The tunnel pulled Shan Wei forward until the white light thinned.
A new space opened around him, wide and quiet like a stage. The floor was smooth bell metal, cold under his feet. Above him, there was no sky, only hanging bells—hundreds of them—like silent eyes watching from a ceiling that never ended.
In the middle of the stage stood a single seat.
A throne.
It looked like it was carved from pale metal and old moonlight. Thin bell chains draped over it like decorations. The whole throne felt wrong, like it did not belong to any normal world.
And on the throne sat a shadow with no face.
Shan Wei did not breathe faster. His eyes stayed calm and sharp, but his sealed Heart pressed hard against its chains inside him.
The monk's voice came from everywhere at once, smooth again, like a teacher who thinks he has already won.
"Memory Trial," the monk said. "This is the truth you refuse to face."
A white ring formed around Shan Wei's feet.
It did not pin him this time.
It simply made sure he could not leave the stage.
Then the bells above trembled softly.
Dong.
The sound rolled through the air, and the world shifted.
The stage changed.
The bells became walls.
The throne became a doorway.
Shan Wei found himself standing in a grand hall of white stone, just like the window he had seen before. Silent bells hung from the ceiling. Time rings floated in the air like a slow storm.
And there, in the center of the hall, he saw himself.
Older.
Silver hair longer, tied back in a simple way, not with jade. Golden eyes still calm, but tired. His robe was torn and stained like it had been through too many wars.
The older Shan Wei stood in front of the bell throne.
He was not chained.
He was not being dragged.
He was kneeling.
Shan Wei's eyes narrowed slightly.
The monk's voice whispered, warm like poison.
"Look," it said. "You came willingly."
The older Shan Wei lifted his head.
And then Shan Wei heard the words the Monastery wanted him to hear.
"I agree," the older him said.
The hall of bells trembled, like the world itself accepted that sentence.
The monk's voice softened even more.
"You agreed to the nails," it whispered. "You agreed to the loss. You agreed to the Court's order."
Shan Wei watched the scene without blinking.
His mind did not jump. His heart did not collapse. He did not rush to deny it.
He looked for the seam.
Because all formations have seams.
All lies have seams too.
The older Shan Wei on his knees spoke again.
"I agree… to bind the consort threads," he said.
Shan Wei's sealed Heart roared.
Not rage.
Recognition.
It hated the shape of that sentence, the way it was being used.
The older voice from the cracked bell was not here to warn him now. But Shan Wei did not need the warning anymore.
He could feel it.
This scene was too clean.
Too perfect.
Too simple.
The Monastery did not want a real memory. A real memory is messy and full of small details. Real life has sounds, smells, tiny mistakes, and small pain.
This was a painting.
A painted "truth."
The monk's voice became sharper.
"Say it," it ordered. "Say you agreed. Then you will stop resisting. Then the tunnel will calm."
Shan Wei did not answer.
The scene moved forward on its own.
The bell throne shadow leaned forward. A hand of pale light touched the older Shan Wei's head like a blessing.
A time nail symbol flashed.
Then, in the air, six thin threads appeared.
Six consort threads.
They looked like glowing silk lines reaching into the distance.
The threads shimmered with different colors and feelings. Even in this fake scene, Shan Wei could sense them.
Cold moon frost.
Warm life flame.
Wild phoenix pride.
Gentle soul light.
Sharp shadow laughter.
Deep beast heart strength.
The monk's voice whispered like it was telling a bedtime story.
"You tied them down," it said. "To protect the world."
The older Shan Wei lifted his hand in the scene.
He reached toward the threads.
And the scene tried to show something that made the air around Shan Wei turn heavy.
The older Shan Wei pressed the time nail symbol into the six threads.
Six nails appeared.
The threads stopped moving.
They froze in place like insects pinned on a board.
The monk's voice turned proud.
"See?" it said. "You chose this."
Shan Wei's eyes turned colder.
The older Shan Wei's hand in the scene did not shake. His face did not twist in pain. His eyes did not break.
That alone was wrong.
Because Shan Wei knew himself.
If he ever had to make a choice like that, his face would still be calm… but his soul would rage. There would be cost. There would be blood. There would be consequences.
This scene showed none of it.
No backlash.
No scream from fate.
No shudder from the Heart.
No reaction from the world.
Just a clean, quiet "agreement."
