The Seal's ward still spun. But Shen Jin's thoughts had gone elsewhere. Not into memory. Not into dream. But into something deeper—a rift. A shard of time never remembered, never told. He stood in a field of ruins. Ash hung in the air—not falling, not rising—just floating. The sky was a dull blue-gray. No wind. No sound. The world had already burned. The village was gone. Walls collapsed. Trees dead. Earth scorched. Yet somehow—familiar.
He looked down. Small fingers. Torn cloth. His hand—a child's. Holding a strip of parchment. And in the distance—the fire. It didn't roar. It didn't glow red. It flickered pale gray tinged with blue. A fire that didn't burn wood. It burned memory.
Overhead, shapes wheeled. Butterflies—but skeletal. Their wings paper-thin, marked with sigil patterns like ink blots in forgotten books. They circled in the ash. He looked up. The firelight reflected in his child-eyes. And the world burned in silence.
The Seal stirred at his chest. This was it. The night he had never fully recalled. The night of—
Ashfire.
—
He stood small and alone. Ash drifting. Fire pale. Wings above. Then—a voice, behind him. Soft. Low.
"Don't turn around."
He froze.
That voice—He knew it. A voice that quieted everything. Like a lullaby. Like spell. A hand touched his brow. Cool. Steady. Like it had done so a hundred times before.
The voice said:
"You don't need to remember their names."
"They never asked for yours."
He looked down. The parchment in his hands—the cover page burnt at the edges. But one glyph still visible: Shen. The other part—torn. Not damaged. Erased. He tried to look up to see the face. But it blurred. All he caught was a whisper—
"From now on,
remember the fire."
"Not the name."
The flames rose higher. Swallowed the voice. The hand. The light. And before everything collapsed, he saw the page again.
It was a book written for him. But it had no author.
And he—
had no name.
—
The fire rose. Everything white. Blue. Silent. Time dissolved. Space fell away. And Shen Jin fell with it.
The dream dragged him down. Deeper. Layer by layer. Then—a voice. Not near. Not soft. Inside.
"They never asked for you—
but they took your name."
"They never wrote you—
but they stole your sentence's end."
The words cut. Like grief held too long. And now loosed.
He tried to scream, but the fire stole his breath. Only pain remained. His palm burned. The Seal ignited. Light surged. Not to protect—but to pull, from the depth of dream. From the edge of collapse. It tore him back.
He gasped—eyes wide. The room returned. Stone. Ash. Light.
Luo Qinghan knelt beside him. Her voice urgent:
"You were—"
He looked at her. Then away. Then down at his hand. And whispered:
"I remembered."
—
When Shen Jin awoke, the Seal was quiet. Only a faint gray mark remained on his palm. Luo Qinghan sat beside him, a cup of warm water in hand. She didn't speak at first. Just watched him. He drank—then paused.
Something felt different. The wards outside the door—not the same. The formation patterns are not from the local courts. He looked at her.
"What changed?"
She hesitated. Then said:
"The Observing Court sent notice this morning.
The Lingyuan Division has called you
to attend."
"Original Court has approved."
"The Seal's resonance
is now considered a matter of domain-level law."
She paused again. Something in her voice not quite trustful.
"But… The Grayland. Ningyuan.
None of them trusts Lingyuan."
"Why now?
And why so fast?"
A knock.
Ling Wanzhou. Dressed in inner-court robes. He did not enter. Only lifted his gaze:
"By directive of the Chief Executor.
Court summons."
He stepped forward, produced a spirit-case.
"The Observing Court
has added an agenda item:
'Determination of jurisdiction over the Primary Seal bearer.'"
"You're to attend
as witness."
Shen Jin didn't reach for it.
Luo Qinghan spoke softly:
"Original Court had no right to stop it.
But this…
it's too fast."
Ling Wanzhou's tone was polite. But precise:
"If the seal has touched
divine-dream structures,
it falls under Article Four of the Hollow Codex."
"Original courts
cannot detain a dreaming seal-bearer."
He added:
"This is not a forced writ.
It's classified
as cooperative observation."
Shen Jin gave a small laugh. No mockery. Just clarity.
"'Cooperative,'
they say."
"Is this a court hearing—
or a handoff?"
He opened the scroll. The signature burned at the bottom:
Issued by: Qi Mingheng
His eyes narrowed.
This wasn't the Division seizing him. This was—
Qi Mingheng
placing him.
—
The Court of Observance was not housed within Lingyuan's main sanctum. It existed in a separate domain—a floating law-bound enclave poised between the human regions and the outer jurisdiction of the divine. Set just above Ningyuan, its presence was veiled from the common world. Neither court, nor cloister. But something between. A place summoned only when a Primary Seal breached its place.
Today—
the sky platforms closed. Flux sealed. The sects arrived bearing their rights. As Shen Jin entered, he felt no weight. But something subtler. A hush in thought. A veil over his mind. Not divine—not quite.
"It feels like the Domain…"
"…but less forgiving."
He said nothing. And was seated at the edge. Close—but not among them. But near enough to feel their breath.
To the north—Lingyuan's inner table. Five elders. Three familiar. Two strangers—in robes marked by Yaoyuan's internal division. To the south—the full array.
From the Five Great Orders:
Taiqing Sect sent Vice Adjudicator Shang Luhan—
golden sigil at his waist, unreadable cold.
Kulian Temple seated a gray-robed monk—
lips silent, spirit beads circling his brow.
Miaojilou dispatched Song Shuangyi—
plain-robed, quiet-eyed, hands on her knees.
Taixu Dao was represented by Xuanmo Zhenren—
fingers resting on a sealed star mirror.
And from Nanhuangmen—
a witch-priest, bone-crowned, leaning against the gate.
The Eight Sects followed:
From Jing Sect—
not Luo Qinghan, but Wen Qiuchi—
Sharp. Still. Eyes never once on him.
From Tianshu Palace came Ruan Linghe—
sigil ring pulsing faintly—a mark of inquiry.
From Yugu Tang—
a youth with a coffin-strapped back.
From Wangyue Dao—
a moon-robed woman, silent but ready.
Shen Jin took it in. The positions. The tools. The tension. They're not here to listen. They're here to press.
The court light rose.
A law clerk spoke:
"Agenda:
Determination on whether
the Primary Seal bearer
shall be transferred
to Domain Tribunal."
Silence fell.
But the air—
tightened.
So it begins.