26.The Shadow That Speaks Our

They say the dead cannot return. But what if the soul never left?

What if the silence in the palace corridors isn't silence at all—but a memory, waiting to be heard again?

You've come this far. Are you ready to listen?

________

The dawn mist hung low over the palace courtyard, thick and nearly colorless—like threads of memory yet to be written. Silence blanketed the Tianxu skies. Not the kind that brought peace, but a silence that waited to break—like the delicate shell of an egg, hairline-cracked under unseen pressure. The night wind, delayed in its passing, carried the scent of broken sandalwood. A crow cried three times in the distance—a sign that morning had yet to claim the realm from the night.

Zhenyu sat cross-legged in the inner chamber of the Qing Pavilion. Her body was still, but behind closed eyelids, her world trembled.

Rongxu Jing—the spirit realm she had touched without invitation—opened once more. Not as a summons, but as a demand. Echoes from the third spirit still lingered within her body, a voice that refused to be silenced. Yet this time, the voice came not as a whisper.

She saw the silhouette of a woman in her soul mirror. A shadow slowly took shape, forming a face—eyes unfamiliar yet searing. Not Qingyin. Not herself. But someone who knew her as if they had walked through her wounds long before she was born.

Zhenyu's eyes flew open. Her breath hitched. Sweat clung to the nape of her neck.

In the corner of the room, the sacred incense—once a tranquil blue—had turned crimson, like old blood.

Bai Rouxi, who had been asleep, stirred with a faint gasp, caught in the edge of panic.

"Gongzhu," she murmured hoarsely. "Something… that should not have entered last night—has come."

Zhenyu gave no reply. She rose slowly, her gaze falling on the bronze mirror at the edge of her vanity. Her reflection appeared unchanged.

Yet for a fleeting second, a third shadow blinked within her pupils—just long enough to still her heart.

A sound outside the chamber drew their attention. It wasn't the firm steps of a guard, nor the soft pace of Meilan's aging feet.

It was something quieter. Like rain that had lost its way.

Rouxi rushed to the door, opened it gently—and gasped.

"Princess Shuya…?"

The air turned cold.

Princess Shuya stood at the threshold. Her hair was bound in a simple knot. Her robe was not the golden hue of imperial power, but a deep purple streaked with silver at the sleeves—a color of mourning, worn only during secret royal assemblies.

Zhenyu offered a slight bow, but her eyes stayed sharp. "You've come early, Princess."

Shuya stepped inside without returning the greeting. Her steps were light, but her gaze pierced like frost.

She looked at the blood-red incense, then at Zhenyu, as though she saw embers beneath still water.

"Don't be afraid," she said at last. "I'm not here as the imperial heir this morning. But as someone… who once touched the same shadow you have."

Zhenyu froze.

Inside her, the unnamed third spirit stirred—not with fear, but with recognition.

"The shadow…" Zhenyu murmured. "It… called your name too?"

Princess Shuya sat near the sandalwood table. Her fingers lightly brushed its cold surface.

"When I was twelve, I vanished from this palace for four nights. No one knew where I was taken. But when I returned, I began dreaming—of a woman with three voices."

She looked straight at Zhenyu.

"I know now… they were not dreams. They were warnings."

Zhenyu's words caught in her throat.

Shuya's voice lowered.

"Ji Suling won't wait anymore. She knows the third spirit is growing—and she will do whatever it takes to seal it. Or kill it. And if she fails…"

Zhenyu whispered, "…the empire will turn to forces older than the heavens."

Shuya nodded, slow and grave.

"I cannot aid you openly. But I will leave you with one thing."

Her gaze deepened, impossible to read.

"Tell Ji Suling this: 'The shadow you rejected… has begun to speak your name.'"

Zhenyu tensed.

Princess Shuya stood.

"Say it to her. You'll know its meaning when you see her freeze. And when that moment comes…"

She paused by the doorway.

"You'll understand who fears whom."

