Night had not yet deepened, but the lights of Ningyuan were already folding inward. The street markets hushed, while the shadows grew busier.
Beneath the east gallery, a white-robed Tai Qing disciple brushed sleeves with a blue-clad agent from Miaoji Tower. In that fleeting touch, a paper talisman shaped like a wild goose changed hands—inside, a shrunken flight array, ready to snatch its target outside the city without a trace.
At the northern post station, two Taixu Dao priests held empty reins, speaking idly, yet letting their words drift into the half-closed gate. Inside, a grey-cloaked monk tapped a wooden fish, the rhythm marking the hour of Shen Jin's impending escort.
From the west market rooftops, a black scale-armor from Yugu Hall watched the Ningyuan Judiciary. A thin dart of metal hid beneath a shifting plate, ready to carry a message. Below, a monk from Kulian Temple handed coins to a vendor—an ordinary trade, save that it passed a coded signal into the alleys' listening ears.
At the southern docks, a black-painted flatboat slid in. From under its canopy, a silver-ringed serpent's head emerged, tongue tasting the air—the waterborne messenger of Nanhuang Sect, already within the inner city.
All eyes, all ears, all hands, fixed on one name—Shen Jin.
The hunt had not sounded its gong, but the net was already drawn.
In the side hall, sandalwood smoke curled. Luo Qinghan looked up to see the newcomer—Wu Dulu, witch emissary of the Nanhuang Sect.
He wore a mantle studded with bone and feather, three coils of black-bronze bells at his throat, each step tolling like a funeral far away.
"Miss Luo,"
Wu Dulu's voice was damp, as if pulled from the depths of a rainforest,
"I heard your mirror could show the Yaoyuan's Seal. The Nanhuang Sect will trade you fair for a glimpse."
She shook her head.
"The Seal is not yours to take."
Wu Dulu chuckled, flipping a lacquered wooden doll into his palm. Its eyes were set with bloodstone. A flick of his finger, and red light flared; black vapor surged from the floor toward her ankles.
Her personal mirror rose, tilting to throw a blade of cold white light. The vapor recoiled, but at its edges turned into needle-fine serpents, sliding toward her back.
She pressed her palm to the frame; the mirror spilled like water, catching the hallway's shadows and pulling the serpents inside. But then her dreamscape jolted—the surface swam with broken light, day and night flowing in opposite streams. Deep within, a shadow of a dragon flashed, an ancient script flared for an instant.
Wu Dulu's eyes narrowed, bells falling silent as he fixed on the fading characters.
"So… that's interesting."
Luo Qinghan's pulse tightened; she gripped the mirror's seal.
"One step further, and I'll show you your death."
The witch's tongue clicked. He smiled low, withdrawing the doll; the bells at his throat jingled once.
"Until next time."
As he left, the sandalwood stirred into a cold spiral. Luo Qinghan looked at the darkened mirror, ripples in her gaze refusing to still—knowing the hunt was now close enough to breathe on her.
—
The courtyard lay deep and still, wind threading through the bamboo shadows with traces of sandalwood and the damp breath of night. The eaves hung low all around, as if to seal this pocket of the world away from everything beyond.
Shen Jin sat alone on the stone steps, no Seal in hand, his right palm open to the moonlight. The flame-mark within no longer burned as a single point—it streamed like dark-red light along his veins, creeping over the knuckles, spilling across the back of his hand in lines where black and red entwined. The patterns pulsed faintly, not in their own rhythm, but in answer to something distant, unseen.
He closed his eyes. There was no sound to hear, yet in the depths of his mind-sea, he felt the faintest tapping—each one like a fine brush tip touching paper, bringing with it a cool, fibrous edge.
The next stroke…
The voice had the grit of sand in it, unhurried, as if waiting for him to answer. It took him back to the first time he'd stepped into the Seal's domain, in that space without sun or moon. It was this same voice that had led him through the gate of the monument and the gate of the Seal's core—giving him his first taste of the Seal's true power.
Now, the light on the mark drew together, as if pulled by wind. Between the bamboo shadows, a grey silhouette emerged, coalescing from the seam between shadow and moonlight.
"…We meet again,"
The voice said, deep and even.
Shen Jin opened his eyes, meeting those sand-colored pupils that seemed to drift like slow rivers. His guard eased slightly.
"Senior."
The grey-robed elder stepped forward, unhurried, the hem of his mantle dusted as if from a long road. His gaze lifted briefly to the sky before settling on the back of Shen Jin's hand.
"The flame-mark's reached this point. The lock on the Seal… won't hold for long."
"That's why you're here?"
Shen Jin asked.
The elder shook his head, the shadow of a smile passing over his lips.
"Not just for the Seal."
He turned his hand. A pale talisman appeared in his palm, its lines like the veins of a dead leaf, a single bead of ash fixed at its center—the last breath of some long-burnt flame.
"Ash-Law Talisman."
He tossed it to the steps at Shen Jin's feet, the sound barely a click.
"Carry it, and the Law-Net of the Lingyuan Division won't know you exist. If you mean to walk this 'escorted' path, it'll let you slip away right under their eyes."
Shen Jin picked it up, feeling the cool bead under his thumb. Slowly, warmth gathered there. In the depth of his mind, the Seal gave a slight tremor—half urging, half in quiet amusement.
"You're telling me to run?"
His tone was conflicted.
"Run or not—that's yours to choose."
The elder's gaze was steady.
"But if you don't want to die in their net—enter the Grayland. The Mirror Gate Trial will give you your answer."
Shen Jin hesitated.
"The Mirror Gate… ?"
The elder didn't answer, turning his head toward the darkness beyond the courtyard. The bamboo swayed; his voice seemed to unravel into the wind.
"What you want… isn't just to survive."
By the time Shen Jin rose to speak, the elder's shape had already been swallowed by moonlight and shadow.
He looked down at the talisman in his hand, the warmth still pulsing against his fingertips. The flame-mark beat once on the back of his hand, as if answering the question he had yet to ask. The sandalwood in the air now carried a faint trace of ash, seeping into the night.