Colca Canyon.
Night.
A stage had been built on the edge of an almost sheer cliff.
Around it stood six enormous steel towers. Colored floodlights kept shifting from one shade to another, making the whole place look dazzling, strange, and almost unreal.
Huge electronic screens hung from the towers. Two broadcast vans and an ambulance were parked not far away.
Eight aerial drones darted back and forth through the sky, nimble as birds.
Every spot that could hold a person was packed with spectators.
Then the drums kicked in, fast and hard.
Excitement, danger, suspense—it all twisted together and pulled every nerve tight. No one could help wondering what shocking scene would come next.
The host, a slightly heavyset man, stood there with a microphone in hand. His face was glowing red with excitement, and his smile was warm and practiced.
He spoke quickly, but every word landed clear.
"Good evening. Welcome to Colca Canyon.
"Tonight is a truly thrilling night. More than two thousand people here on site are about to witness an unbelievable escape performance by the genius magician, Rosalind Ashford.
"Rosalind is the daughter of Sebastian Ashford, the god of magic. She began learning magic at the age of six, and now, at only twenty-four, she has already won the World Magicians Association's highest honor, the Golden Magic Hand trophy, five years in a row.
"Before countless eyes, she has made an entire skyscraper vanish into thin air, passed through a tornado, and even turned time backward. It is all so mysterious, so astonishing, that people can hardly believe what they are seeing.
"A lot of people keep asking—is Rosalind really just a magician? Or is she some kind of sorceress with powers beyond reason?
"To be honest, that question has troubled me for a long time too."
The moment he finished, the crowd burst into loud applause.
Still smiling, he waited until the noise dipped a little, then went on.
"But no matter what the answer is, one thing I can say for certain: every one of Rosalind's performances shakes people to the core. A young woman like this, with rare talent, relentless discipline, calm confidence, and unshakable resolve, is destined for extraordinary things."
"Boom—"
A thunderous blast split the air. As one, the audience lifted their heads toward the sound.
High above them, a massive ball of color exploded open. Golden fragments, thin and light as cicada wings, drifted slowly through the night like falling petals.
The crowd was worked up to the limit, eyes burning bright, some people even shrieking without stopping.
That was the pull of magic, after all. Real and fake tangled together, truth and illusion mixed into one. Maybe behind a dazzling performance, the answer was so simple it could almost let you down. And still, the next time, you would come back curious all over again, willing to step into the strange little world the magician built with her own hands.
Golden flecks drifted onto the ground, then seemed to melt straight into the night, gone in a blink.
Only a handful of people managed to catch them. Yet in that split second, the fragment resting in their palms had turned into a gold coin. One side was smooth and bare, the other engraved with a single Chinese character—Pei.
"That’s insane!"
A blond man held up the coin and showed it off, practically beside himself with joy. The people around him, empty-handed, could only stare at it with naked envy.
"Bang—"
The spotlight snapped on.
The noise below the stage died at once. Everyone widened their eyes and stared as, in the crossing wash of light and shadow, Rosalind Ashford strode toward center stage.
A black chiffon shirt. Skinny jeans. Sharp-toed stilettos. Her makeup was flawless, her long curled hair loose and full, soft and natural. She looked casual at first glance, but there was something clean, stylish, and effortlessly bold about her.
The spotlight cast a faint rainbow ring around her. Rosalind Ashford smiled like spring in full bloom, her eyes bright and alive, as though they held a thousand stars inside them.
"This is going to be a real adventure... I have only three minutes to break free. If I fail, I’ll fall into a canyon three thousand meters deep."
The giant screen showed the view of the Colca Canyon: jagged peaks thrusting upward, torrents rushing through the ravine, stone walls on both sides split as if by a giant axe, leaving only a thin strip of blue sky above. The wind howled wildly, as if it might snatch a person up and hurl them into the black abyss at any moment.
"Three thousand meters? That’s like one-third of Everest."
