Chapter Five: The Psychic of New York

In the dead of night, within my New York apartment, I jolted upright, heart furiously knocking against my ribcage as if clamoring to break free. Cold sweat drenched my forehead and the back of my spine, the chilliness of the air contrasting sharply with the moisture on my skin. My eyes were wide open, flickering with confusion and fear, as my hand fumbled to switch off the relentlessly buzzing air conditioner. Lingering in the air seemed to be the afterimage of a Tang Dynasty phoenix, along with the shock of my own murder.

My dream was saturated with the colors and details of the Tang era - silky brocades streaming with light, sumptuous mansions, the authentic sound of ancient musical instruments, I could even magically perceive the fragrance of peach blossoms in the air. Yet the conclusion of this dream turned out to be an assassination shrouded in ignorance, where panic and acute pain surged unexpectedly, leaving me lost in the darkness until a heavy breath and my own screams pulled me back to reality.

The digital clock beside my bed showed it was three in the morning, the noise from the street had faded away, and the night outside the window was like a series of black curtains, isolating the city. I rose from my bed and walked to the window. Gazing through the glass, I tried to find peace for my soul. However, the dream was too vivid, so realistic that I began to doubt whether I had really traveled through time and had actually been hunted down by a man in black.

In the following days, I attempted to continue with my daily life - writing, shopping, chatting with friends, but the experiences from the dream acted like invisible chains, constantly dragging at my spirit. While writing, the characters in my mind invariably donned Tang Dynasty attire, stepping into the expansive imperial gardens; walking on the street, the faces of passers-by seemed to reveal the contours of a Western Region knight, every yellow taxi and towering skyscraper morphed into the horse-drawn carriages and the grandiose rooftops from my dreams.

I began scouring the internet for any content potentially related to my dream, from the history of the Tang Dynasty to various conspiracy theories, I read meticulously. Books on the Tang Dynasty became decorative pieces on my coffee table. Each research inadvertently compelled me to delve deeper into the meaning of my dreams; I felt that the clues from my dreams were more urgent, more real than anything in reality.

Everything in the dream was portrayed so vividly; I could clearly feel the era's wind and sand scraping against my cheeks, hear the melodic harmony from the silk and bamboo orchestra within the luxurious estates, and even the subtle fragrance of peach blossoms mixed with the scent of grass filled the air. Every detail, each whisper, and even my death – the cold pain of an arrow, followed by boundless eeriness and darkness.

At first, I tried to attribute these dreams to my recent emotional lows. But the fog-laden dreams gave me intense premonitions – they felt more like memories, a hidden recollection within me, one that transcended time and space. Thus, I resolved to find tangible evidence in reality that could unravel my incessant torment.

My search began, with the New York Public Library as the initial stop. I started with the history of the Tang Dynasty, combing through pages of records from that glorious age. Then, onto the books on Tang art, architecture, and even pottery and attire. Every image depicted, every artifact described, seemed very familiar, resonating within me.

But what the books offered was merely knowledge, and deeper confusion. I found I had an unusual familiarity with the Tang Dynasty, an affinity that wasn't acquired through study, but seemed to come from an innate recognition within me. I was convinced that the experiences in my dreams were a reenactment of a past life, I just hadn't found the key to the past yet.

Besides hitting the library for resources, I extended my quest into the online realm. In the still of the night, the cool light of the computer screen reflected on my face, with hundreds of tabs open, all circling around one theme: the Tang Dynasty. Ancient poems, lost legends, I was almost ready to try out every single clue that might tie in with my dream.

There are also those books and forums about soul transmigration and the cycle of memory. This information accumulates on my desk, forming a puzzle that is both thrilling and troubling to me. I know I am nearing the answer, but with every in-depth discovery, the mystery becomes more complex. Each night, new fragments and clues are added to my dreams.

These scattered pieces of evidence are like shards that need to be linked together, as if some force is guiding me in the shadows. I began seeking the help of experts, posting on forums, asking questions at academic conferences, and I even started contacting psychologists who study psychic phenomena. My dreams seem to have transcended the realm of the ordinary, carrying a special kind of mission.

New York City is always filled with infinite possibilities. At a chance literary salon, I heard a story about a psychic named Lysandra. It was said that she lived on the fringes of the city, with eyes that could peer into the human heart and a capacity to comprehend the past and present. Some claimed she could unveil the secrets of past lives; others said she could unravel the most complex dreams.

Although skeptical about psychic matters, my curiosity and the yearning for answers compelled me to seek out Lysandra. I traversed busy streets, gradually distancing myself from the urban clamor. After getting off the subway and walking through an unusually quiet neighborhood, I found myself standing in the shadow of an old building. It wasn't luxurious, but it had a sense of profound history. According to the address provided by others, Lysandra's apartment was hidden on the top floor of this building.

I ascended, found the corresponding door number, and knocked on the ancient wooden door, my heartbeat forming a stark contrast to the surrounding silence. The door slowly opened, revealing the silhouette of a middle-aged woman in the dim light. Her eyes shone like stars, her gaze seemingly piercing through my appearance, touching the fear and anticipation deep within my heart.

