The bells above Shan Wei stopped swinging like normal objects.
They began to swing like weapons.
Each bell moved in a strange way, as if it was not hanging from chains, but from time itself. The air turned sharp. The pale light dimmed into a dull, dangerous white. Even the silence felt heavier, like it wanted to press his thoughts flat.
Then the tunnel gave a quiet, cruel sound.
Dong.
And the "stage" cracked.
The floor under Shan Wei's feet split into thin lines, like broken glass. From those lines, white edges rose—thin, clean blades made of time. They did not look like metal. They looked like seconds sharpened into knives.
The faceless shadow on the throne did not move anymore.
It did not need to.
The tunnel itself became the punishment.
A blade swept toward Shan Wei's ankle.
He used Heavenstep Flash.
Seven micro-steps in one breath—tight, controlled, clean.
The blade missed him by a hair and cut the air instead.
But even that made Shan Wei's skin prickle.
Because the air did not heal back right away.
A thin "missing gap" stayed in the space, like a piece of reality was shaved away.
Shan Wei understood immediately.
These were not normal blades.
If they touched him, they would not just wound his flesh.
They would steal time from him.
They would cut seconds off his life.
The bells above rang without sound as more blades rose.
One blade from the floor.
One blade from the wall.
One blade from the ceiling.
They moved together, not fast like wind, but certain like a rule being followed.
The monk's voice came back, broken and angry, like a bell with a cracked tongue.
"You refused the truth," it hissed. "So you will pay with time."
Shan Wei did not answer.
He did not waste breath.
His Overdrive stayed tight inside him, seven colors pressed into a single heavy core. His eyes watched the blades the way a formation master watches traps.
He read their pattern.
Three blades.
Then a pause.
Then five blades.
Then a pause.
The pauses were not mercy.
They were timing marks.
He moved at the pauses, not during the rush.
Heavenstep Flash again—short, small shifts. Just enough to pass through the gaps.
A blade grazed his sleeve.
The cloth did not tear.
It aged.
The edge of the sleeve turned dull and worn, like it had lived ten years in one blink.
Shan Wei's gaze sharpened.
"Time cut," he murmured.
He could not keep dodging forever.
The tunnel was a machine. It would keep producing blades until he broke, or until he agreed.
So he switched from dodging to solving.
He lifted his hand and drew prismatic glyphs in the air—simple shapes, clean lines. Not fancy.
A triangle.
A circle.
A line that cut through the circle.
A small formation lattice appeared around him, thin as spider silk.
The blades struck the lattice.
The lattice shook.
But it did not break.
It redirected the blade paths by a tiny amount—just enough to make them miss his throat and pass by his shoulder instead.
Shan Wei took one slow breath.
He felt the tunnel pressing harder, like it was angry that he refused to die quickly.
Then something touched his senses.
A faint mark.
A faint echo.
It felt like a bell sound that did not belong to the tunnel's main voice.
Small.
Honest.
Weak.
The envoy's last ring.
Shan Wei's eyes turned slightly, following the feeling.
A thin crack in the tunnel wall glowed for a blink.
It was not one of the tunnel's wounds.
It was new.
It was made by the envoy's sacrifice.
It was like someone had scratched a secret line into the prison.
Shan Wei understood.
The envoy's bell did not save him by force.
It saved him by leaving a path.
The monk's voice noticed the change.
"Where are you looking?" it snapped.
Shan Wei ignored it and moved toward the crack.
Three time blades rose to block him.
Heavenstep Flash.
Shan Wei slid through the timing gaps again. He took a small cut on his forearm as a blade grazed him.
There was no blood.
Not at first.
The skin simply turned pale, like an old scar.
Then a sting hit—late and sharp.
A tiny part of his arm felt… missing.
Not flesh.
Time.
Shan Wei's jaw tightened slightly.
But his face stayed calm.
He reached the crack and pressed two fingers to it.
The crack warmed faintly, responding to his prismatic aura.
The crack widened by the width of a hair.
Behind it, Shan Wei sensed something deeper.
Not another room.
Not another trick stage.
An anchor.
A real anchor point that fed the tunnel.
If he could cut that, the whole prison would weaken.
The monk's voice turned urgent.
"No!"
The tunnel screamed with silent bell ringing.
More blades rose at once, faster now, a storm of white edges.
Shan Wei's formation lattice snapped.
One blade skimmed his shoulder.
His robe did not tear.
It aged instantly—threads turning dull, embroidery fading like a memory.
Shan Wei's eyes went colder.
He could not allow the tunnel to keep touching him.
Even if it stole only a little time each cut, it would add up.
He lifted his hand and drew a new glyph.
This one was different.
It was not a defense.
It was a key.
A prismatic "lock-split" glyph, the kind he used in ruins.
He pressed it into the crack.
The crack opened like a seam being unstitched.
The tunnel wall peeled back.
Behind it was a narrow corridor of pale light—thin, unstable, but real.
Shan Wei stepped into it.
The blades slammed into the edge of the opened seam, trying to reach him.
