The storm never left. By the third day, the Murong estate's walls were slick with a sheen of perpetual damp, the air inside clinging to skin like breath too close to the ear. They rose at dawn to find their barriers cracked again, talisman paper flayed and curled like burned petals.
They were running out of ink.
Wen Li's fingers trembled as she rewrote the seals, her brush strokes uneven for the first time since she'd joined Frost Moon Sect. She caught herself glancing at Shen Jiu when she thought he wasn't looking — and even more often at Luo Wen, who stood just inside the circle of firelight, head tilted slightly, eyes half-lidded as if he were listening to a song only he could hear.
They hadn't spoken of the dreams.
No one dared to speak of the dreams.
---
They made their way down a rotting corridor lined with portrait scrolls — old Murong ancestors staring down with fox-slit eyes, each brushstroke slightly wrong. The faces seemed to shift when one wasn't looking — a tilt of the lips here, an extra tooth there. When they passed by, the paper sighed in the breeze as if the ancestors themselves whispered prayers behind the walls.
At the end of the hallway was a single wooden door, half-rotted through with black mold. The air behind it pulsed — Shen Jiu felt it before he laid a hand on the latch. A low thrum, like a heartbeat, except too slow, too deep.
"Shixiong," Wen Li murmured, her fingers catching his sleeve. "Perhaps we should—"
But Luo Wen was already beside him, his hand gently pushing hers away.
"Trust Shixiong," he said, smiling. "He's never led us wrong."
His eyes flicked up to Shen Jiu, and something cold twisted in Shen Jiu's stomach at the devotion there — a devotion that felt bigger than the boy's body could contain.
He pushed the door open.
---
The chamber beyond was vast — too vast for the manor's original design, its dimensions wrong in that subtle, sickening way that made the hair on the back of one's neck rise. Columns of warped wood spiraled toward a ceiling lost in shadow. A pool of water covered the stone floor in a thin, perfect sheet, mirroring everything above it.
They stepped inside. The reflections rippled beneath their feet.
When Wen Li glanced down, she saw not herself but a little girl, knees scraped raw, clutching a half-burned talisman. She bit her tongue to stop the gasp that rose.
"Don't look," Shen Jiu said softly. He tightened his hold on her wrist, guiding her forward. He didn't look down. He didn't want to know what the water would show him.
Luo Wen, however, lagged behind — steps deliberate. He stared into the pool as if seeing something precious only he could find. His reflection was not the boy at all, but a young man draped in black robes, eyes glowing faintly crimson, a chain of thorned metal looping around his wrists.
The reflection looked up — and smiled.
---
They reached the chamber's center: an ancient altar, half-collapsed, its stone surface riddled with hairline cracks that wept black water. A single mirror sat on the altar, framed in jade that had long since turned the color of old bone.
Wen Li bent closer. "It's the origin. This mirror is the heart."
Shen Jiu's pulse picked up. He could feel the air around it — a distortion that tugged at the pendant on his chest. He pressed a palm over the pendant without thinking.
"I'll destroy it," he said. He reached for a blade of spirit energy, weaving it through his fingers — bright, righteous light flickering in the gloom.
A hand closed over his wrist — strong, warm, possessive.
Luo Wen's breath ghosted his ear. "Shixiong… Wait."
Shen Jiu frowned. "What are you doing?"
Luo Wen didn't release him. His other hand came up, palm flat against Shen Jiu's chest, fingers brushing the pendant that pulsed like a second heart.
"It's not ready to die," Luo Wen whispered. "If you break it now, it'll just scatter. We'll never cleanse it."
Wen Li watched them — watched Luo Wen press closer, watched the way Shen Jiu stiffened but didn't push him away. Something burned in her throat that tasted like bile.
She cleared it. "Then what do we do?"
Luo Wen's eyes never left Shen Jiu's face. "We feed it."
---
The words sank in like poison.
Wen Li took a step back. "What do you mean feed it? It's a resentful spirit, not a stray dog—"
"Shixiong knows," Luo Wen said, so sweetly that the sharp edge of his words cut deeper. "It's hunger. It wants what he has. Regret. Guilt. Things he keeps locked away."