Shan Wei finally spoke.
One sentence.
Very calm.
"This is fake," he said.
The monk's voice snapped.
"Liar."
Shan Wei lifted his hand.
His Fate Severance formed again—thin, neat, deadly.
He did not cut the older Shan Wei.
He cut the space between the older Shan Wei's knee and the floor.
The moment his prismatic edge touched it, the hall flickered.
The stone floor rippled like water.
Shan Wei's eyes sharpened.
There.
That was the seam.
The monk's voice rose like a whip.
"Stop cutting!"
Shan Wei ignored it. He stepped forward, closer to the scene. The white ring around his feet tried to hold him, but he used Heavenstep Flash—seven micro-steps that turned into one smooth glide forward.
He reached the kneeling older Shan Wei.
He did not touch him.
He touched the air beside him.
The air felt wrong, like a cold wall pretending to be empty.
Shan Wei cut it.
The wall split open like paper.
The whole hall trembled.
The bells above rang silently.
And the scene cracked.
For one breath, Shan Wei saw what was behind it.
Not a memory.
A machine.
A formation.
A huge, layered illusion formation made of bell law and time law, designed to force a single story into his mind.
The monk's voice turned furious.
"YOU WILL ACCEPT IT!"
The illusion tried to rebuild itself. The older Shan Wei's mouth moved again, repeating the poison words.
"I agree."
Shan Wei's sealed Heart slammed.
Shan Wei's eyes burned gold.
He spoke quietly, like an emperor speaking to a broken servant.
"No," he said.
He lifted his Fate Severance again and cut one thing he had not cut yet.
He cut the "authority line" that allowed the Monastery to speak inside the memory trial.
It was a thin invisible line, but Shan Wei felt it as soon as his blade touched it.
The line snapped.
The monk's voice stuttered—like a bell losing its tongue.
For one breath, silence returned.
Then the illusion formation screamed without sound.
The fake hall collapsed into fragments of white.
The bells above shook.
The stage returned.
The bell throne returned.
The faceless shadow sat on it again.
But now the shadow looked less smooth.
More… cracked.
Like Shan Wei's cuts were hurting it.
The shadow lifted its hand.
A time nail symbol formed in its palm.
It pointed at Shan Wei.
And the world tried to pin him again.
At the same time, far away outside the tunnel, the envoy's name reached its last strokes.
He stood in pain, shaking so badly he could barely hold his bell. The white record above his head was almost empty. Only a few lines remained, like the last pieces of a person.
The monk over him spoke calmly.
"Your last ring," it said. "Then you are gone."
The envoy's eyes were wet.
He lifted his bell one final time.
It was cracked.
It was almost broken.
But it was his.
He rang it.
Dong.
The bell shattered in his hands.
The sound was weak, but it went far, because it was paid with everything he had.
In the tunnel, Shan Wei heard it like a heartbeat.
The sound did not comfort him.
It sharpened his will.
The shadow on the throne moved again.
The time nail symbol shot toward Shan Wei's chest like a spear.
Shan Wei raised his hand.
He did not dodge.
He did not step back.
He cut.
His Fate Severance met the nail symbol.
The nail cracked.
The stage shook.
The bells above rang silently in panic.
Then, through the bond line, Shan Wei felt something else.
A warmth.
A brief flare.
A name.
Drakonix.
Outside, inside Zhen's moving fortress-lane, Drakonix opened his eyes for two breaths. His wing trembled. His flame was weak, but his gaze was fierce.
He burned one thing.
A single contract clause hanging in the air near Yuerin.
It turned to ash.
Then Drakonix's head lowered again, exhausted.
But before he fell fully, a whisper passed through the bond like a small flame.
"Shan… Wei…"
Shan Wei's face did not soften.
It hardened.
Because he knew they were fighting for him.
And he refused to let the Monastery win with a story.
The shadow on the throne leaned forward.
And a voice came from inside the shadow, not the monk's voice, not the Judge's voice.
A deeper bell voice.
"Acknowledge," it said. "Agree."
Shan Wei's eyes turned like forged gold.
He spoke one calm answer.
"I do not agree," he said.
Then the bells above began to swing.
Not gently.
Violently.
As if the whole tunnel was about to collapse into a new punishment.
To be Continued
© Kishtika., 2025
All rights reserved.