The moment the gray mist sealed behind them, the world fell mute.
All the roars of cultivators, the thunder of swords, the cracking of spells—snuffed out as though they had never been. Shen Jin felt the silence press down upon his skull like water filling his lungs. The only sound that lingered was the hush of wind, low and damp, like the breath of something buried for a thousand years.
Beneath their feet stretched the path of gray stone. The slabs were crooked, mottled with cracks. From those cracks seeped threads of dull light, but not the glow of torches or stars. They flickered with fragments of law-script—runes broken in half, some writhing, some twitching weakly as if in their death throes.
Shen Jin staggered. Blood dripped from his palm where the Ash-Law Talisman burned against his flesh. Each step he took left faint crimson marks that quickly vanished into the stone as if swallowed whole. Beside him, Luo Qinghan lifted her sleeve to shield him from the curling fog. Her profile was cold and unwavering, though her eyes flickered once when the mist brushed her skin, as if it gnawed rather than touched.
"This place…"
Her voice was low, barely audible, as if afraid to draw notice.
"…is outside the world."
The fog stirred like water in a jar. The road ahead bent and folded, stretching and shrinking at once. Through the folds drifted chains of law, severed and set adrift. They turned slowly in the air, their surfaces etched with glowing strokes now dim and broken. When one struck another, the sound was not a clash of iron but a mournful cry, like the wail of spirits.
Shen Jin's gaze locked on them. The gleam of the chains blurred into burning glyphs in his vision, identical to the ones he met in the dreams. Agony lanced through his veins, as if each vessel were a line of ink being forced into words.
A groan burst from his throat. The stone beneath his feet cracked.
Luo Qinghan caught him by the arm. Heat seared her palm, forcing her fingers to tremble, yet she held fast. His pupils clouded, filling with drifting shadows of sigils that did not belong in living eyes.
"Shen Jin!"
Her cry cut through the fog.
But he was no longer hearing her.
The gray path dissolved from his sight.
In its place yawned an ash desert, barren and endless. The sky above was crimson, sagging like blood-soaked cloth. At the horizon rose a monument shattered in half, yet its presence dwarfed mountains. The stone surface was blurred, but some part of it pulled at him.
A figure stood before the broken monument. Its face was smothered in haze, but the lips moved, soundless.
—Write my name.
The whisper shuddered through his chest. His heart convulsed, locked in a vice. The Seal's voice grew louder, not just in his ears but in his marrow. It peeled away his breath, his will, piece by piece.
And another pulse joined it.
Luo Qinghan, reaching for him, shivered. The road beneath her vanished. She found herself standing upon the steps of white jade, each one gleaming with pristine light. Above her, clouds opened to reveal a colossal mirror. Its surface shimmered, showing countless reflections.
She saw herself.
She wore the robes of the Jing Sect, standing tall before rows of disciples. Behind her towered the stone of sect commandments, its inscriptions gleaming with cold severity.
A voice seeped from the mirror, sharp as a pin pressed into her thoughts:
—Mirror keeper. Do you really know yourself?
Her breath faltered. From the mirror's surface emerged figures. Dozens. Then hundreds. Each bore her face, but each was different—serene, sly, pitiless, warm, cruel, cold. They stepped onto the jade steps and surrounded her.
She drew her personal mirror. Its surface shone with her spirit energy, and she drove it into one of the figures. The figure shattered—but the wound opened on her own flesh. Pain shot through her ribs, blood spilling onto the jade.
The reflections smiled.
They came closer, filling the steps, their silence heavier than roars.
Meanwhile, Shen Jin trudged across the desert of ash. His hand lifted as though holding a brush. Every stroke he traced in the air shattered another law-chain in the void above, their fragments falling like sparks onto his shoulders. The red sky trembled with each stroke, like paper tearing.
In the sky, broken chains screamed as they snapped, raining sparks of law all around him.
Shen Jin's head snapped back, eyes bleeding at the corners. The flame mark on his chest flared, each pulse demanding him to finish the inscription. Yet he clenched his jaw, refusing, even as blood spilled from his lips.
Luo Qinghan's arm trembled. Her reflections pressed closer, their eyes mocking. One leaned near and whispered in her own voice:
"All you have ever done is hide behind rules. Even now, are you anything more than a shadow in a mirror?"
She swung—the mirror in her hand shattered. Shards bit into her skin.
Through the storm of her reflections, she glimpsed a shape in the mist: hunched, gray-robed, watching.
The elder.
He had not moved. He stood at the edge of both their visions, observing. No compassion, no anger—only the cold patience of one who weighs stones in a game.
Luo Qinghan's heart iced over. She let her broken mirror fall, drew a breath sharp as steel, and reached Shen Jin with her bare hand.
"Wake."
The word struck like a bell.
Shen Jin convulsed. The monument shattered into dust. The red desert dissolved. His vision snapped back to the gray path, sweat flooding down his temples. His breath came ragged, as though he had clawed his way out of drowning.
Her hand clasped his wrist still. Her eyes carried a fleeting flash—fear, defiance, something unspoken—before the cold mask returned.
Together they walked on.
The gray path unraveled beneath their feet. Around them, the mist swirled with visions. A palace of jade rose and collapsed in an instant. A forest of stone pillars jutted up, carved with runes, then toppled into dust. A sea of fire boiled, cooled, and froze. Each sight lasted only a breath, as if they trod upon the dreams of dead worlds.
They walked.
Time became meaningless. Steps followed steps. Breath after breath.
Then Shen Jin halted.
From the mist before them hung a chain of law, thicker than a man's body, split nearly through. From the sundered gap seeped a red light. With it came a sound—soft, steady.
A heartbeat.
It matched the Seal's pulse in his chest.
Luo Qinghan stopped beside him. The glow painted her face crimson. Their shadows stretched across the stones, merging into one, indistinguishable.
"That chain…"
She murmured, her voice sharp as a drawn blade.
Shen Jin said nothing. His eyes fixed on the light, drawn into its rhythm. Each beat resonated with his bones, his blood. He felt as if a pen hovered above his heart, poised to write.
The mist quivered. Countless whispers rose, faint but overlapping, like a sea of voices drowning one another. Some cursed. Some begged. Some prayed.
He could not tell if they came from outside—or from within his own body.
Luo Qinghan reached for him again. Her grip was firm, yet her skin was chilled. She, too, heard the voices; they brushed her ears like insects crawling. In the corner of her sight, the mirrors threatened to reappear, as if waiting for her to falter.
They stood in silence, side by side.
Dream and waking blurred. The path ahead dissolved into haze.
And each step forward promised to carve their names deeper into fates neither of them had chosen—yet neither could now refuse.