The light in the court's center hadn't yet faded when the voice rose.
"The Primary Seal has breached containment.
The dream overflow
exceeds local authority."
The speaker:
Ruan Linghe, Deputy of the Tianshu Palace.
Calm.
Precise.
Draped in ink-blue robes marked with soft feathered script.
"Under Article Six of the Hollow Codex,
the bearer must be transferred
to domain jurisdiction."
"If Lingyuan cannot make a judgment,
we will record and submit."
A pause—then laughter. Dry. Young.
"Codes are just gold paint
on cracked law."
It was the boy from Yugu Tang. Coffin on his back. Eyes like burnt earth.
"If that seal breaks,
Ningyuan won't hold."
"If Lingyuan won't judge him,
we will."
No one corrected him. He bore no inquiry ring. But he carried intent.
Shen Jin watched in silence.
To the north—no movement. The Lingyuan elders offered no reply, except one—
Qi Mingheng. Eyes closed. Still. Then—a new voice. Cool. Measured.
"The Seal is not lost.
But its dream
runs deep."
Wen Qiuchi—
Jing's deputy. A statement. And a signal.
"If this remains local,
it will spark conflict."
"Better to send him
for formal hearing—
then return the result."
Silence.
Shen Jin lowered his gaze.
So this is how they begin.
He flexed his hand.
The scar still burned.
—
The light grew tense. Not brighter—but sharper. Drawn taut across the room. Shen Jin said nothing. But he saw it. Each voice. Each claim. All spiraled to a single axis: Who holds the Seal.
Then—a flick of gray-blue light. From the northern table, Qi Mingheng raised a hand. Not high. Just enough. A sigil formed at his fingertip. Circle. Descent. Still. The air calmed. Every gaze turned. His voice was low. But no one dared speak over it.
"Yes.
The Seal has changed."
"Yes.
Its dreams run deeper
than we can chart."
"But change
is not collapse."
"The Primary Seal guards itself.
And Shen Jin's thoughts remain whole."
"If we remove him now—"
His gaze swept the hall.
"Who
will dare to bear the next?"
He paused.
Unfurled a scroll.
"Test sigils confirm:
the Seal and his mind
are now entangled."
"Force the transfer—
and both will break."
There was no answer—only silence.
Shen Jin looked at him. Not with hope. But with recognition.
He's not protecting me. He's protecting Lingyuan's reach.
—
The light faded. And with it—the words. No one spoke. But Shen Jin saw it, felt it. The tension hadn't broken. It had shifted. This wasn't a conclusion. This was positioning. He looked across the court. Some stared at the floor. Some smiled, too slightly to mean peace.
Wen Qiuchi hadn't looked at him once. But now—her fingers rested on her mirror glyph. Not active. Not passive. Just ready.
To the north, Lingyuan's elders were still. Qi Mingheng silent. Another whispered beneath a veil. The Seal in Shen Jin's hand still pulsed. Quietly. Restlessly. Not from fear. From warning.
This isn't about me. This is a push against the limits of Lingyuan itself.
—
The Court was empty. The sky above pulled dim. The floating platforms were sealed. The wards extinguished. And yet, the air still echoed.
Shen Jin remained. Not out of duty. But because the echo had not left him. In his palm, the Seal shimmered. Faint. Gray-gold threads drifting like the ash of an old fire stirred by breath. He looked at the reflection in the dormant mirror—half-shadow, half-light.
I didn't speak to it.
But it speaks to me.
The Seal burned soft. Not in warning. But in memory. Something in its depth, a line still unclosed.
He had seen it before—a man within a dream of fire, holding the same Seal. But the Seal had rejected him. He wielded it to command. But it was not made for command.
In some long fragment of dreaming speech, he had once heard:
"It bears only those
who hear it back."
He had not understood. Not then. But now—a pulse. Soft. He tapped the stone desk, three times. The Seal stirred. Not with light, but with attention.
He breathed in. And whispered—
"Can you hear me?"
Before the whisper had faded, footsteps—quiet as folded paper on silk stone.
Shen Jin didn't move. Only turned slightly, his gaze catching the figure before the steps did.
Lin Wanzhou.
Clad in soft grey-blue, a scroll in his hand sealed in black silk. He looked as always. Calm. Polished. But today, his eyes were quieter. Deliberately empty.
"Still here?"
"They'll call it
interference."
He laid the scroll on the stone table.
"A copy of the
Dream Stabilization Notes.
Protocol requires I hand it to you
directly."
Shen Jin didn't reach for it.
He looked at him.
"What do you think?"
Lin's gaze lowered.
"Of the court?"
"Only that—"
"They weren't asking
if you've lost control."
"They were measuring
whether you're worth
letting control it."
Shen Jin blinked. Not surprised. But tired.
"And what do they want?"
A pause.
Lin's voice softer now. Almost lost.
"Not your failure."
"Theirs."
He looked up.
"You are the lever."
"Even if you
haven't noticed."
—
Before Lin could speak again, a flick of light—faint, bent in a line that didn't belong. Not flame. Not sigil. Mirrorcraft. Muted. Subtle. It drifted from the far wall, a curve of glass logic just at the edge of sight.
She stepped through it—Luo Qinghan.
Her robes marked her as the Jing Sect, but she'd stripped the ring of inquiry, hair tied with no ornament. She walked like light on still water. Not a ripple. Not a word. Not to Lin. Only—
"I avoided them."
Soft. But exact. Her eyes—they didn't meet his. They met the Seal. The faint gray-gold flicker still laced Shen Jin's hand. Something passed through her gaze. Not fear. Not surprise. Just—weight. Then she spoke. Low. Careful.
"The dream inside you…"
"It may not be
just a dream."
"It's looking
at us."
Lin Wanzhou shifted. Subtly. But Shen Jin caught it. He asked—
"How do you know?"
Luo Qinghan didn't look at him. Her gaze had drifted to the court mirror. Dark now. Dormant. No reflection. No memory. Only vacancy. She said—
"Mirrors don't remember
what passes through them."
"But dreams do."