21.The Blood That Cannot Be Hidden

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♥️ Author_EkarinYue

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The palace sky that night hung heavy, as if it too held its breath along with everyone gathered beneath the ancient altar. The dim lantern light cast long shadows along the stone stairs, reflecting the silhouette of the blood altar erected since the first Langyao era. The air was filled with the scent of incense mixed with metal and oil—a sign that blood and truth were about to be summoned.

Emperor Yuwen Liang stood stiffly on the western side of the altar, flanked by two chief eunuchs. His sharp eyes followed Ji Suling's every movement as she knelt before the eldest priest, awaiting the blessing to begin the ritual. Beneath the gleam of his crown and golden robes, his chest trembled faintly.

Why now? Why did she bring this ritual back?

Yuwen Liang clearly remembered the night when Qingyin last stood at that altar—not during a ceremony, but as a rebellious spirit. He remembered the screams, the spurting blood, and the eyes that turned into pure darkness.

"Your Majesty," whispered Eunuch Xu, bowing. "Priest Guo is ready to begin."

Yuwen Liang merely nodded. His gaze landed on the young woman standing on the left side of the altar—Zhenyu. That face… too similar. Too accurate. But those eyes were different. He knew. He had never forgotten Qingyin's eyes. But that body… was Qingyin's. Could it be…?

Under the crimson firelight of the full moon, the blood ritual long sealed was brought back to life. Priest Guo raised a silk scroll inscribed with Rongxu characters and began chanting the soul-summoning mantra.

"Blood of Langyao's line, reveal yourself under the red light of the Sky.

Those who falsify shall burn. Those who conceal shall be revealed.

Those silenced… shall speak."

Shadows moved among the embers. The floor of the altar, once still, now emitted cracks of violet light, as if Rongxu Jing—the hidden spiritual realm—had opened a fissure to peer into the world of men.

Zhenyu stepped forward without hesitation.

"Offer your blood," said Ji Suling flatly. She stood on the other side of the altar, holding a small dagger adorned with jade. Her gaze was cold, as if she meant to cut not just skin, but Zhenyu's entire history.

Zhenyu took the dagger without a word. Yet inside her, a voice not her own began to tremble.

"Don't be afraid. Let them see you. I will protect you."

Qingyin. That voice. Always appeared when the night thickened and prayers turned to dust. Zhenyu bit her lip, suppressing the whisper that seemed to come from the shadow of her own body.

"What are you hiding, Zhenyu?" Ji Suling taunted, her voice low enough not to be heard by all, but sharp enough to stab. "You'll burn tonight."

Zhenyu looked at her and smiled faintly. "I'm not hiding anything. I'm just not showing everything."

The first drop of blood fell onto the bronze disc.

The altar's light shifted. Ancient symbols carved into the stone began to glow. Wing-like shadows danced in the air, and Priest Guo stopped chanting. His mouth trembled.

"This… is not ordinary blood. This is… a split spirit."

The Empress Dowager, seated behind the curtain of the sacred carriage, finally spoke. Her voice was gentle, yet every word felt like scissors slicing through calm weaving.

"A split spirit, Priest Guo? Explain."

"There are two soul currents in this blood, Your Majesty," he murmured, bowing. "One from the human world, the other… from Rongxu Jing."

The atmosphere suddenly turned cold. A thin mist crept up from beneath the altar, wrapping around the eunuchs' feet. Ji Suling stepped forward.

"You mean she's… possessed?" she cried out, pretending to be shocked, though her eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

"Not ordinary possession," Priest Guo replied slowly. "This spirit… has dwelled long. It didn't enter. It… fused."

Yuwen Liang squinted. His breath caught the fear beginning to crawl up from his gut.

Could it be… Qingyin has returned?

The Empress Dowager stood. A rare occurrence. Her gold-and-white robe flowed as she stepped forward, cutting through mist and silence.

"Zhenyu," she said, her voice as soft as the morning breeze, yet carrying the poison of a thousand serpents. "Who are you, really?"

Zhenyu lowered her head. But as she raised it, her eyes had changed. The blackness deeper. Her breath slow. She did not answer.

