The Hall of Records was not meant for comfort.
Its walls were carved from pale crystal that reflected sound too clearly, every footstep echoing longer than it should. Scrolls floated in ordered rows, their seals glowing faintly — memories preserved, judgments fixed, mistakes catalogued forever.
Ling Yue had never liked this place.
It made her feel… observed.
"You may enter," the attendant said, stepping aside. "Do not touch anything unless instructed."
Ling Yue nodded and stepped inside.
The doors sealed behind her with a soft, final sound.
---
The silver-haired immortal woman stood near the center of the hall, hands folded within her sleeves.
"You asked for the truth," she said. "This is where it lives."
Ling Yue swallowed. "I don't remember being summoned here before."
"You were," the woman replied calmly. "More than once."
Ling Yue's heart sank.
---
A scroll drifted forward at a silent command.
Its seal dissolved, light spilling outward as images flickered into the air — fragments rather than scenes.
Ling Yue standing near a fate terrace, hands hovering uncertainly.
A mirror of threads trembling violently.
A surge of divine backlash tearing through the sky.
Ling Yue staggered back a step.
"That wasn't… I didn't—" Her voice faltered. "I didn't mean to—"
"No," the woman said. "You didn't."
Ling Yue looked up sharply.
"You didn't rewrite fate," the woman continued. "You didn't sever a thread or redirect its path."
"Then why is it here?" Ling Yue asked, breath tight.
"Because you felt it," the woman replied. "And you reached out."
---
More fragments surfaced.
A dark silhouette standing at the edge of the vision — unmoving, watchful.
Shadow folding around light, shielding it.
A fracture collapsing too cleanly.
Ling Yue's chest tightened painfully.
"That was…" She hesitated. "That was him, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
The word fell heavily between them.
---
Another scroll opened.
This one colder.
"Subject: Ye.
Designation: Demon King.
Assessment: Unstable deviation."
Ling Yue flinched.
"Unstable?" she whispered. "Because he was cruel?"
The woman shook her head. "No. Because he hesitated."
Ling Yue's breath caught.
"He paused during judgment," the woman continued. "He redirected backlash. He altered outcomes without violating law."
"That sounds like control," Ling Yue said weakly.
"It sounds like choice," the woman corrected. "And Heaven does not tolerate choice where fate is concerned."
---
Ling Yue stared at the glowing script, hands trembling.
"And me?" she asked softly. "What did Heaven decide about me?"
The woman's gaze softened — only slightly.
"That you could not be trusted with memory."
Ling Yue felt the truth settle, heavy and unavoidable.
"So that's why…" Her voice broke. "That's why I forget."
"Yes."
"Not because I was weak," she whispered.
"No," the woman said gently. "Because you were compassionate."
Ling Yue laughed — a small, broken sound.
"That doesn't feel like mercy."
"It wasn't meant to be."
---
Silence stretched.
Ling Yue looked back at the fragments — Ye standing apart, silent, bearing the weight of decisions no one else would claim.
"He knew," she said suddenly. "Didn't he?"
The woman did not answer.
Ling Yue didn't need her to.
"He knew I would forget," she whispered. "And he still—"
She couldn't finish the sentence.
---
The scrolls slowly sealed themselves, light dimming.
"This is not everything," the woman said. "Only what Heaven is willing to record."
Ling Yue wiped at her eyes, straightening her shoulders.
"Then I want to see what they didn't record," she said quietly.
A faint smile touched the woman's lips.
"Be careful," she warned. "Truth carries consequences."
Ling Yue nodded.
"I know."
She was already living with them.
---
As she left the Hall of Records, the lotus bud at her side pulsed — once, strong and clear.
Far beyond the Immortal Realm, something responded.
Not awake.
Not whole.
But listening.