But the corridor bent, slipping away like a snake.
Shan Wei moved forward.
Now the tunnel changed again.
The bells above stopped swinging.
They hung still.
And the corridor became a long bridge made of white stone, with lines of bell script carved into it.
Shan Wei felt the pressure shift from "cut time" to "erase name."
The bridge itself was a writing tool.
Each step he took tried to stamp a new label on him.
UNSTABLE.
CALAMITY.
RETURNING.
He felt the words brush his mind like cold fingers.
He did not let them stay.
His Fate Severance flickered at his fingers and cut the words away before they could sink in.
The monk's voice came again, lower now, more controlled.
"You are walking deeper," it said. "Good. You will reach the nail."
Shan Wei's gaze sharpened.
"Nail," he repeated quietly.
Time nail.
The very tool used on the Six Consort Threads.
The bridge ended at a small platform.
At the center of the platform stood a single object.
A bell nail.
It was not huge. It was about the length of Shan Wei's forearm, thick and heavy, made of pale metal with old cracks. Runes ran along it like veins.
And the nail was pinned into something that looked like air—but Shan Wei could feel it.
A thread.
A thread of fate.
A thread of bond.
The nail was pinning it in place.
The monk's voice became calm again.
"This is where you always return," it said. "This is where we always fix you."
Shan Wei did not answer.
He stepped closer.
The nail's runes flared.
Time rings formed around his wrists and ankles again, trying to freeze him.
Shan Wei moved with Heavenstep Flash, small and clean, slipping one foot out before the lock could close fully.
He lifted his hand to cut the nail.
Then he paused.
Because he saw writing engraved near the nail's base.
Not a rune.
A name.
Not his name.
A name carved into the metal like a hidden truth.
"XUAN CHI."
Shan Wei's eyes narrowed.
For one breath, the tunnel's noise faded.
His sealed Heart in his chest reacted hard, like it had been punched.
Not with hate.
With recognition.
With warning.
With a strange, deep pull.
The monk's voice turned soft again, like it was pleased.
"You see," it whispered. "The anchor is not only you."
Shan Wei's mind stayed cold, but his thoughts moved fast.
Why was her name here?
Why would the Silent Bell tunnel's anchor carry Xuan Chi's engraving?
Why would the nail that pins consort threads also carry her mark?
The monk answered as if reading his mind.
"She is a node," it said. "A frost node. A moon node. A perfect pin."
Shan Wei's eyes turned sharper.
Outside, far from this tunnel, Xuan Chi was fighting to keep everyone alive.
The moving fortress-lane slid forward like a long shield-road in the burning corridor. Zhen's Refuge Tunnel had become something more than protection.
It was a moving wall.
A moving road.
A moving promise that no one would be left behind.
Assassins poured from broken shadows along the sides—faces hidden, killing intent sharp.
Some wore masks that shifted.
Some moved like smoke.
The Thousand Masks Pavilion was not sending normal killers anymore.
They were sending "clause blades."
People who carried contracts in their bones.
Yuerin ran along the side of the shield-road, her shadow cloak snapping behind her. In her hand, she still held the thread-map, and in the other, she held the Pavilion leader by a shadow chain wrapped around their wrist.
The leader's mask twitched, like it wanted to smile.
"You think you can keep me," the leader said.
Yuerin's eyes stayed cold.
"I don't keep people," she replied. "I keep answers."
The leader's voice was smooth.
"Answers cost," it said.
Yuerin leaned in closer.
"Good," she said. "I pay in fear."
The leader's mask shifted.
A black word formed in the air.
NO KARMA.
The clause tried to cut Yuerin's shadow chain and slip away.
But before it could, a weak prismatic flame flared near Yuerin's hand.
A tiny burn.
A tiny ash.
The clause word cracked and fell apart.
Yuerin's eyes flicked toward the center of the shield-road.
Drakonix lay caught in Zhen's shield rings, still breathing, still alive. His prismatic wing was folded, trembling. His eyes were half-open now, barely.
He had burned the clause even while weak.
Like a brother refusing to let his family be touched.
Yuerin's lips tightened.
"Rest," she whispered toward him, almost angry. "You did enough."
Drakonix's eyes blinked once, stubborn even in exhaustion.
Zhen's voice came at once, blunt and serious.
"DRAKONIX STATUS: WEAK."
Then, as if giving a report to the sky, Zhen added,
"WEAK BUT ANGRY."
Yuerin almost smiled, but she did not let it grow. There was no time.
Above them, the sky's "eyes" tried to open again—big pressure circles of law and fear pushing down.
Xuan Chi stood near the front of the moving road. Her hands were raised. Her arms shook. Her face was pale. Frost light poured from her palms, forming a half-moon behind her—clearer than before.
But the moon was unstable.
It left "frozen law" scars wherever it touched. The ground behind her glittered with pale ice lines that did not melt, like the world itself had been bruised.
Xuan Chi's breath came in short bursts.
"I can hold it," she whispered. "I can—"
One of the sky eyes opened wider, and its pressure crashed down.
