Zhao Yufan (James)

Zhao Yufan, known to the breathless headlines as James, was a name currently setting the world on fire. How could it not? It belonged to the man who had ripped back the veil of centuries, unearthing a lost, ancient Arab civilization buried beneath the shifting sands.

It was miraculous. Unbelievable. Wonderful!

And James? He was already looking past the applause. His soul craved the next riddle: a forgotten empire buried in the jungle, a prehistoric fossil waiting in stone, another mystery to tear open. He lived at the absolute peak of existence, wandering the globe, refusing to trade the thrill of discovery for the suffocating pulse of a ordinary, linear life. No quiet routines, no attachments, just the open horizon and the sweet taste of being truly alive.

Later that night, after a punishing schedule of blinding flashbulbs and endless podium speeches, James finally retreated into the quiet sanctuary of his mansion. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders, yet the moment his eyes brushed past his private shelf, a spark of annoyance cut through his fatigue. The relic, an ancient gold lamp brought back from the heart of his discovery, was still coated in centuries of grit.

"How thoughtful of me," he muttered under his breath.

He lifted the artifact, feeling the cold, ancient weight of it in his hands before sweeping a soft duster across its tarnished curves.

One stroke. Two.

The lamp violently shuddered.

Instinct shattered his poise; James dropped the relic, sending it clattering across the white marble floor with a sharp, resonant ring. His heart hammered against his ribs. He yanked off his spectacles, wiping them once, twice, desperately trying to erase the illusion. He was overworked. He needed a hot bath, ten hours of dreamless sleep, anything to stop the hallucinations.

Except he wasn't dreaming.

A thick, improbable plume of iridescent smoke poured from the lamp’s narrow spout, curling through the dim air and blurring the room. James squinted through the haze as the vapor pulled itself together, densifying into a distinct, impossible silhouette. The mist parted, revealing no monstrous djinn or towering phantom, but a woman of breathtaking, unearthly beauty, draped in silk and ancient gold.

James froze. A woman?!

Then she spoke. Her voice washed over him, velvet and ancient resonance, hypnotizing, impossible, carrying a surreal cadence that vibrated in his very chest.

"I'll grant your three wishes.."

The brilliant archaeologist stood paralyzed in his own living room, his sharp mind utterly derailed.

Had he truly unearthed the myth itself from the Arabian sands?