Shen Jiu's spine went rigid. "Enough."
But Luo Wen only leaned in, pressing his forehead to Shen Jiu's temple, his lips grazing the shell of his ear. "Let it see. Just once. Let it taste the truth."
Shen Jiu's hands trembled. He could feel the mirror pulling at him — as if the surface was a mouth gasping open, waiting for him to bleed. He wanted to tear himself free, to push Luo Wen away, to step back—
Except Luo Wen's fingers tangled in his collar, pulling him forward, forcing him to look.
---
The mirror rippled. The chamber fell away.
Shen Jiu stood in snow — deep, unending, cold enough to bite through marrow. He saw himself, tall and haughty in Frost Moon robes, lips curled in disdain. And there, kneeling in the snow at his feet, was Luo Wen.
But not the boy. The memory — the first life. Luo Wen, hair matted with blood, hands raw and red as he clutched a letter to his chest.
Please, Shixiong. I'll do better. Don't send me away.
The past-Shen Jiu sneered, his foot striking the boy's shoulder, sending him sprawling. Useless waste. If you can't keep up, crawl back to your peasant hole.
The real Shen Jiu flinched, wanting to look away — but the mirror held him. He felt every cruel word like knives scraped across his ribs.
And behind him, a whisper. You did this.
---
In the reflection, the kneeling Luo Wen looked up — and their eyes met across the years.
The boy's eyes were wide and wet — yet inside them, something monstrous flickered, coiling tighter and tighter around his tiny frame.
Shixiong, the reflection mouthed. You chose me.
A hand slid up his spine — warm, grounding — but it only made the illusion worse. Luo Wen's real fingers pressed the pendant to his heart, pinning him there.
"It's alright," Luo Wen breathed against his neck. "Let it see you. Let it take it. I'll hold you together."
The snow fell harder. In the mirror's throat, Shen Jiu saw every word he'd ever spit like venom. Every slap, every bruise, every broken promise.
He gasped — the sound ripped out of him like cloth torn at the seam.
---
When the vision snapped, he was on his knees, breath ragged, sweat cold against his spine. Wen Li stood frozen by the altar, her knuckles white around the talisman brush.
Luo Wen was behind him — arms around his chest, chin resting on his shoulder, breath warm against his skin. He rocked him gently, back and forth, like soothing a child.
"Shixiong," he crooned. "I'm here. I'm always here."
Shen Jiu wanted to pull away. But his limbs felt heavy — each breath dragged through his throat like barbed wire.
"I hate this," he rasped. "I hate remembering—"
Luo Wen's lips brushed his jaw, the touch too soft to be innocent. "Don't. I'll carry it. Let me carry it all."
---
Wen Li forced herself to speak. "We can't stay here. The mirror will consume him—"
But Luo Wen only turned his head, eyes flicking toward her, dark and unfathomable.
"It's not your place," he said softly. "You wouldn't understand."
He pressed a kiss to the corner of Shen Jiu's mouth — chaste, almost. But the sweetness of it made Wen Li shiver. It felt like a promise and a threat stitched together.
She backed away.
---
They dragged him back from the altar together — Luo Wen's arms tight around him, the chain of the pendant still pulsing faintly with each heartbeat. Wen Li laid a protective circle at the threshold, her brush trembling as she carved sigils into the damp stone.
They camped in the far corner of the chamber, too afraid to sleep but too exhausted to stand guard. Shen Jiu drifted in and out of uneasy dreams, his head cradled in Luo Wen's lap.
Once, he woke to find Luo Wen tracing the curve of his neck, thumb brushing the hollow of his throat. Their eyes met — and for an instant, Shen Jiu thought he saw the boy's pupils slit like a cat's.
Then the moment passed. Luo Wen smiled — soft, devoted — and leaned down to press their foreheads together.
"Rest," he murmured. "You're safe here."
But the mirror on the altar still pulsed — a heartbeat in the stone — echoing the rhythm of the pendant that bound them both.