"Let me speak, Zhenyu."

No! Zhenyu struggled to suppress the urge rising from her chest. Yet the altar shone ever brighter. Rongxu Jing opened wider. Spiritual winds tossed her hair upward.

"I… I'm no one," Zhenyu finally whispered. "But I am here to finish what was left behind."

That voice… wasn't hers alone. Half of it belonged to a woman who had died.

Ji Suling stepped back, startled. She hadn't expected the shadow mirror she had yet to use would already reveal the spirit's signs.

Priest Guo dropped the scroll. The altar's light vanished in an instant, leaving behind the stench of burning and air so heavy it could barely be breathed.

Yuwen Liang stepped forward, nearing the blood that had turned black in the bronze disc.

"We… have summoned something we cannot banish again."

The Empress Dowager said nothing. But she looked at Zhenyu for a long time, as if weighing something greater than a soul, longer than time.

---

The wind changed direction. Mist from the Tianxu mountains descended lower than usual, seeping into courtyards and stone corridors like invisible spirits. The sky hadn't yet decided whether to send rain or thunder first, but the air felt heavy, like a chest holding back tears too long.

Priests from Tianyin Temple began reciting binding mantras. Their voices were soft yet pierced the air, touching every thread of time that bound Zhenyu's body and soul. Ji Suling stood behind the altar, eyes sharp, her face like a cracked jade carving—beautiful, but full of hatred.

"Blood cannot lie," she murmured. "Because blood is the key to the past, and the past cannot be buried forever."

Meilan, standing near a supporting pillar, tried to hold her breath. She wanted to step forward, to call Zhenyu back, but her body was frozen by the guards' gazes.

Zhenyu still stood at the edge of the altar circle. The mantra lines had lit up, and the whispers of Rongxu Jing began to disrupt her heartbeat. Helian Qingyin—or whatever claimed to be her—merged deeper—not as an invader, but like a long-lost twin reuniting in pain.

—If this blood spills, you may see who I am. But you'll also lose who you are.

Zhenyu replied in her heart, her voice steady.

Better I know the truth than live as a hollow reflection in this body.

Suddenly, the sky rumbled softly. The first thunder echoed, though no lightning had yet struck. The souls hidden within the mantra began to stir. The obsidian mirrors surrounding the altar reflected shadows that were not wholly Zhenyu's—there was a second shadow fused behind her, faint but clear as bloody mist.

Emperor Yuwen Liang, from the observation chamber to the east, stood behind the golden curtain. He made no sound, only watched.

And in his silence, his thoughts roared:

"Was this my mistake? Letting an ancient ritual be reopened just for politics? Or… was this the only way to uncover a truth unreachable by sword or decree?"

His hand clenched beneath his silk robe. He was no longer the Emperor in this moment. He was just a man who once loved Helian Qingyin… or thought he did.

"If she still lives… why can't I recognize her in Zhenyu's eyes?"

And just as that question burned in his mind, blood began to drip.

Not from a large wound. But from Zhenyu's fingertip, which she had deliberately touched to the edge of the altar laced with mantra beads.

That drop fell… and the altar reacted like a living body finally fed.

A burst of golden-red light shot into the sky. All the mirrors shattered simultaneously. Black smoke billowed from dragon powder, forming a giant figure with two eyes—one weeping, one burning.

A formless voice echoed from the sky, from the earth, from within the deepest bones:

"Two souls. One body. Two memories. One blood.

From this blood, we shall know… who is worthy to be called Qingyin."

Zhenyu was pushed back, but her body did not fall. She still stood though trembling, and in her eyes, the world began to split: one side was herself, and the other… was a woman in white robes, long hair brushing the ground, rising from within her like a spirit reborn.

Helian Qingyin.

But the face of that spirit… was not Zhenyu's face.

And for a moment, all present saw that difference.

Ji Suling stepped forward, trembling, then spoke with a voice full of venom and triumph:

"You… you're not Helian Qingyin. Then who are you really, Zhenyu?"

Zhenyu looked at the spirit beside her—the woman now clearly showing a small scar on her lower lip, a scar Zhenyu never had.

The spirit turned away, then chuckled softly.

