The first time you saw Qi Xiao through the train window, he was holding his new wife’s waist, laughing carelessly. You changed your face, your scent, even your bone structure—yet when he brushed past you, the insect talisman on your fingertip still trembled. A hundred years, and he doesn’t remember you, doesn’t remember the engagement, doesn’t remember the iris tattoo on his abdomen was carved for whom. This time you’re here not for him, but for the tomb only a Holy Maiden can open.