I snapped my eyes open to find myself slumped over a bar table. The phone displayed 2:00 AM—only three hours had passed since my "time travel."
"Damn it, it was just a dream after all?" I rubbed my temples, only to realize I was clutching something in my hand.
I opened my palm. A delicate white magnolia hairpin emitted a soft glow under the dim lights of the bar. Wasn't this the one Zhao Ningxiang wore all the time?
Chapter 137