Xuan Chi's moon flared.
A full ring of frost spread upward like a shield. For a moment, the eye froze.
The pressure paused.
A safe corridor opened, narrow but real.
"NOW!" Yuerin shouted.
Zhen did not need to be told twice.
The Refuge Tunnel surged forward.
The shield-road shot through the gap like a spear through a crack in armor.
Assassins tried to jump onto the road.
Zhen's Imperial Shield Matrix tightened, pushing them off like waves pushing driftwood.
One assassin slammed into the barrier and tried to whisper a clause.
"Kill—"
The word turned into ash mid-syllable.
A thin prismatic flame line flickered on the barrier's edge.
Drakonix's breath.
Even weak, it was learning a new job.
Burning contracts.
Burning rules.
Burning law.
Xuan Chi stumbled.
Her moon flickered.
She almost fell.
Yuerin caught her by the arm for one breath, steadying her.
Xuan Chi looked up, eyes shaking.
"Shan Wei…" she whispered.
Yuerin's voice was quiet and sharp.
"He's alive," she said. "So you stay alive too."
Xuan Chi swallowed and nodded.
Zhen's voice came, cold and simple.
"OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE."
Then he added, very seriously,
"SECOND OBJECTIVE: DO NOT DIE."
Yuerin snapped her head.
"That's the same thing," she said.
Zhen replied.
"YES."
Then, like he had to clarify, he added,
"BUT BOTH ARE IMPORTANT."
It was a tiny moment. A tiny human-like pause in the middle of war.
Then danger returned.
Because the Pavilion leader laughed softly.
"You're running toward the Conclave vault road," the leader said. "Good. That is where the nail is."
Yuerin's grip tightened.
"The nail that pins the Six Consort Threads," she said.
The leader's mask shifted.
"And the nail that pins your frost girl," it whispered.
Xuan Chi's body went stiff.
"What?" she breathed.
Yuerin's eyes narrowed.
"What did you say?" she demanded.
The leader tilted their head.
"Xuan Chi," it said softly. "Her name is in the tunnel."
Yuerin's eyes flashed.
Then, in that same moment—
Inside the Silent Bell tunnel—
Shan Wei stared at the bell nail engraved with that exact name.
Shan Wei's hand hovered inches from the nail.
The monk's voice was gentle again, like it was singing a lullaby.
"Cut it," it said. "If you cut it, her node breaks."
Shan Wei's eyes turned colder than the bell metal.
So that was the trap.
If he cut blindly, he might save himself and destroy her.
Or destroy something tied to her fate.
The monk wanted him to choose wrong.
Shan Wei's voice stayed calm.
"You tied her to this," he said.
The monk's voice did not deny it.
"She stabilizes your return," it said. "She freezes your chaos."
Shan Wei's fingers tightened.
The truth hit him like cold water.
Xuan Chi was not only an ally.
She was a key in the enemy's machine.
A pinned node.
A frost nail used to hold something in place—maybe the consort threads, maybe the tunnel path, maybe Shan Wei's fate itself.
Shan Wei did not move in anger.
He did not roar.
He simply made a decision.
He would not cut blindly.
He would not let the Monastery force him into hurting his own people.
He lifted his hand and did something different.
He drew a prismatic formation around the nail.
Not to break it.
To read it.
A reading formation.
A "truth-seeing" lattice that could expose layers.
The monk's voice sharpened.
"Do not read."
Shan Wei ignored it.
The lattice formed around the nail like thin rainbow glass.
The nail's runes flared.
The name XUAN CHI glowed brighter.
Then the lattice showed him a second layer under the engraving.
A hidden inscription.
Not a name.
A role.
"MOON LOCK: FROST NODE."
Shan Wei's eyes narrowed.
So Xuan Chi was part of a Moon Lock.
A lock made to freeze bonds across time.
A lock tied to the consort threads.
A lock tied to the Silent Bell.
The monk's voice became cold again.
"You cannot save everyone," it said.
Shan Wei's reply was simple.
"I save who I choose," he said.
Then the nail pulsed.
And the tunnel around him began to fold inward, as if the Monastery had decided the reading was too dangerous.
The platform shook.
The time blades returned, rising around the nail.
A storm of white edges, all aimed at one point.
Not Shan Wei.
The nail.
They were trying to force a break.
Trying to make him choose fast.
Shan Wei's Fate Severance formed, bright and clean.
He set it against the air, not as a strike.
As a shield line.
A cut line that split incoming paths.
The time blades hit his cut line and scattered, missing the nail by inches.
Shan Wei's arm aged a little more from the pressure.
But he held.
Because now he understood.
This nail was not just a trap.
It was also a doorway.
If he could turn the nail, if he could loosen the Moon Lock instead of breaking it, he might free Xuan Chi and weaken the tunnel at the same time.
Shan Wei took one slow breath.
His eyes burned gold.
And he reached for the bell nail engraved with the name—
XUAN CHI.
To be Continued
© Kishtika., 2025
All rights reserved.