That night, sleep did not come easily.
Yan Rui lay beneath the silk canopy of the Cold Courtyard, but the bed felt foreign — too quiet, too clean. His body was here, but his mind… was sinking.
He blinked once. The moonlight shifted. The air around him darkened.
And when he opened his eyes again—
He wasn't in the courtyard anymore.
---
A golden temple rose before him, bathed in fire.
The floor was cracked stone. The walls were covered in murals of dragons and serpents, painted in gold leaf and dried blood. Bells clanged in the distance, their sound warped by heat and panic.
In the center stood a ceremonial platform.
On it, someone knelt — dressed in white robes, face hidden by a long veil.
The priests circled him like vultures.
> "He has taken the oath," one voice rang out. "He belongs to the gods now!"
> "His soul will cleanse the corruption," another chanted.
> "Bind the serpent!"
Yan Rui stepped forward, heart pounding — though his feet made no sound. This was not memory. This was vision. A dream drawn from blood and ritual.
> That man kneeling…
That was him.
---
His past self lifted the veil. Eyes defiant. Mouth trembling.
> "Mo Jue will stop you," he said to the priests. "He will come."
> "He won't," one priest sneered. "Because you never mattered to him."
Yan Rui's chest ached. Even now — even knowing this was a vision — he felt the sting of betrayal.
Then the flames surged.
Doors burst open.
And Mo Jue appeared, clad in obsidian armor, eyes glowing gold, a serpent coiled around his arm.
But he was too late.
The priests plunged a blade into the heart of the offering.
Yan Rui screamed — but no sound came from his throat.
His past body collapsed.
Blood soaked the altar.
And Mo Jue fell to his knees, the serpent on his arm writhing in agony.
> "You swore to me," Mo Jue whispered. "You swore you would survive."
The temple crumbled around them.
---
Yan Rui woke gasping, drenched in sweat.
Outside, dawn was just breaking — but the Cold Courtyard was not silent.
There were footsteps, too many.
He threw on his robe and stepped into the hallway.
Guards. Servants. Rushing past him, toward the east wing.
> "What happened?" Yan Rui asked.
One of the servants hesitated. "The Hall of Offerings… it's on fire."
Yan Rui's blood went cold.
---
He reached the burning hall in time to see the last scrolls being pulled from the flames. Smoke curled toward the sky like spirits escaping the earth.
Mo Jue stood at the center, expression blank — too blank.
Yan Rui approached, voice tight. "Was this… retaliation?"
Mo Jue didn't look at him.
> "No," he said. "This is the cost of awakening what was buried."
> "You said you brought me back," Yan Rui said. "But you never said who else might want me gone."
Mo Jue's silence said more than words.
---
That night, a letter arrived in Yan Rui's room.
No name. No seal.
Inside: a single line, written in red ink:
> "The gods may forget, but the high court remembers."
---
End of Chapter 8