"Brother Zhuikong."
"Brother Zhuikong!"
The little girl was lying beside the young man, calling out to him.
Her cries were like silver needles, piercing a thin cocoon deep within her memories.
Blood—childhood—island—blade—survival—
Those words flickered through her mind like shards of broken glass.
At that moment, a memory that did not belong to her surged into her mind like a burst dam.
The images were chaotic and blurry, yet incomparably real.
What exactly was this—
Zhao Yingkong stared blankly at her hands. The bloodstains had already dried, taking on a dark, dull color beneath the sunlight.
Zhao Zhuikong lay on the beach some distance away, fresh crimson blood still seeping from the bloody hole in his chest.
She felt an indescribable confusion, like a tangled mass of thread that she could not unravel no matter how hard she tried.
In her memories, it had been Zhao Zhuikong who, with those blood-soaked hands, sent every child on the island into hell.
That was why she had hunted that man down like a madwoman—
But now, another memory was telling her that was not what had happened—
What was going on?
Just then, a white light suddenly lit up on the horizon.
The light rapidly condensed, forming a magnificent gate.
The gate had no handle and no markings, only an aura of pure mystery.
Zhao Yingkong froze, then instinctively moved toward the gate.
She had a powerful premonition that as long as she pushed open this gate, every doubt and every confusion would be answered.
Yet just as she was about to approach it, she hesitated.
Not out of fear, but because of a deeper emotion—
"So this is it. It really is here?"
Just then, a voice came from behind her.
Zhao Yingkong's body stiffened, and she whirled around.
The person