The rain did not stop. It pooled along the cracked courtyard tiles and dripped through the ancient roof beams in a steady rhythm that no longer sounded like water but like a heartbeat — wet and constant and unending. The Murong estate had begun to rot from the inside out; no matter how many protective circles Wen Li drew, the mildew spread across the talismans overnight, the ink blurring as if the walls themselves were weeping. By the time dawn came, they had not truly slept, just drifted in that thin layer between dreams and waking where shadows reached through the walls and old regrets slipped in under the covers like cold fingers.
Shen Jiu stood at the edge of the main shrine hall, his palm pressed flat against the cold stone pillar. He could feel the hum beneath the stone — a dull vibration, like an old bell rung endlessly in the dark. The pendant against his chest thrummed along with it, picking up the beat and echoing it through his ribs until he could not tell where the sound ended and his own heartbeat began. He wanted to rip it off, cast it into the rain, but whenever his hand strayed toward the chain, it found Luo Wen's instead.
Luo Wen was never more than a step away now. He hovered at the edge of Shen Jiu's vision like a second shadow, so attentive it might have been devotion or something colder. When Shen Jiu tried to step back from the altar, Luo Wen's arm slipped around his waist, pulling him close, grounding him in a way that felt too much like chains for comfort. It should have made Shen Jiu recoil, but the warmth was an anchor in the cold press of the hall, and he let himself lean back just enough to feel the steady breath against his neck.
He thought he might still be dreaming when he blinked and found Wen Li standing a few paces away, her eyes bloodshot and ringed with shadows, her brush trembling in her hand as she etched fresh talisman lines into the base of the mirror's pedestal. She had not spoken since they'd pulled Shen Jiu away from the altar the day before. Her mouth was pressed thin, the knuckles of her hand white as bone. When she looked at him, her eyes darted to Luo Wen first, then flinched away as if the sight scorched her.
She finished the final stroke and pressed the brush to her lips, whispering a prayer that sounded like a child reciting half-remembered bedtime stories. The wind outside rattled the window frames, a low moan that rose and fell in pitch until it almost sounded like laughter.
Wen Li looked up at Shen Jiu, her voice brittle. "It's almost ready. Once the sigils seal, we can sever the root. If we're quick, the spirit will have no time to scatter."
Shen Jiu's fingers twitched at his side. "And if it does?"
She held his gaze for a heartbeat too long. "Then we've fed it everything it wanted. And it will come for you again. Or him."
She didn't look at Luo Wen, but Shen Jiu did. The boy's eyes were calm, deep, reflecting candlelight and something darker. He had been so patient, so soft-spoken since they entered this place — each word shaped like devotion, every touch perfectly gentle. But there were cracks now, small ones that slipped out in the moments when Shen Jiu let his guard drop. The way Luo Wen's smile sometimes lingered a fraction too long when someone else's name crossed his lips. The way he never once left Shen Jiu's side — not for food, not for rest, not even when the storm flooded half the west wing.
Wen Li turned back to the altar and pressed her palm to the center of the mirror's frame. The jade edges sizzled where her skin touched them, and the scent of burning flesh joined the incense smoke that drifted from the cracked braziers.
"Once I break this last barrier," she said, breath hitching through clenched teeth, "the core will manifest. Shixiong — you must be ready to sever it the moment it does."
"I understand," Shen Jiu said. He wanted his voice to be steady, but it sounded thin in the cavernous hall. The mirror seemed to lean toward him on its pedestal, its surface dark and glassy as still water at midnight. He could see himself in its depths — a pale figure, hair loose around his shoulders, eyes shadowed and sunken. Behind him, Luo Wen's reflection pressed so close it seemed they shared a single heartbeat.
Wen Li's eyes flicked to Luo Wen again, then back to Shen Jiu. "Do not hesitate. Once it breaks free, it will try to latch onto your guilt. Or your—" She hesitated, then spat the word like poison. "—bond."
Shen Jiu's hand rose to the pendant before he could stop it. The chain burned cold through his robes. He could feel the echo of Luo Wen's pulse through it — steady, unfaltering, so warm it made the chill in his bones seem petty by comparison. He lowered his hand, ashamed of how much he craved that warmth when everything else felt like knives.
The sigils under Wen Li's hand flared, red ink brightening like a fresh wound. A low groan shuddered through the stone, and the mirror's surface rippled as if something inside it had begun to breathe.
"It's coming," she said.
Shen Jiu summoned his spiritual blade to his palm. Righteous qi flickered to life around his fingers — brighter than it had been in weeks, pure enough to make the dark air hiss where it touched. For the first time since they'd arrived, he felt a spark of hope catch in his chest. If they could sever it now — if they could break this old resentment before it devoured more lives — perhaps they could leave this place whole.
But the hope faltered when Luo Wen's fingers slid across his wrist, pressing lightly over the bones as if to test how easily they might break.
"Be careful," Luo Wen whispered. "Shixiong, don't waste yourself on it. If it tries to consume you, let me take its place."
"You'll do no such thing," Shen Jiu snapped, sharper than he meant to. He twisted his wrist free, ignoring the way Luo Wen's hand lingered at the edge of his robe like a ghost reluctant to fade.
