The palace had many wings, most of them hollow and forgotten.
The Cold Courtyard, the Crimson Veil, the Serpent Hall — each one built for beauty and display. But Yan Rui had learned early that the real secrets in this place lay where no footsteps echoed.
It began with a mistake.
Or what others might have thought was one.
A servant — pale-faced, stammering — dropped a tray of scrolls at his feet. While helping gather them, Yan Rui noticed something strange: one scroll was older than the rest. Frayed edges. Ink nearly faded. Its seal — not black like the others, but dark green with a serpent coiled around a flame.
He took it.
Later that night, while the moon hung sharp and full above the silent garden, Yan Rui slipped past the lantern paths and followed the directions etched faintly on the scroll's back.
It led him to a tower.
No guards. No lanterns. Just ivy-covered stone and a rusted door.
Inside: dust, shadows, and bookshelves so tall they vanished into darkness.
A forgotten archive.
---
As he stepped inside, the air shifted — warmer than outside, thick with the scent of dried ink and something... wild.
The flame of a single lantern on the wall flickered to life on its own.
Yan Rui moved carefully.
Many of the scrolls were unlabeled. Some were sealed in wax. Others had names that had been scorched out or scratched off.
And then, one caught his eye.
> Offering #0145 — Status: Failed
Curious, he unrolled it.
Inside was a name, a date, a few phrases written in shaky calligraphy:
> Name: An Fei.
He sang beneath the mountain gate.
He bled like spring water. He laughed like thunder.
And then, in a different hand — smoother, more poetic:
> He was not meant for the altar. He was meant to be remembered.
Yan Rui froze.
It wasn't a report.
It was a love letter.
Written by Mo Jue.
---
He read through more scrolls. Each one similar. Some offerings Mo Jue rejected. Some were dismissed, others disappeared. And every so often — just a few lines, barely legible — the Serpent Lord wrote something human.
A memory. A regret.
Yan Rui traced his fingers along a passage from one of the oldest scrolls:
> The ones who defied me live longer in my mind than the ones who obeyed.
The lantern dimmed.
Behind him, a presence stirred.
He turned.
Mo Jue stood at the entrance, cloaked in black, no crown, no attendants. Just eyes like molten gold staring through the dust.
> "I wondered how long before you found this place," he said quietly.
Yan Rui stayed still. "Why hide these?"
> "Because gods are not allowed to mourn."
He stepped into the room. No anger. No malice. Just quiet weight.
> "You think I'm a monster," Mo Jue continued. "But monsters are made of the parts no one lets die."
He reached out and plucked a scroll from the shelf.
> "An Fei," he said. "The one who made me feel... before I had the right to."
He looked at Yan Rui.
> "You look nothing like him. But you speak like someone who could ruin me again."
Silence stretched.
Yan Rui held his gaze. "And you keep calling me back anyway."
> "Because I'm curious what part of me will survive you."
---
Later, as Yan Rui slipped the scroll back into its place, he didn't feel like prey anymore.
He felt like a ghost walking through someone else's heart.
And maybe, just maybe...
That heart had once been human.
---
[End of Chapter 6]
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