"Remember that guy last time? The one who tried escaping from that blasted building? I heard he failed and got seriously hurt. Stayed in the hospital forever."
...
The audience leaned toward one another, whispering and discussing it, each of them feeling at least a little worried for Rosalind Ashford.
Just then, her clear, ringing voice rose over the crowd.
"Now, let’s count down together!"
As the numbers rolled across the big screen, the excitement in everyone’s chest quickly smothered that last bit of worry. Cheers surged one after another, and the air itself seemed to catch fire.
"5, 4, 3, 2, 1—start!"
Two assistants helped Rosalind Ashford into the custom straitjacket, then took an iron chain as thick as a man’s arm and wound it around her again and again, from shoulders to ankles. At the end, they brought out five heavy padlocks and fastened the chain down so tightly there was hardly any space left between the links.
Just then, Leighton Marlowe stepped forward.
He was Rosalind’s manager, and once the closest friend of Sebastian Ashford.
After Sebastian Ashford passed away, it was Leighton Marlowe who took Rosalind in and raised her with painstaking care until she grew up.
"Ruohua."
Half of Leighton Marlowe’s refined face was swallowed by shadow where the stage lights could not reach. His dark eyes were heavy with something hard to read, like a cold river under moonlight, water shifting and trembling, quiet on the surface and deep underneath.
Escape magic was never truly safe. Rosalind was no novice anymore. She had been through enough stages and enough risks to count as an old hand. Even so, every single time she performed, Leighton Marlowe still could not stop worrying for her.
Rosalind gave him a small smile and said, "Uncle, I’ll make it."
Leighton Marlowe lowered his eyes. He slipped a silver ring off the little finger of his right hand. It was a plain band, simple and unadorned, except for a phoenix carved into the face. Then he caught Rosalind’s left hand and hurriedly pushed the ring onto her middle finger.
He moved too fast, too roughly.
The edge of the ring scraped her skin and cut it open. A thin line broke, and tiny beads of blood welled up at once, bright and sharp, smearing faintly against the silver.
"I’m sorry, Ruohua. Uncle wasn’t careful..."
Leighton Marlowe spoke in a low voice.
He had always been the sort of man who stayed calm no matter what happened, steady to the bone. For him to lose composure like this was rare enough to be called a real slip.
A faint unease rose in Rosalind’s chest, quiet but stubborn, as if something bad was already on its way.
Her instincts had always been frighteningly accurate.
This ring was her father Sebastian Ashford’s keepsake. Leighton Marlowe had treasured it for years, guarding it like something priceless. So why was he suddenly handing it to her now, in such a rush, right in the middle of preparations for the performance?
"Uncle..."
Rosalind had just opened her mouth to ask when the female assistant at her side pressed a hand to her earpiece. After confirming the message coming through, she leaned close and whispered into Rosalind’s ear, "Pei, everything is ready."
The ring was cold, the chill sinking through her skin.
Rosalind would never forget what her father had once told her.
"I am a magician. I will not disappoint the audience."
The moment one stepped onto the stage, there could be no distractions, no wandering thoughts. Only magic. Nothing but magic. No matter how urgent the questions were, no matter how tangled the feelings in her heart, all of it would have to wait until she came off the stage.
Leighton Marlowe looked at Rosalind Ashford in silence. Bit by bit, a faint mist seemed to gather in his eyes. Then, all at once, he opened his arms and drew her gently into his embrace. His voice was low and soft when he spoke. "Rosalind, you must remember this. No matter when, no matter where, Sebastian Ashford loved you. And I love you too."
After a long moment, he let her go. He lifted a hand and carefully tucked the loose strands by her cheek behind her ear.
"Go on."
Rosalind Ashford pressed her lips together, her bright eyes shimmering with restless light.
"Uncle, wait for me to come back."
The dazzling stage lights swallowed up her slender figure, and she drifted farther away like a beautiful butterfly slipping into the glow...
