The sky above the Ivory Court shimmered like cracked glass.
Silver light spilled across marble pillars, catching the faint reflection of Bai Lian's still face as she meditated. The air here did not move, time itself seemed hesitant to disturb this place.
Before her, the celestial pool rippled with quiet light, showing visions of the mortal realm below. Mountains, valleys, rivers, people, all tiny, contained within the trembling water. Yet today, one image stood apart from the rest: a dark gate, glowing faintly, and the silhouette of a man wrapped in pale light.
"Jian Wu…" she whispered, as though naming a ghost.
The pool flickered, showing flashes, the gate opening, gold light devouring the horizon, and a voice echoing through the void. Bai Lian's eyes narrowed; awe and dread mingled quietly within her.
Behind her, slow footsteps approached.
A calm voice followed, deep and measured. "You saw it too, Bai Lian?"
She did not turn. "Hard not to, Master. The world is moving again."
An old man in white robes stood behind her, his hair like frost, his face ageless, carved by serenity rather than time. He was one of the Three Immortals who governed the balance between heaven's law and mortal chaos.
"That gate," he said, "was never meant to open. And that boy… was never meant to remember."
Bai Lian lowered her gaze. "Yet he remembers, Master. Just as he did before."
Silence stretched between them, heavy, sacred.
A droplet of water fell from the ceiling, rippling through the pool like a heartbeat.
"Do you still feel something for the boy?"
The elder's tone held no accusation, only the gravity of truth.
Bai Lian's hand tightened around her robe. "I don't know if it's still called feeling, Master. Perhaps… it's just regret that never learned to die."
A small, mirthless smile crossed the elder's lips. "Regret is the seed of suffering, child. And you, though half-divine, are far too human."
The pool shifted again, the image of Jian Wu fading into a golden horizon.
"The world is bound by laws," the elder murmured, "but even laws can tremble. If he truly is the Heir, then destiny will turn once more, as it did a thousand years ago."
Bai Lian's eyes softened. "You speak as if I was there when it all began."
"That's because you were," the elder replied.
Her body went still.
The air trembled, as if his words unlocked a sealed memory deep within her soul.
Flashes burning skies, shattered stars, a man's voice calling her name before fading into gold light.
She gasped softly. "No… that wasn't me. That was.."
"another version of you," the elder interrupted gently. "You were made to forget, after the First War of Law. We took your memories so that this world might still have hope."
Her lips trembled. "Why… me?"
"Because only you could hold it," he said. "You and that boy, two halves of the same truth. Light and shadow. Remember this, Bai Lian: you are not merely a witness… you are the seal itself."
She closed her eyes. Inside her, something cracked — not pain, but the sound of truth resurfacing after too long beneath silence.
Lightning flashed across the heavens; the pool turned dark, showing the mortal world cracking beneath the strain of divine light.
"Master," she whispered, "if the seal breaks, what happens to the world?"
"The world will remember everything," he said. "And memory, Bai Lian… is far more dangerous than destruction."
She rose slowly, robes glimmering like soft mist. "Then I'll go down. The world doesn't need saving, it needs someone who remembers what happens when salvation goes wrong."
The old man did not stop her.
He simply watched her walk toward the archway of heaven and said,
"Then make sure you don't fall in love with him… again."
She paused, turning slightly toward the horizon. The wind stirred her hair, carrying the faint scent of metal and white lotus.
Her voice was almost a whisper.
"Love isn't what made me fall, Master. It was guilt."
The sky split open.
A single line of light descended through the clouds, cutting through the layers of heaven until it reached the mortal realm.
Within that radiance, Bai Lian fell slowly, gracefully, her divine form unraveling into human shape so that heaven would not sense her return.
She landed in the northern valley, where the snow fell like the ashes of old stars. Each step she took left a faint shimmer on the ground, vanishing almost instantly. From somewhere far away came the cry of wolves, low and mournful.
She looked up.
The stars trembled faintly above her, a sign that the Gate of Memory had opened completely.
Bai Lian turned toward the mountains.
Beyond them, Jian Wu was likely fighting for his life.
But her steps did not lead there. Instead, she walked east, toward the ruins of a temple once built by two people who thought they could outwit the laws of fate.
"Before I see him again," she whispered, "I must remember what I chose to forget."
Snow swirled gently around her. The wind carried an echo, soft and broken, the voice of a man from long ago:
"If one day I forget… remind me who I used to be."
She stopped, her breath visible in the cold air.
A sad smile crossed her face.
"Jian Wu, even if you forget, the world won't. But maybe… I should be the one who forgets."
Her shadow stretched across the white snow, split cleanly in two by the moonlight.
Half brig
ht.
Half dark.
And above, the stars began to shift, as if the universe itself held its breath.