With that, she left—vanishing into the dawn, leaving behind the blood-red incense and a chamber that now felt smaller than before.

Zhenyu returned to her seat.

But not to meditate.

To confront a truth she could no longer ignore—

She was no longer a vessel for one soul,

But the battlefield of three names.

And one of them…

had spoken Ji Suling's.

---

Zhenyu's steps carried her through the palace's quiet back corridors, where morning light had yet to touch the stone.

She wore no formal consort's robe today—just a simple linen dress the color of mist, like a sky holding back rain.

Each step felt like walking through the layers of her own mind.

Shuya's words echoed still:

"The shadow you rejected has begun to speak your name."

What did it mean?

Could Ji Suling be bound to the third spirit—the unnamed one?

Or something worse…

Was it Ji Suling who had summoned it long ago?

She stopped at the edge of the old lotus pond, its waters still and reflecting a sky that held secrets.

Here, at this silent hour, Rongxu Jing was closest—its breath faint beneath the waking world.

She took out the jade stone Yuwen Jinhai had given her. It was meant to keep her mind tethered as she crossed the veil.

Zhenyu sat. Closed her eyes. Drew in a long breath.

The waking world faded. The sound of water dimmed.

And the weight of earth vanished.

---

In a heartbeat, she returned to Rongxu Jing.

It was unchanged: a sky of grey without time, a land that echoed with whispers, an air thick with shadow.

But this time… something had shifted.

It was no longer just Qingyin's lingering presence or Helian's echo.

Something else was here.

Something alive.

Zhenyu walked between spirit pillars that formed a blurred labyrinth. Each step awakened faint shadows on the walls—each one speaking names that weren't hers.

A voice called from afar.

"Zhenyu…"

It was soft, heavy, dragging old memories from corners she had buried.

She turned.

From the mist, a figure emerged.

Its face was unclear—as if painted with smoke and water.

But its eyes… two void-black points… pierced everything.

"Who are you?" Zhenyu asked, but even her voice felt fractured, lost in the air.

The figure stepped forward.

"I… am the memory unwritten. The name unspoken. The spirit silenced by history."

Zhenyu trembled.

Rongxu Jing quaked beneath her feet.

"Why did you call Ji Suling's name?"

The shadow smiled—not a human smile.

"Because she was the first to reject my form.

She began this curse.

And you…

are its completion."

Behind the figure, the shadows merged—forming a reversed sun.

A mirror.

The Shadow Mirror.

Not a physical object… but a memory made manifest.

This mirror reflected no face—only wounds.

Zhenyu saw herself within it—

As a child. As Zijiang.

The moment her body was first touched by a spirit.

And behind her—

faint, but real—stood Ji Suling.

Her back turned. Watching.

"Impossible…" Zhenyu breathed. "You couldn't have existed back then."

The third spirit laughed.

"I do not exist.

I am shadow.

And shadows are born the moment light falls upon a lie."

Suddenly, the ground cracked.

Rongxu Jing trembled, collapsing.

Zhenyu's spirit was being pulled back—her body demanding her return.

But before it all vanished, the spirit looked at her one last time.

"If you speak my name, you will lose your body.

But if you refuse me…

Ji Suling will speak it for you."

And everything crumbled.

---

Zhenyu gasped awake. Her breath ragged, her gaze wild.

She was still at the old pond.

Sweat chilled her spine.

The jade stone in her hand had cracked.

From a distance, Meilan came running, her face pale.

"Gongzhu! An urgent summons from the inner palace!"

Zhenyu rose unsteadily.

"What is it?"

Meilan hesitated.

"Lady Ji Suling… has invited you to the Sky Pavilion for an afternoon banquet."

A banquet.

On a morning still damp with nightmares.

After a night of spirits rising—and shadows whispering names.

Zhenyu understood.

This was no invitation.

It was a warning.

