25.Soul Hollow

Between the breath of life and the echo of death, there lies a nameless silence.

There, her soul began to fracture—not from a curse, but because she had started to remember something that was never hers.

_____

In a world that seemed still, something began to move—soundlessly.

The sky above Tianxu Palace remained dark when the first bell of dawn rang, but time no longer obeyed the sun within Zhenyu's body. She had crossed the boundary, touching the crack between the living and what had not fully died.

When she stepped out of Qing Pavilion, the morning dew recoiled from her. The mist, once gentle, now coiled strangely, forming faint whorls across the slick stone floor of the palace. Her steps left no trace, as though—bit by bit—she was losing her body.

Bai Rouxi followed silently behind. Meilan had been unseen since before dawn, but Zhenyu knew where the old woman had gone. To a place never written in imperial records, yet one that always shaped the fate of the empire: the hidden chamber beneath Yonghe Pavilion. Where the Shadow Mirror now lay in silent confinement.

Elsewhere, in the inner hall of the Empress Dowager's quarters, lanterns hung low. Their flames burned a pale blue—sacred fire meant to purify the soul and ward off evil spirits. The Empress Dowager sat cloaked in dark cloth, eyes fixed on the small sitting room now filled with ancient scrolls, incense sticks, and a white owl that never blinked.

Before her, Yuwen Jinhai stood straight, holding a black box veined with silver cracks. The Shadow Mirror no longer gleamed. But it was not dead either.

"The spirit… it's still inside," Jinhai whispered. "But… it has changed."

The Empress Dowager narrowed her eyes. "What did you see?"

"Something that's not Qingyin. And not Zhenyu either."

He looked straight into the mirror. "As if that body isn't home to just one soul. But a vessel for a soul… split."

The Empress Dowager clenched her robe tightly.

"If Helian Qingyin's soul has not completely vanished, and Zhenyu is not wholly herself… then both—within one body—spell disaster. But also… power."

She exhaled slowly.

"We must learn which is awakening: the woman cursed by the past, or the one destined to unlock the next Sky."

At that very moment, Meilan stood before an ancient altar in the chamber beneath Yonghe Pavilion. Amid jade stones and metal fixtures, she laid down a small offering: a cup of plum wine, three strands of Zhenyu's hair, and a feather from a white crane.

Rongxu Jing seeped into the chamber like incense smoke. And from the deep void of a mouthless voice, a whisper came:

"She has not chosen. But time will force her hand.

And if she chooses wrong… the door will open to something that cannot be turned back."

Meilan gave no reply. But tears slid slowly down her cheeks. She knew who the voice spoke of—not Qingyin, not Zhenyu. But the third spirit now forming in the rift between two souls—a new soul, yet unnamed.

That hollow of the soul… was beginning to demand a shape.

Back in Qing Pavilion, Zhenyu stood before a small bronze mirror. She gazed into her own eyes and saw two colors—unseen to others, but deeply felt. One from the past. One born of pain. She touched her temple, and for a moment, she could not tell whether the hand was Helian Qingyin's… or her own.

"If I can no longer tell who I am…" she whispered to the reflection,

"…then who will I fight to protect? Myself… or her?"

That afternoon, a whisper spread through the palace: one of the eunuchs from the Sky Library was found unconscious, a spirit mark etched behind his neck. An ancient book—titled Ritual of the Third Soul—had vanished from a locked shelf.

Night had not yet fallen when Ji Suling shattered a tea bowl in her chambers, her eyes blazing.

"If she breaks the third seal… not even the Heavens can save her."

That night fell without a sound.

The sky over Tianxu rippled like a curtain pulled by an invisible wind. The stars refused to appear. Ever since her blood touched the mirror, Zhenyu's body had begun remembering things that did not belong to her—but were not entirely foreign either.

Inside her room, she sat cross-legged. Her fragrant wooden desk was scattered with old talismans she didn't fully understand. Bai Rouxi stood guard at the doorway, face pale since dawn. She knew her mistress was listening to something no human ears could hear.

Zhenyu closed her eyes. Rongxu Jing slowly opened like a dark lotus—not by ritual, but by the will of a soul starting to splinter.

And in the depths of her meditation, a voice arrived.

—I don't want to be forgotten.

—I don't want to die again.

—If the world only knows black and white, then let me be the grey that dwells in between.

Zhenyu wanted to reject it. But those words… were not from Qingyin. Nor from Zhenyu. They came from a part of her that had never been named. A shadow born from the wound between two lives, two destinies, two sufferings devouring one another.

The third spirit had been born.

In the Southern Pavilion, Yuwen Jinhai ignored the ban against nighttime wandering. Cloaked in dark robes, he moved swiftly through side corridors, avoiding the guards. Something more dangerous than treason was growing—within someone he could not bring himself to hate.

He arrived at Qing Pavilion just as the sky turned black. Bai Rouxi started to bow, but he raised a hand, his sharp gaze sweeping the area.

"I must speak with her," he said quietly.

"She's—"

"—not alone. I know."

Jinhai looked toward the dim window. "That's precisely why I've come."

Inside, Zhenyu opened her eyes as his steps drew near. The night wind stirred the stagnant air—and she knew the man saw something different in her tonight.

"Are you… beginning to hear a voice that isn't yours?" Jinhai asked without preamble.

Zhenyu did not answer. But her eyes… no longer fully belonged to her.

"If that third spirit awakens," Jinhai stepped closer, his voice low and trembling,

"then even the Shadow Mirror won't be able to separate you. You will become… a vessel eternal."

Zhenyu held her breath.

"Will I be the one to vanish… or Qingyin?"

"Neither. Perhaps neither of you."

"But the world will lose you both, because what remains… will no longer be human."

Elsewhere in the palace, Ji Suling lit a white incense stick in the secret room of the Daluan Court. A plain-dressed servant knelt before her.

"Go to Qing Pavilion tonight," Ji Suling said, "and place this in her incense burner."

She handed over a blue velvet pouch. Inside—thin red crystal shards: Dust of the Third Soul.

"If she truly begins to change," she said softly,

"then we must draw the spirit out… before the merge is complete.

If it fails, this poison will unravel her body, slowly.

And we shall see… how far the heavens are willing to protect her."

The servant vanished behind a bamboo screen damp with dew. And Ji Suling looked out at the night, as though greeting a game she had long set into motion.

By midnight, Zhenyu trembled.

The room seemed to shrink. Rongxu Jing opened wide within her—not as a lotus, but as a mirror. A mirror that reflected not herself, nor Qingyin… but a face she had never seen.

A young woman. Eyes dark and unnamed. But her tears fell—as if she knew every torment Helian Qingyin endured, and every wound Zhenyu had borne.

"Who are you?" Zhenyu asked inside her meditative world.

—I am born of the love you buried, and the vengeance that never ended.

—I am the third spirit… but I am not your enemy.

When Zhenyu opened her eyes, sweat drenched her brow. But the flame of her incense had changed—from blue to red. Bai Rouxi lay unconscious at the door. And in the corner of the room… a black bird perched in silence, its eyes glowing red.

The third spirit had sensed its own form.

And the palace game… had finally begun.

---

She thought this battle was only between her and Helian Qingyin.

But tonight proved—there was something third,

something that refused to leave,

something that had begun to demand space within a body far too small for three destinies.