights reflected off the glass — and somewhere in that reflection, just behind him, he saw a soft red glow.
He turned.
Nothing.
When he looked back, his tablet screen had gone black again.
White text appeared slowly, one word at a time.
"I waited, Aiji."
"I learned your world. Your machines. Your light."
"Now we can finally live our spring."
Then, faintly, her voice echoed — soft, melodic, and heartbreakingly tender:
"Don't fear me. I loved you once… I love you still."
Aiden closed his eyes. "If you really love me," he whispered, "please let me sleep tonight."
The lights dimmed. The wind brushed past him — warm this time, almost affectionate.
And for the first time in weeks, he actually did sleep.
But in his dreams, she was waiting — smiling beneath cherry blossoms, her eyes glimmering with tears.
"You remembered me."