The Broken Mirror Pact (Updated)

That night, the dream returned to Yan Zhuo.

He stood once more beneath the starlit canopy of the Azure Blossom Sect, where soft petals once drifted like blessings.

But this time, the sky was aflame.

Lotuses—crimson and searing—descended from the heavens like dying stars. Each one struck the ground with the fury of a falling god, igniting the land with sacred fire. The sect buildings burned, twisting into ash. The great willow by the tranquil pond—gone. The bridge of vows—fractured.

And then the faces appeared.

Meilan. Shen Wu. Feiyan. Lu Chengwei.Each of them stood silent among the flames, their eyes hollow, bleeding.

They said nothing.

But a voice—feminine, soft, and unbearable in sorrow—echoed through the inferno.

"We shattered it. We shattered you."

Yan Zhuo reached for them—only for his hands to ignite.

He woke with blood in his mouth, breath ragged, heart caught in the grip of old guilt.

The campfire had long died. Ash swirled in the breeze.Above, the moon hung red, as though stained by the same betrayal he carried.

By the dim light, Yue Lian sat nearby, quietly sharpening her blade. Sparks flickered off the whetstone like falling stars. She didn't look up.

"Feiyan dreams of vengeance," she murmured. "She asked me if you still kept the flute."

Yan Zhuo said nothing for a long time. Then, slowly, he pressed a hand to the pendant beneath his robes. The jade flute, broken and silent, rested close to his heart.

It had been Shen Wu's once. Then hers.

Now it was his burden.

"She'll try to kill me," he said.

Yue paused. "She may try to understand you first. It's not the same as before, Zhuo. There's something deeper moving. Even the spirits are... afraid."

Yan Zhuo stood, brushing ash from his robe. "Then we find Lu Chengwei. Before heaven does."

The Sea Oracle's Circle

The Circle stretched like a constellation over the Sea of Falling Stars, a network of ancient water-temples floating above shimmering waters that reflected both sky and soul. Each temple was a memory incarnate—some glorious, some splintered, all sacred.

At the central dais, beneath the stone gaze of the Sea Oracle, Lu Chengwei knelt. His robes were soaked not with seawater, but with sweat and regret.

His hands trembled as he clutched prayer beads, each carved from spirit bone. They glowed faintly—responding to the turbulence in his heart.

"I followed you, Yan Zhuo. Even into madness. But you let her die…"

His voice cracked, like glass under strain.

Behind him, the water rippled unnaturally.

"No, Lu," said a voice—crisp, firm, and fire-warmed.

From the veil of mist stepped Xu Feiyan, her long black robes singed by flame, her palm aglow with phoenix fire. Her eyes, always sharp, now burned with something heavier than rage.

"He didn't let her die. We did."

Lu turned sharply.

"Feiyan…"

He struggled to rise, but she approached, calm and unsparing.

"Do you still carry the flame?" he asked, voice hoarse.

Feiyan smiled faintly, painfully. "It never left. Just burned quieter."

The mist coiled tighter around them. Somewhere below, a formation began to hum with ancestral song.

Feiyan stepped forward. "The truth is rising. The fifth will awaken. And the pact—it must be reforged."

Lu's fists clenched. "Then I must speak what none of us dared. About Meilan. About Tian Mu. About the real reason the Heavenly Court ordered her death."

Flashback – Seven Years AgoThe Heavenly Tribunal

The great hall was walled with floating sigils and suspended judgments. The Silver Judges stood in half-circle, their armor gleaming with law-bound runes. The Imperial Oracle presided from her throne of windglass.

Yu Meilan, robed in white and silver, stood alone beneath the Judgment Bell. Her face was serene, even as the charges echoed through the divine chamber.

"Soulcrafting," intoned the Oracle. "A forbidden art. Life imbued with will. The soul altered. The balance corrupted."

The Judges scowled.

She had done it to save a dying child.

The child of a Silver Judge.

And the soul she had given?

Her own.

Yan Zhuo had stepped forward, dropping to his knees.

"She saved him."

The Oracle's eyes narrowed. "She unmade the cycle. That is corruption. For such sin—there is no name. There will be no memory."

The Judges moved. Their blades sang.

Feiyan struck first—cutting down two with fire-drenched steel.

Shen Wu played the Song of Departure—a melody that made even spirits weep.

Lu had held Yan Zhuo back as he surged forward, teeth bared.

"She must flee!" someone shouted.

But Meilan had surrendered.

To save them.

To silence heaven's wrath.

She was executed. Her name erased from scrolls, from minds, from history.

Now

Yan Zhuo stood where the Tribunal once loomed. Only ruins remained—shattered jade, burned marble, forgotten guilt.

Ash blew in the wind like judgment unfinished.

And then, from nowhere, a voice—soft, painful:

"She gave herself to heaven.You gave yourself to vengeance."

Yan Zhuo closed his eyes.

"I gave myself to her," he whispered.

"But even that… they took."

Celestial Fang Sect

In the sanctum's coldest chamber, Tian Mu sat in deep meditation. The golden mirror floated before him—a sacred relic shaped from breath, sacrifice, and lies.

But now, it cracked.

Hairline fractures spread across the surface. At first, it had reflected only light—then prophecy—then memory.

Now it showed truth.

And it did not forgive.

Long ago, Tian Mu had told the court Meilan had delved into heresy. He had claimed to grieve.

But in truth, he had taken the mirror essence of her soul—to forge this very artifact. To rise as the Oracle's favored, to shape prophecy, to kill what defied him.

Now, the mirror turned.

And in its reflection, five shadows rose across the sky, each one crowned in flame and regret.

And from the deepest crack of its surface, a name slipped free.

One that had never stopped echoing.

"Yan Zhuo."