Chapter 3: Beneath Divine Shadows
816 Words
Lin Shuang's spine slammed onto cracked crystal floors as Xuanwu's shadow dissolved into ink-dark dust. System warnings flashed crimson across her vision—among memory fragments devoured by temporal currents, she glimpsed mother's black hair swaying while sewing Dragon Boat Festival sachets.
"Ten breaths left!" Mo Li's bamboo-patterned sleeves shredded in spatial gales. His hastily conjured Eight Trigram Formation crumpled before the void's maw. The birthmark on his neck glowed crimson, synchronizing with the burning lotus mark on Lin's wrist—this anomaly somehow reinforced the fading Xuanwu phantom.
Luo Yang's stardust-silver hair brushed her ear: "Senior Sister's contracted beast remains... disobedient." Holy Realm power that should've been restricted now swelled through her crumbling Eastern magic.
She realized his palm pressed against her waist was siphoning crimson light from shattered dragon scales.
"Release me!" Her wand stabbed at his throat, but the intended thunder spell dissolved into drizzling spring rain.
Beyond crumbling barriers, Frost's ice butterflies crystallized Su Wuyai's sword aura into glass canopies. Mo Li's compass suddenly roared like an ancient dragon.
Pain exploded between lips.
Luo Yang's collision carried metallic sweetness, his canine deliberately reopening her wound: "Blame your sluggish talisman." Through dizziness, she saw hundreds of puppet threads woven from women's essence writhing behind him—not Holy Realm soulfire but perverse lifeforce.
"Protect memories!" Mo Li's warning drowned in ice shrapnel.
Frost's frost-silk dress fragmented into prisms, each reflecting contract runes lingering on Luo Yang's fingertips. Lin suddenly recognized these patterns—identical to childhood copies of from ancestral shrines.
As Xuanwu's remnant vanished, the system wailed: [Memory Reconstruction Detecting Cognate Resonance...] Her lotus mark burned through Luo Yang's golden shields, branding an inverted seedpod over his heart.
"Vicious." Luo Yang released her into temporal currents, silver strands parting to reveal fading lipstick stains on his collarbone—matching the priestess' marks seen three days prior.
Mo Li's compass screeched.
Lin's wand autonomously aimed southeast, dragon scales along its shaft aligning with celestial constellations on the compass. Primordial tremor nearly loosened her grip—like when seven-year-old her touched the f*******n bronze coffin.
"Hold fast!" Mo Li slashed his wrist, blood painting Qimen Dunjia diagrams midair.
As the array solidified, Lin saw horn patterns emerge on his birthmark—perfect match to father's broken jade pendant.
Frost's ice dome collapsed.
Before the final memory fragment vanished, Lin saw thirteen-year-old self kneeling in rain before a bronze cauldron engraved with Luo Clan sigils—mother's half-embroidered twin-lotus sachet floating within.
Emerald light erupted from her wand, refracting strange angles across Mo Li's compass. The recoil numbed her palms. Temporal currents now rippled with golden calligraphy—as if someone painted her past death scene with molten starlight. Luo Yang's cloud-embroidered sleeve from that memory overlapped perfectly with his current grip on her jaw.
"Senior Sister should've been bones long ago." His pupils shimmered violet. Fresh blood dripped from his throat onto her collarbone, scalding her skin.
System-sealed memories flooded back—teenage Luo Yang clutching bloodied bronze dagger, its starfall meteorite hilt matching her wooden pin.
Mo Li faded into crimson mist. His b****y fingertip brushed her earlobe, leaving glowing dragon-rune arrays: "Bloodmoon illumination—" Unfinished words vanished with his sleeve's crescent mark—identical to mother's sachet lining.
"Down!" Frost's ice spike bisected them.
As Luo Yang dodged, Lin's wand stabbed his third rib—the puppet thread weakness per . Golden explosions revealed countless female phantoms, each bearing Luo's lipstick brand.
Temporal currents reversed.
Professor Wren's mechanized arm breached the void, alchemical compass in palm devouring Xuanwu's residual scales. Lin's lotus mark flared, charring Luo's chest brand—agony only deepening his manic grin.
"Senior's tears burn hotter than thunder." Silver strands coiled around her throat as Wren's claw reached. Luo suddenly bit his tongue, smearing blood on her brow.
Star maps detonated in her mind—memories of a bronze-masked man painting deathward sigils on her seventh birthday.
Frost's ice swarm clashed with alchemical sparks. In blinding light, Lin's pearwood pin flew southeast. Its starfall meteorite surface devoured Xuanwu's remnants, warping spacetime into whirlpools.
"Interest comes due." Luo Yang's canines grazed her bleeding ear as he slipped cold metal into her sleeve—Nine-Orifice Key bearing dragon's saliva scent, used to access magic clan crypts.
Mo Li's final words pierced ice shatters: "...hanging coffin..." The half-pendant in her nape burned—father's deathbed gift.
As last Xuanwu light faded, Lin glimpsed dragon-scale patterns behind Luo's ear—perfect match to her pendant's broken edge.
Wren's mechanized arm disintegrated in starlight. The testing grounds collapsed.
Lin sat amidst debris clutching silver strands—deliberately severed by her wand before Luo Yang's spatial entrapment. Puppet threads within glowed azure: Starfall Pavilion's signature Soultrace Cords.
"Your pin." Frost placed the broken hairpin in her palm, icy finger tapping its bloodmoon crest: "Maintenance logs show... Senior Luo's study requisitioned starfall polish this morning."
- Writer