"I've been waiting for you for a long time, Anna," said Lysandra, her voice calm yet forceful, exuding an undeniable confidence, and she called out my name directly.

As the door closed behind me with the long carpet muffling the sound, I stepped into Lysandra's world. The room was elegantly and mysteriously decorated, with strange antiques placed everywhere and ancient tapestries hanging on the walls. A round table stood in the center, covered with a cloth embroidered with astrological patterns.

Lysandra gestured for me to sit down, then lit several candles and a censer of sandalwood incense. The rich aroma unfurled in the air, harmoniously echoing the ancient scent of the grand mansions of the Tang Dynasty from my dreams.

"Your dreams are heavy and tangible," Lysandra said as she began arranging various familiar and peculiar Tang Dynasty ornaments in preparation for the psychic session. "They are artifacts from the Tang Dynasty, echoes of the past, ancient memories. I will help you understand them."

New York at this time was sweltering, and the air was still permeated with the scent of sandalwood. It was very quiet around, occasionally the creaking of old wood could be heard, as if echoing the unease in my heart. The table was full of divination tools, with an antique bronze censer in the center, exuding the sediment of eras. Lysandra adjusted the incense sticks, the familiar scent of sandalwood that could blur one's consciousness, yet make the spirit exceptionally clear.

We exchanged pleasantries for a while, I asked some questions about my dreams, and she gave some detailed responses. Then we quieted down to begin the psychic session.

As the ritual began, the air in the room seemed to grow denser. The rhythm of Lysandra's voice, blended with the thin wisps of smoke rising from the incense burner, created an ethereal sensation, detached from reality. I felt my consciousness blur, and I began to sink into that all-encompassing sea of dreams containing the codes of the Tang Dynasty.

"Now, close your eyes, follow my guidance, and open the door deep within your heart," Lysandra's voice was like a hypnotic melody, lulling me into a state of semi-consciousness.

This time, my dream wasn't just a jumble of fear and memory, but a journey with Lysandra at my side as my guide. She led me through the confusing, fragmented memories. Through the mists of the dreamscape, I began to recognize those familiar yet mysterious faces, to decode the symbols and hints within the dreams, trying to find the hidden clues lying beneath.

During this process, I realized that my dreams were not mere figments of fantasy, but a river of memory hidden deep within my soul, constantly flowing and awaiting my interpretation. Lysandra, the soul-searching psychic, was my guide through the unveiling of this ancient mystery. I once again saw the face of the Western Region knight in my dreams, from the beginnings of love, then slightly twisted, to my father's steadfast face, the faces of the people around me, the scenes of the lone smoke over the desert, and even saw myself seated inside a majestic palace, surrounded by a crowd of ministers.

The temperature in the attic seemed to be dropping, sending shivers down my spine, while my consciousness began to drift away from my body, traveling through the river of time, back to the Tang Dynasty I saw in my dreams. I felt the dust of that era, heard the plucking of the pipa strings, stepped on the scent of the earth, mixing glances with ancient people.

As the psychic session continued, Lysandra began to chant her incantations. Each word was a gem, each phrase a resounding strike, like beats upon the soul's drum, pushing me further into the depths of memory. It was as if I was touching fragments forgotten by time—a secret meeting with a Tang Dynasty Western Region knight, a romantic journey through the Western Regions, and the sweetness and bitterness of life in the palace—all coming to life in this ritual.

The psychic Lysandra was like a guide, leading me through the gaps between history and dreams. Through the medium of the ritual, she connected the two ends of time, attempting to reveal the indescribable secrets from past lives.

At that moment, my mind seemed to unlock some mysterious code, my thoughts illuminated, no longer just a simple seeker but becoming closer to a seeker of the soul's mysteries. And as the psychic ceremony climaxed, I finally touched upon a sliver of truth woven between reality and dreams.

My dreams not only brought forth characters but also an ancient jade artifact. It was small, irregular in shape, but its texture was warm, emitting a subtle luster. Carved on the jade were three ancient Chinese characters for 'Wu Zetian,' the script so unique that looking at it, I sensed a heartbreaking sadness within me.

The dreams were so vivid, my Tang Dynasty dreams a tangible reality. I heard my name being called, saw familiar faces, and the jade artifact, which seemed like a gem imbued with mysterious power, as though it existed solely awaiting my quest.

Under the guidance of the ritual, I tried to discern the locations from my dreams and the hidden location of the jade. It seemed like an old basement in modern times. When the ritual ended, I slowly returned to reality. My mind became clear, but the impulse in my heart was stronger.

After calming down, I asked Lysandra about the dreams. She remained silent, deep in thought, as if understanding everything but choosing not to speak. In the end, she told me that I carry a great historical mission; although she couldn't tell me the real truth, I must trust her. No matter what I faced in the future, it was destiny's arrangement, something I had to confront actively. However, the next step, she hinted, involved finding the jade from my dreams; without it, there would be no progress. After speaking, she silently retreated to her own room.

I was somewhat at a loss, only able to bid farewell to Lysandra through her door. Immediate action was needed—I had to begin the quest to find the jade.