"At last… I can speak without your body blocking me," she whispered toward Zhenyu, though her voice was heard by all.

"I am not Helian Qingyin. But I am the one who carried her to death."

The whispered voice pierced down to the bone. The Empress Dowager stood rigid, her body stiff. Her hands trembled, and her robes fluttered as if touched by wind from another realm.

The Emperor stepped out from behind the veil, eyes blazing.

"If you're not Qingyin… then who inhabits that body now?"

Zhenyu looked at him—and for the first time, her gaze held nothing back.

"I am Zijiang Zhenyu. I am the woman called back from death. I am not her. But this body belongs to her."

"And this blood…" Her eyes drifted to the altar, still alight. "…is mine."

Suddenly, the altar let out a high-pitched shriek, as if crying out. The mantras shattered one by one. The spirit—who had claimed not to be Qingyin—rose into the air, then slowly faded, like mist unable to survive the dawn breaking from the east.

The ritual collapsed.

The sky spewed red light onto the earth. Birds called out again—but not a morning song, only startled cries.

The head monk of Tianyin Temple fainted. Ji Suling fell silent. The Empress Dowager closed her eyes, then whispered:

"The heavens have answered… and it is not the answer we hoped for."

Zhenyu still stood in the middle of the altar, now scorched in parts. But she was not alone.

For even though the spirit had left, the silence of her body still bore its imprint: her breath was not entirely her own, and her heart… beat for two worlds.

The Emperor gazed at her. Long and deep.

Then he turned and walked away.

Without a word.

But the entire palace knew: a decision was coming.

And blood… once spilled, could never be taken back.

---

The sky, which had just roared, now fell silent—like the broken altar below. Dried blood clung to Zhenyu's fingertips, but the cold from the ground crept through her bones. She remained standing—though every part inside her had shattered.

Meilan burst through the confused guards, collapsing to her knees beside her mistress, her hands trembling as they touched the pale arm that now felt like that of the living dead.

"Junzhu… your blood is still dripping."

Zhenyu weakly shook her head—not to deny, but to force herself to stay conscious. Her mouth tasted of iron and cracked mantra beads, and the world around her suddenly spun like the ceiling of a fevered dream.

Bai Rouxi followed close behind Meilan, and together they supported Zhenyu out of the altar now strewn with ashes and shards of fractured glass. Behind them, the temple monks began extinguishing the remaining magical flames—with salted earth and water drawn from deep wells.

No words came from Ji Suling. No applause of triumph. Only a pair of eyes watching Zhenyu like one gazes into a bottomless pit—afraid, yet drawn, filled with hatred but unable to turn away.

And Zhenyu left the altar with her two servants, returning to her quarters, carrying a bitterness that reached to her bones.

---

Behind layers of dark green silk curtains, the Empress Dowager sat in silence. Her tea cup remained full, untouched since morning. By her right side, the imperial physician whispered something about Zhenyu's condition requiring strict observation for the next seven days.

Yet the Empress Dowager merely gave a slight nod, saying nothing.

Then, in the hush of the chamber, she opened her eyes and looked at the large map behind her—the map of Langyao's dominion, with the path toward the southeastern mountains shaded in black.

"We shall see… who falls first. Zhenyu, Ji Suling… or him."

Her fingers brushed a small star-shaped pendant that hung at her neck—and for a moment, the Empress Dowager's gaze no longer belonged to a noble mother. But to someone waiting for the world to change in a single step.

---

Meanwhile, in Zhenyu's temporary residence, her body shivered beneath layers of blankets. Meilan had prepared a bitter herbal porridge, and Bai Rouxi kept watch at the doorway, a small knife hidden in her sleeve—guarding against a threat they had yet to name.

Zhenyu slept…

but her dreams were filled with ash, blood, and the shadow of a woman in white who danced at the edge of Rongxu Jing.

In that dream, Qingyin—or the spirit who claimed to have killed her—whispered something into her ear:

"We don't have time. The third seal will break before the month is over."

"And after that, you'll learn who truly died twice."

Zhenyu clutched the blanket. But she knew—no blanket could ever be warm enough to calm a soul borrowed from the past.