Three days westward. Through the stele gorge, past the mist-veined Lake Lan, the vessel entered the Ridge of Return. The border between Greylands and Ningyuan.
No roads. No light.
Only cloud and bone and silence.
Only the air that remembered how far it had carried dreams.
Shen Jin stood at the prow.
Calm.
The Seal lay still.
Yan Liusheng broke the quiet.
"My father served the Greylands—a record-keeper.
He died six years ago, during the Stele Riot."
Shen Jin looked at him.
But the boy didn't return the glance.
"You bear the Seal now.
Some fear you.
Some…hope."
Shen Jin replied:
"I'm not their hope."
"I just don't want to be left behind by the thing I carry."
A voice behind him—
"But the mark chose you
not because you followed it."
"Because one day—
you'll be the one it fears."
The Silent Scribe.
Always when the air turned too still.
Shen Jin turned.
"What does that mean?"
The Scribe didn't answer.
"When we reach the heart of the mountain,
the Seal will stir."
"There's a grave there.
Beneath the stone gate.
The first bearer of the seal."
Yan Liusheng turned sharply.
Shen Jin stayed still.
"What was his name?"
"Gui Yaojun," said the Scribe.
The wind snapped.
The vessel pitched.
Shen Jin whispered:
"I've heard that name."
"You've seen him," the Scribe replied.
"Not just heard."
A flash.
In his mind—
a man of wild robes, standing in the ocean of stele, his silhouette burning.
"That wasn't a dream?"
"It was."
"And it was the mark remembering him through you."
"That grave—
holds Gui Yaojun's body."
"And the mark—
refused to show him the second seal."
A pulse.
The Seal stirred.
From Shen Jin's palm, a flicker of stele-script bloomed.
"What made us different?"
"He tried to define the mark."
"You—
are what the mark defines."
The mountain loomed. And the vessel began to shudder.
—
Deep in the Ridge of Return, the gate appeared.
Not a wall.
Not a door.
A collapsed mountain—
its bones hollowed, its flank opened into a corridor of broken stone and ancient script.
A gate not built, but fallen.
The Seal's hum began to stir.
Shen Jin's fingers curled.
The mark was awake.
"Beyond this," said the Scribe,
"is Ningyuan."
Yan Liusheng's voice was tense:
"If the Seal stirs, they'll call it a sign of unrest."
Shen Jin said nothing. His eyes had locked on something beside the corridor.
A crack.
Massive.
Sealed with heavy slabs and lines of gold.
"That's the tomb," the Scribe said quietly.
"Beneath it—
Gui Yaojun."
The Seal flared.
Script rose.
Lines formed.
A sentence wrote itself in the air:
"The former master has not returned.
The Third Seal cannot open."
Shen Jin's breath caught.
The glyphs hung, soft as ash, bright as judgment.
The Scribe murmured:
"The Seal does not fully accept you."
"It's still waiting."
"For Gui Yaojun—
or for whatever remains of him."
"His echo."
Yan Liusheng said:
"But… he's dead."
No one answered.
The Seal dimmed. The words faded. The bone returned to flesh. The heat to silence.
Shen Jin lowered his hand.
"You mean—
I'm not the answer."
"I'm just not the wrong one."
They passed through.
The gate faded behind them.
The mountain swallowed itself again.
And Shen Jin, for the first time, understood—
The path beneath the Seal was not new.
It was haunted.
—
Beyond the gate, the mountains fell away. And the sky finally opened.
There—
above the sea of clouds, a city floated.
Not with grace.
With weight.
Yuancheng.
The city of law.
Nine rings of walls and towers, nested like chains.
At its peak—
the Judiciary Crown.
Beneath it—
The Seal Hall.
The Archive Spire.
The Bureau of Petitioners.
The Tribunal Towers.
Not a fortress.
Not a palace.
A statement.
Everything here was judgment.
The vessel drew near. Shen Jin stood at the prow. The Seal remained still.
But he felt the pressure—
like words that hadn't been spoken pressing against his skin.
"The city does not like the mark," the Scribe said.
"I can tell," Shen Jin replied.
Yan Liusheng added, quietly:
"The Ningyuan Tribunal governs all secular principles.
They answer neither gods nor chaos—
only this question:
Can it be ruled by man?"
Shen Jin said nothing.
The vessel approached the Guest Quarters of Law—
a low court beneath the Judiciary Crown.
No guards.
No banners.
Just a single man in grey.
He did not look at Shen Jin.
Only at the Seal.
"Until the Court sees the Seal," he said,
"the bearer may not step beyond the ship."
"The mirror-witness will be held in the Archive."
"Others—sent to assigned lodgings.
None may leave until summoned."
Shen Jin frowned.
"You pass judgment before you even look?"
The man's gaze did not blink.
"This is not judgment."
"This is law."
"The Seal is not divine.
Not anomalous.
It is an unlisted object.
Unregistered.
Untitled."
The Scribe whispered:
"This is not the Greylands."
"Even gods here need paperwork."
The Seal warmed.
Shen Jin felt it. He nodded.
"Then let them look."
"Let them see it all they want."
He stepped forward.
The Seal tucked into his wrist.
His eyes, into the city.
No fear.
No awe.
Just one thought spoken inwardly:
If you're going to look—
then look carefully.
—
They led Shen Jin to the southern wing of the tribunal tower.
A single chamber.
No windows.
No mirrors.
No names.
They called it The Room of the Old Seal.
Once used to store forgotten marks—
those unfiled, unranked, unnamed.
Four stone walls. And a single shaft of light from the ceiling.
Not sunlight.
A lens.
A viewhole.
For watchers above.
Three of them, he could feel.
Silent.
Measuring.
Shen Jin sat cross-legged.
The Seal lay on his knees.
Still.
But not calm.
He could feel it—not anger, not fear.
Discomfort.
It did not like being looked at from above.
A soft pulse.
The third seal whispered at the edge of his palm, like a shell just beginning to crack.
He whispered:
"Hold still.
If you can, I will too."
The Seal trembled, as if it heard him.
Then—
a voice from the ceiling shaft.
Cold. Flat.
"Shen Jin.
Keybearer."
"Initiating cognitive bridge sequence.
Do not resist."
He didn't answer.
But the Seal did. It flared—once—and spat out a strip of counter-script:
"Unauthorized.
Seal denies connection."
A pause.
Another voice:
"Why does the Seal reject the link?"
Shen Jin answered:
"It's not rejecting the test."
"It's rejecting you."
Silence.
Then the third voice.
Not cold.
Not neutral.
Something more dangerous.
"Do you understand what you're saying?"
He looked up.
"Yes."
The Seal shimmered. A private pulse only he could see. A line of ancient script.
"Not for filing."