Thunder grumbled over the palace roofs, low and swollen, as if the heavens themselves eavesdropped on the uproar inside Jiao Shui's chambers.
Prince Yang's grip still circled her wrist, warm and merciless, a contradiction carved into flesh. He stared at her with a hunger sharpened by fear. A prince did not fear assassins. A prince did not fear rebellion. A prince certainly did not fear ghosts.
But the name Shenzha Jao hollowed him.
"Tell me everything," he ordered, voice quiet and serrated.
Jiao Shui chose her next breath like she was stepping on glass. "If I tell you, will you step back?"
"No."
"At least loosen—"
"No."
He was honest, if nothing else.
Fine.
She tugged her wrist free with a swift twist he didn't expect. He blinked, momentially startled, and she stepped away, rubbing the reddened skin with slow strokes.
"That bridge," she began, "was glowing."
Prince Yang crossed his arms, robe shifting like a brewing storm. "Glowing?"
"Yes. The wards responded to something. Or someone."
"Wards don't respond to corpses."
"You sound very sure of that for someone who refuses to look me in the eye right now."
His gaze snapped to hers instantly.She smirked.Dangerous, but satisfying.
"The light bent," she continued. "It wasn't random. It curved around a shape. A human shape."
Yang's spine stiffened.
"And the voice." Jiao Shui hesitated. "It laughed."
"That is not her," he hissed, a little too fast.
Jiao Shui's brows lifted. "Are you telling me you don't recognize the sound of her laughter?"
Silence.
The truth was written on him like a confession in ink.
She continued before he could recover. "There was also a word."
The prince straightened. "What word."
"'Return.'"
The thunder outside cracked like a whip.
Prince Yang's heartbeat hitched once—just once—before resuming its brutal steadiness. "You are telling me," he murmured, "that Shenzha Jao, who died in my arms, has returned."
Jiao Shui bit back the urge to roll her eyes. "Let's not pretend death stops everyone in this palace. Ghosts cling here like stubborn ink."
He hated that she was right.
He hated even more the flicker of hope he could not extinguish.
Before he could speak again, footsteps echoed from the corridor—quick, deliberate, nervous.
A young maid burst in, pale as moonwater. "Your Highness! Lady Jiao Shui! The Emperor summons you both immediately!"
Jiao Shui blinked. "Together?"
The maid trembled. "Something happened in the ancestral hall."
Prince Yang's expression sharpened. "What happened?"
The maid swallowed. "The offering altar… cracked open."
"Altar stone doesn't crack," Jiao Shui whispered.
"It does," the maid said, voice shaking harder, "when a spirit tries to crawl out of it."
Prince Yang's composure finally fractured.Just a hairline split.But enough.
"Shenzha Jao…" he murmured.
Jiao Shui's breath stilled as the maid whispered the next words.
"Her memorial tablet is missing."
Missing.
Not shattered.Not burned.Not displaced.
Missing.
Jiao Shui's pulse stabbed hard against her ribs.
Prince Yang turned to her slowly, eyes no longer calm pools but obsidian storms.
"You will not leave my sight," he warned.
Jiao Shui swallowed. "Why? Because you think she's coming for you?"
"No." His voice dropped to a terrifying softness. "Because if she's returned… she'll come for you first."
In the lantern's reflection behind them…something moved.
A girl's silhouette.Smiling.Watching.
And then it vanished.