The pocket watch mentioned by Future Lin Xiaoxia became a lifeline, rekindling a sliver of hope in the despairing Lin Xiaoxia. She combed through every memory with Xu Yuan, searching for any trace of that timepiece.
Xu Yuan didn’t seem the type to collect pocket watches, and their home held no antique timepieces. She even secretly rifled through his belongings—but found nothing.
Just as she was about to give up, an old, yellowed photograph caught her eye. In it, a young Xu Yuan stood beside a kindly old man in front of a stately ancestral home. Clutched in the man’s hand was an ornate pocket watch, its edges etched with intricate patterns.
Her heart lurched. Could this be the watch? Who was that old man? What was his connection to Xu Yuan?
Subtly, she probed Xu Yuan about the photo. His expression softened with nostalgia—the man was his grandfather, the house his childhood home. The watch, he explained, had been his grandfather’s heirloom, lost when he was very young.
"Lost?" The word sent a jolt through her. How could something so precious just disappear?
Xu Yuan recalled sneaking it out to play with as a child, only to misplace it one day. His grandfather had been heartbroken. They’d turned the house upside down, but it never resurfaced.
A chill crept over her. If the watch was truly gone, who took it? Could it have been Li Mingzhe, the silver-ringed man?
Driven by unease, Lin Xiaoxia set out for Xu Yuan’s ancestral home—the very one in the photograph. Though long abandoned, it might still hold clues.
Xu Yuan seemed puzzled by her sudden trip but didn’t press her, only voicing concern for her safety. She brushed it off with an excuse and went alone.
The old estate, nestled in remote mountains, stood weathered and overgrown. Weeds choked the courtyard; dust blanketed every surface inside. She searched carefully, sifting through time’s debris.
In a dusty desk drawer, she found a small locked wooden box. Forcing it open, she uncovered faded photos and a journal. Its scrawled entries spoke of time and secrets—phrases like "the silver covenant" and "the watch’s hands" leaping from the pages.
Her pulse spiked. A silver covenant—was that tied to Li Mingzhe’s ring? And where did the watch’s hands point? The journal’s final pages were illegible, but one date burned into her mind: days before Xu Yuan’s "accident."
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