Shi Yao moved cautiously as he followed the elderly eunuch through the dimly lit corridors. The walls felt tighter, the air thicker, as if they were slowly stepping into a space untouched by time.
The other fixers followed in silent anticipation. Li Yuan walked beside Shi Yao; his usual sharp demeanor unchanged—but there was something in his expression. A tension. A quiet recognition that whatever they were about to face wasn't going to be easy.
The eunuch led them deeper.
Each step echoed, bouncing off the stone walls until the sound seemed to vanish into the shadows ahead.
Then—the hallway opened into a vast chamber.
Shi Yao's breath hitched.
At its center stood an altar, ancient and worn, yet unmistakably significant. The air was thick with the scent of wax and incense, and atop the altar sat a single, flickering candle.
Shi Yao stood before the altar, his gaze fixed on the lone candle resting atop the ancient stone. Its flame flickered, unnaturally steady despite the lack of wind.
And then the truth settled in his bones like a cold whisper: It had been with him all along.
Since the moment he had stepped into this space, he had felt the weight of something lingering just outside his perception. The glow had been there, watching, following—not just now, but long before.
It had crept into his dreams also in the night before, weaving between the shadows of his mind, appearing in the corners of his vision.
Now, standing before the altar, he recognized it fully.
The realization struck like lightning, sending a tremor through him. Was it guiding him, or was it simply waiting
Shi Yao exhaled, feeling his pulse slow as he reached out a hesitant hand toward the candle. Would touching it change something?
The air around him thickened, charged with an unseen energy. His fingers hovered just above the flame, and for a moment, he swore the glow shifted, twisting in response to his movement.
A presence. A force.
It was no longer just light—it was a presence.
Shi Yao felt himself falling—no, fading.
The moment the door had creaked open, a powerful force had gripped him, pulled him under, dragging him away from the cold stone walls and into something else.
Then—silence.
His eyes snapped open.
He was lying in bed.
The familiar scent of old wood, dust, and damp air surrounded him. Moonlight streamed through the window.
Shi Yao sat up abruptly, his pulse pounding.
He knew this room.
The Cold Palace.
But this time, something was different.
The candlelight flickered unnaturally, casting distorted shadows against the walls. The air was heavy, as if the dream had tightened its grip.
And then—he heard voices.
Soft. Faint. Unfamiliar.
Shi Yao stood slowly, steadying himself. He could sense it now—the shift, the manipulation, the illusion.
He hadn't escaped.