The wind pressed cold against Ren's face, but inside he was burning.
Jian's words kept circling in his head—He's waited lifetimes… the bond will end in tragedy.
He wanted to run after the exorcist and demand answers, yet his feet wouldn't move.
Every time he closed his eyes, Li Wei's voice drowned everything else out.
> "Rest while you can, beloved…"
Ren gripped the rail, knuckles white. Who are you really, Li Wei?
The sky wavered, the clouds blurring—and then, for a heartbeat, the world tilted.
The rooftop dissolved into a field of silver reeds.
Moonlight spilled across still water, and in its reflection stood a man—Li Wei, but not the one from his classroom.
This one wore ancient robes, hair bound in gold, his eyes the same burning gold but filled with grief instead of pride.
Ren gasped. "What—what is this?"
The echo of his own voice answered from somewhere close:
> "You promised you'd return to me."
He turned. A boy knelt beside the riverbank, dressed in simple white linen. His face—his own face—only softer, innocent. And the serpent, vast and glimmering, coiled protectively around him.
A flash of light—steel glinting, a shout, the scent of blood.
The boy fell.
Li Wei roared, his cry tearing through heaven and earth.
Ren staggered back, the vision shattering like glass. The rooftop snapped into focus again, the city noise crashing in around him.
He pressed a shaking hand over his chest. The serpent mark pulsed, hot beneath his palm.
Fragments of memory slid like broken glass through his mind—pain, devotion, an oath whispered under moonlight.
"Ren."
He turned; Li Wei stood in the doorway, eyes burning with worry that looked too human for a creature so old.
"You shouldn't listen to strangers," Li Wei said quietly. "They'll twist the past to make you fear me."
Ren swallowed hard. "Then tell me the truth."
Li Wei's gaze softened, but a shadow crossed it. "Not yet. If you remember too quickly, your heart might break again."
"Again…?" Ren whispered, voice trembling.
Li Wei stepped closer, the wind tugging at his uniform, and for a moment the serpent's aura shimmered faintly around him.
"Whatever you saw," he murmured, brushing his thumb across Ren's wrist, "you were never meant to die that night."
Ren's breath caught, memories of the boy by the river flashing again.
Before he could speak, Li Wei leaned closer, eyes searching his. "Come down from here. You'll catch cold."
He said it gently, like it was an apology.
And Ren, confused and aching, followed—unaware that the mark on his shoulder now glowed faintly through the fabric, the first sign that his past was truly awakening.