"It's my right," Luo Wen said softly, but the softness scraped like a blade against glass. "If you break, what use am I?"
Shen Jiu didn't answer. The mirror's surface rippled again — this time bulging outward, a shape pressing against the glass from the inside like a drowned man straining to rise. Wen Li stumbled back, sweat dripping from her brow despite the cold.
"It's taking form!" she hissed. "Now, Shixiong!"
He raised the spiritual blade high — the air around the mirror shimmering with heat as the righteous energy drew the room's shadows tighter. He could see the shape within the mirror now — a half-formed figure coiled like a snake, its face a shifting mask of all the people he'd failed: the Frost Moon Sect master who'd turned away, the junior disciples he'd scorned, Luo Wen kneeling in the snow with a letter clutched in bleeding hands.
His grip on the blade trembled.
"Shixiong!" Wen Li's voice cracked. "Cut it now! Don't look at it — just cut!"
But the shape in the mirror smiled — a soft, broken smile that belonged to no one and everyone. It lifted a hand, pressing palm to the inside of the glass. Shen Jiu saw his own reflection lift its hand in mirror to it, as if reaching for a forgiveness he no longer believed he deserved.
The blade dipped.
"Shixiong." Luo Wen's voice was so close it startled him. Arms slid around his ribs, pulling him back until his spine rested against a warm chest. He felt Luo Wen's chin brush his shoulder, felt the boy's breath fan across his ear. "Look at me."
Shen Jiu tried. The mirror's pull was stronger. He saw the reflection's lips move, whispering things only he could hear: you're nothing, you ruined everything, your kindness means nothing, your redemption is poison.
"Look at me," Luo Wen said again, sharper now. His fingers clamped around Shen Jiu's wrist, forcing the spiritual blade upright once more. "You don't need to bleed for it. You don't need to do anything."
The words were acid poured over old scars. Shen Jiu turned his face, meaning to shove him away, but Luo Wen's hand tangled in his hair, guiding his mouth to the curve of his neck. He felt the boy's lips brush his skin, not a kiss but a claim.
"I'll take it for you," Luo Wen breathed, and the mirror cracked under the weight of that promise.
Wen Li screamed something he couldn't make out. The air split with a noise like glass shattering inside the skull. The thing in the mirror lunged — not for Shen Jiu but for the bond that pulsed at his throat, the pendant burning with a sudden white-hot light.
In that final heartbeat, Shen Jiu felt his regret pour out like smoke — all his doubts, his guilt, the sour ache of seeing himself as he'd once been. It rushed toward the spirit like moths to flame.
But before the darkness could reach it, Luo Wen's hand slammed flat against the mirror's surface. The glass caved inward, swallowing the reflection, the sorrow, the shards of old sins. The room went silent — the pool of black water under the pedestal swallowed the light, leaving only the echo of Luo Wen's laugh low in Shen Jiu's ear.
When the light returned, the mirror was gone. In its place lay a single black root, gnarled and wet with sap the color of old blood. Luo Wen drew his hand back, fingers smoking as if burned from within.
Wen Li scrambled forward, fresh talismans already in hand. She pressed them to the root, voice hoarse with exhausted triumph. "We can bind it now — bury it before it regrows. We can—"
Luo Wen's foot stepped on the root. It cracked under his weight like old bone. He looked down at her, his smile gentle, almost apologetic.
"No," he said. "We can't."
Wen Li's eyes widened. "What are you doing?! Shixiong, stop him—"
Shen Jiu tried to speak, but his tongue felt heavy, the taste of the mirror's illusions still thick in his mouth. Luo Wen bent and scooped up the shattered root with his bare hands. The bark blackened where his fingers touched it, crumbling into dust that drifted into the pendant at Shen Jiu's throat.
"It belongs here," Luo Wen said, his voice a lullaby. "It belongs to us now."
Wen Li stared at him as if she'd never seen him before. "You're binding it to him. You're binding it to yourself."
Luo Wen lifted his head. His smile didn't reach his eyes. "So? Better that than let it find him again. I'll keep it. I'll keep all of it. He shouldn't carry a single drop."
He stepped forward. Shen Jiu's knees nearly buckled as Luo Wen's arms slipped around his waist again, holding him steady. The pendant glowed faintly, pulsing in time with both their heartbeats now.
"You don't have to do this," Shen Jiu rasped, though the words felt hollow.
"I do," Luo Wen said, his lips brushing the skin just below his ear. "Because you're mine. You said you'd never abandon me again. Did you forget?"
Shen Jiu's breath stuttered. He tried to look at Wen Li, but her gaze was a storm of horror and pity. She didn't reach for him — she just stood there, the binding talismans falling from her shaking hands.
Luo Wen's arms tightened. The pendant's warmth spread through Shen Jiu's chest like poison laced with honey.
Outside, the storm broke at last, rain sheeting down so hard it drowned out the sound of his own thoughts. The Murong estate exhaled its final breath, the old illusions dying in the corners where no one looked. And through it all, Luo Wen's whisper was steady, unwavering, wrapped around him like the promise of shackles he'd chosen without ever realizing it.
"You're safe now," Luo Wen murmured. "You're mine. And I'm yours. Always."
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