The spell circle flared bright.
I watched Lian and Hua—how seamlessly they worked together, pressing in step by step, their words cutting through illusion like silk on steel.
With every exchange, the fog around the clay jar peeled away: the founder of this cursed village, the sealing ritual, the grudge of the insect curse—
as if they had been there a hundred years ago.
A chill crept up my spine.
“These two…” I muttered under my breath. “Since when do they know ancient history better than the historians?”
Before I could finish the thought, Hua turned his head and smiled at me.
That smile—gentle, almost creepy tender—made my blood run cold.
“What… what’s wrong?” I took a step back without meaning to.
He twirled his fan lazily. “Do you know why we’re answering so perfectly, my dear Divine Lord?”
I froze. My gaze snapped toward Lian. His expression was calm, eyes dark and unreadable.
“You—both of you—what kind of nonsense are you talking about?” I forced my voice steady, though panic was clawing up my throat.
“System!” I shouted. “You still alive? What kind of messed-up stage is this?!”
The only reply was the red thread suddenly tightening around my ankles.
And the two of them kept advancing.
Hua’s fan couldn’t hide the twist of his smile;
Lian’s eyes lifted at the corner, elegant as ever—but utterly void of warmth.
“You stay back! I’m not your Divine Lord! I swear I’m not!”
They didn’t listen. Step by step, left and right, their smiles split wider—like skin peeling back.
I panicked, lurched sideways, braced against the offering table—
and with a loud crack, the clay jar rolled off and shattered on the ground.
The sound tore through the air like a scream.
Everything blinked out.
A thousand whispers rushed into my skull. The world spun, light and water collapsing together.
When I came to, I was standing dead center in the array.
The red threads still coiled around me—but looser now.
The wooden chair was still there.
Lian and Hua stood one on each side—
one blinking as if waking from a nightmare,
the other frowning, caught between thought and dread.
Only the shattered jar lay beneath the table, leaking red like ink.
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“What… what just happened?!” I demanded.
“Shh.” Lian crouched down, voice low, as if afraid to disturb something unseen.
He brushed a shard aside. “That was it. You broke it. That’s why the array collapsed.”
“The jar—wasn’t that a message vessel?!”
Lian’s voice turned faint. “Its name was Jar of Words, but it held souls instead. During our Q & A phrase, it was draining divine sense into itself. A few more lines, and we’d have been trapped for good.”
Hua snapped his fan shut with a curse. “Clever little trick. Twin arrays—one to lure speech, the other to capture souls.”
I tried to swallow, but my mouth was sand.
Lian sighed softly and stood. His gaze fell to my feet—then sharpened.
“Why… am I standing at the center?” I followed his eyes down. The red lines curled around my boots—the heart of the formation.
Silence.
“…You didn’t slip into it, did you?” Hua ventured.
“No way!” I snapped. “If this formation can trap souls and tongues, why can’t it send me home while it’s at it?!”
“You really want to leave?” Lian gave me a sidelong look, voice cool as still water.
That shut me up fast.
He studied me for a beat, then smiled faintly. “Still, you did well. Breaking it saved us. Another moment, and none of us would have walked out.”
No objection. That was really close. I turned toward the last item on the offering table—
an old piece of yellowing cloth, embroidered with mismatched footprints.
“Next trial…whose cloth?”
Lian nodded. “The so-called Cloth of Shape. Likely the core of the array.”
“Only one relic left,” I muttered, jaw tight. “Who’s up this time?”
The cloth looked harmless enough—threadbare, faded, a child’s uneven stitches forming one big, one small footprint. Yet my skin crawled just looking at it.
“System,” I whispered, “don’t tell me this is one of those ‘Death-Shroud-of-Soul-Binding’ type artifacts.”
After a long pause, the System finally chimed in:
“Trial Three: The Binding of Form—activated.”
I knew it. Of course.
“This item, the Cloth of Shape, seals the wearer’s soul imprint. Should one’s form and heart fall out of harmony, their shape may twist, their will be rewritten, and their body imprisoned in illusion. Escape unlikely.”
My scalp prickled.
Then I spun toward Lian, forcing a smile and a deep bow. “I think this trial suits you best. A man of unwavering faith, steady as a mountain—surely the cloth will bless you, not harm you.”
Lian gave me a look—half amusement, half frost. “I already faced the second relic. Cause and effect are bound.”
He paused, then added softly, “Besides, my heart is not yet as calm as water.”
Not yet as calm as water?!
I almost choked. If he still needs ‘tempering,’ I must be the reincarnation of chaos itself!
Fine. I turned to Hua. “Then maybe—”
He folded his fan with a snap. “By your own oaths, I’m the one who makes the offerings to the statue—so this trial’s yours.”
“You two are unbelievable.” I groaned.
Before I could stomp off, the cloth fluttered—
and flew straight at my face.
“Wait—!”
Too late. Smack.
Darkness swallowed me completely.
When I opened my eyes again—
I was standing outside the ancestral shrine.
Inside, the statue loomed, serene and imposing.
Wait. This isn’t the same place.
I looked down—
Purple robes. Gold belt. Polished boots.
Hair neatly bound beneath a jade crown.
I looked like a… noble.
A real noble.
“System?” I whispered.
Silence.
Then—voices. A crowd surged forward.
“Welcome, Young Lord Qu!”
“Wait—who?!”
Before I knew it, they’d dragged me inside, sat me on the high seat, offered tea, bowed like waves.
Overhead hung a plaque:
Ancestral Hall of the Qu Clan.
Qu Clan?
Wasn’t I… Nangong Gong?
“The village awaits your judgment, Young Lord Qu!” someone cried.
Three cases were placed before me:
- A child crying without end—suspected cursed by the Insect Spirit.
- The well behind the hill turning red—offering table burst into flames.
- A blood-footed ghost attacking village women—possibly the vengeance of an old soul.
I blinked. “I’m sorry—what job did I just get promoted to?”
And just as I was about to refuse—
A sly, all-too-familiar voice drawled beside my ear:
“Well now, Lord Qu… since you’re in that seat, shouldn’t you judge right from wrong, shape from shadow, truth from lie?”