_____

The Sky Pavilion stood in stillness, like an altar untouched by time. The afternoon light pressed heavily against the polished floor, and the entire palace seemed quieter than usual—an eerie kind of quiet.

The banquet had been hastily arranged, with only one official invitation, and one silent recipient: Zhenyu.

As she stepped inside, the scent of jasmine—softened by a thread of incense—rose to meet her. At the far end of the room, Ji Suling was already seated, her posture regal and unmoved, clad in white silk embroidered with silver threads that mimicked the scales of a dragon down her sleeves. No smile. No greeting.

A maid quietly poured the tea. Zhenyu took the porcelain cup and slowly sat across from her.

Silence hung between them, as dense as smoke. Then, softly, Ji Suling broke it.

"You look tired, Consort Qingyin. Was last night... too long for you?"

Zhenyu held her breath, steady. She didn't bite at the taunt—but her gaze remained locked on Ji Suling's face, studying every contour, every flicker, searching for traces of a spirit's shadow. But she looked only like jade—cold, unyielding.

"When dreams become too vivid," Zhenyu finally replied, her voice barely above a whisper, "reality can be far more terrifying than them."

Ji Suling's fingers traced the rim of her teacup. Her gaze dipped slightly.

"You saw something, didn't you?

Something I've kept hidden for years."

Zhenyu didn't speak.

"Princess Shuya left you a message,"Ji Suling went on calmly. "And clearly, you were foolish enough to listen."

Zhenyu froze. The world inside her seemed to collapse with that one short sentence.

Ji Suling was right.

"You summoned that shadow," she said, her voice still gentle—but sharp beneath.

"The third spirit.

The nameless shadow.

The one who whispered your name, and left a wound behind."

Piercing.

Her once-glacial eyes now gleamed with something darker, deeper—provocation and warning entwined.

"I didn't call it,"Ji Suling spoke slowly, gaze unflinching.

"I refused it.

And you should have done the same."

Zhenyu let the word echo in her chest: Refuse.

But her question emerged nonetheless, quiet and hesitant. "And if I didn't?"

Ji Suling's answer came as if weighed by centuries.

"Then you'll lose your body.

And with it, the soul of Helian Qingyin will drown—dragging us all down with her."

The silence that followed was heavier than the silks that draped their sleeves. Even the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to still.

Zhenyu clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

"Are you afraid of me, Ji Suling?" she asked, uncertain.

Suling returned her gaze, face unreadable.

"I fear anyone who doesn't know who they truly are.

Because a soul like that is easily turned into a mirror.

And mirrors... reflect demons."

Suddenly, a flicker of black light swept across the ceiling—thin, fast, almost imperceptible. Zhenyu turned sharply, just as a whisper brushed against her ear:

Suling… you were the first...

Her heart leapt.

She rose quickly, breath caught. Ji Suling stood too—her eyes no longer mocking, but edged with something more dangerous: recognition.

"This isn't over," Ji Suling said, her voice now cold, bare of adornment.

"Don't trust Princess Shuya too easily.

She only plants doubt.

If you want to survive… choose a side."

Zhenyu stared at her, heart torn. The voice inside her screamed: she would have to choose—between soul and shadow.

The air between them trembled with something unspoken.

"Whose side?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Ji Suling turned away slowly, her steps elegant and unhurried, casting a long shadow under the fading afternoon light. Just before she vanished behind the silk screens, she left a single sentence in the air:

"Choose which side of the mirror… you're willing to shatter."

Behind her, the maids bowed low and followed her in silence.

Zhenyu now stood alone.

The incense still lingered, a thin trail curling like memory into the air. The banquet had long ended—yet something cold remained, brushing against the skin like a presence unseen.

Outside the palace walls, a black bird flew low across the sky. The seventh night was drawing near.

And this night...

would not be like the rest.

___________

The shadow moved again tonight.

Zhenyu thought she was alone—but something was listening.

Will you follow her into the next night, where even the moon dares not linger?