There was something fundamentally disturbing about the Forbidden Wing.
Maybe it was the way the air got colder with every step. Maybe it was how the hallway stretched longer than it should have, the flickering lanterns casting shadows that moved just a second too late. Or maybe it was the fact that Yuren kept hearing footsteps behind him—but every time he turned, there was no one there.
"I feel like I'm in a horror story with terrible lighting," he muttered.
Shen Zhaoyan said nothing, as usual, though his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. Always ready. Always calm. The kind of calm that made Yuren want to throw a rock at him, just to see if he'd flinch.
"This is where the Wei Sect kept their most dangerous texts, right?" Yuren whispered. "Why is it always forbidden knowledge with these ancient sects? Why not forbidden dumplings? Forbidden dance moves?"
Still no answer.
"Are you ignoring me for dramatic effect, or is that just your default setting?"
Zhaoyan paused in front of a massive wooden door—aged, cracked, and sealed with talismans that shimmered faintly with protective energy.
"This is it," he said softly. "The inner library."
Yuren blinked. "You actually spoke. I feel honored."
Zhaoyan glanced at him. "Try not to touch anything cursed."
"Rude."
---
The door groaned open, revealing a vast chamber lined with scrolls, tablets, and dusty tomes stacked from floor to ceiling. A single lantern lit the center, suspended in midair, casting a pale glow across the room.
Yuren stepped in cautiously, eyes wide. "This place smells like secrets."
Zhaoyan moved toward the back wall, inspecting an old altar carved with symbols long faded. His fingers brushed against the stone, and a hidden compartment clicked open.
Inside, there was a scroll—black as ink, wrapped in silver thread. Ancient. Dangerous.
He unrolled it slowly, and as the letters revealed themselves, the temperature dropped.
Yuren peeked over his shoulder. "...That's not a good color for ancient text."
The scroll pulsed once.
Zhaoyan's eyes narrowed. "It's a record of the Wei Sect's final summoning."
Yuren leaned in closer. "What does it say?"
Zhaoyan hesitated before translating aloud:
"Bound by moon and blood, the pact was made. He shall return, when silence breaks and the cursed name is spoken once more."
Yuren stared. "...Yeah, that's not ominous at all."
Before they could react, the lantern flickered—and went out.
In the pitch black, Yuren whispered, "I swear to every celestial being, if something touches my leg, I'm setting this whole place on fire."
A low whispering rose from the walls, voices layered and unintelligible. The scroll trembled in Zhaoyan's hands.
Suddenly—BOOM.
The far wall exploded inward, revealing a shadowy figure, floating just above the ground. Its face was hidden beneath long white hair, and its eyes glowed faintly red.
"Who dares awaken me?" the spirit hissed, voice echoing from every direction.
Yuren, never one to process fear in a normal way, raised a brow. "Wow. You're really committing to the whole ancient ghost aesthetic, huh?"
The spirit lunged.
Zhaoyan moved instantly, sword drawn, slicing through the mist. The ghost shrieked but reformed, laughing.
Yuren darted in beside him, eyes glowing with faint spiritual energy. "Distract it! I'll try binding it."
Zhaoyan didn't respond, but their movements synced effortlessly—slashes, dodges, seals drawn in glowing ink mid-air.
The spirit faltered as Yuren threw a talisman that burst into light. "Ha! You like that, fog-face?!"
But just before the final blow, the ghost's head snapped toward Zhaoyan—and whispered something.
Zhaoyan froze.
The spirit vanished, evaporating into smoke.
Yuren rushed to him, panting. "What was that? What did it say?"
Zhaoyan didn't answer.
His eyes were distant. Dazed.
"…Zhaoyan?"
He blinked and finally met Yuren's eyes. "It… it knew my name."
Yuren's teasing dropped in an instant. "Okay. Creepy."
Zhaoyan clenched his fists. "It spoke of the Moon Pact. Of a bloodline marked by betrayal."
Yuren tilted his head. "Wait. You're not cursed, are you? Because I already have one friend who is, and he keeps sneezing moonlight during full moons—"
"Yuren."
"Right. Serious moment."
They stood in silence, the destroyed scroll now crumbled to ash at their feet.
"…Well," Yuren said, nudging the dust with his boot. "I guess we're in it now."
Zhaoyan exhaled slowly. "We were always in it."
Yuren gave him a sidelong glance. "You sure you're not secretly dramatic under all that silence?"
"Go."
"What if I don't wanna—"
"I'll carry you."
"…Okay, I'm going."
---
Back outside, they sealed the wing again. The boy they'd saved earlier was gone.
No tracks. No aura. Nothing.
Yuren stared at the empty mat where he'd lain. "I hate this place."
Zhaoyan didn't speak, but his eyes were dark with thought.
They walked away in silence—shoulder to shoulder, steps matching.
---
But deep within the sealed Forbidden Wing, unseen by either of them, a new scroll burned to life on its own.
Its ink shimmered. Its seal cracked.
And a name, long buried, echoed through the ruins:
"Zhaoyan…"
---
To be continued...