Yuren did not enjoy abandoned east wings. They were always cursed, always cold, and always filled with scrolls that tried to bite you.
The hallway they entered was dim, the candle flames flickering like they knew something the boys didn't.
"This place gives me the creeps," Yuren muttered. "Like someone died here... recently."
"They did," Zhaoyan replied.
"...Do I want to know how you know that?"
"No."
Cool. Totally fine. Everything's great.
Zhaoyan raised a hand, summoning a ball of spiritual light. The faint glow cast long shadows on the cracked walls. The doors on either side were all shut tight—except one, which creaked open slowly as they passed.
Yuren froze. "Nope. Not walking into that horror movie. That door is clearly possessed."
Zhaoyan didn't even pause. He just pushed it open and walked inside.
Yuren stood in the hallway a second longer before groaning and stomping after him. "Why am I following a guy with trauma and a sword like it's my job?!"
Inside the room was a strange altar, half-buried under torn prayer cloths. Atop it sat an ornate box, carved with moons and lotus petals. It pulsed faintly with spiritual energy.
"Should I touch it?" Yuren asked.
Zhaoyan gave him a look. "No."
So of course Yuren touched it.
A click. A burst of air. The lid flew open—and a scroll floated out, glowing faintly blue. It unraveled itself mid-air.
Words formed before them:
"When moonlight meets the liar's flame, the sealed past shall be reclaimed."
Yuren blinked. "So… is this a threat or a love confession?"
Zhaoyan's eyes narrowed. "The prophecies are evolving. They're targeting us."
Yuren nodded solemnly. "It's because we're hot."
Zhaoyan ignored him and reached for the scroll. The moment his fingers brushed it, both boys were engulfed in light—and suddenly, the room changed again.
They weren't in the abandoned wing anymore.
They were standing inside a memory.
A courtyard under the full moon. Two figures stood there—one wearing the Moon Burial robes, the other cloaked in red. Their faces were blurred, but their voices rang clear.
"Why did you betray me?" the red-cloaked figure asked.
"Because you lied to me first."
The Moon Burial cultivator raised a sword. "You made me choose. And I chose to protect the truth."
The red-cloaked one laughed, bitter and broken. "Then may your truth curse you."
With that, the memory shattered, and Yuren and Zhaoyan were thrown back into the present.
Panting.
Shaken.
"Okay," Yuren said, sitting on the dusty floor. "What was that?"
Zhaoyan didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the now-dark scroll.
Yuren sighed. "So. We're reliving ancient trauma now? Just great. Love that journey for us."
Silence stretched between them, thick with unsaid things.
Zhaoyan finally spoke. "The figure in red... he looked like my ancestor."
"And the other?"
Zhaoyan glanced at Yuren. "...Hard to say."
Yuren swallowed. "You think we're part of their story?"
"I think we're the ending of it."
---
That night, back in their shared room, Yuren lit a few candles and plopped down beside Zhaoyan. "You ever wonder if the prophecy is just one big cosmic prank?"
Zhaoyan didn't look up. "No."
"Because it really feels like the universe is matchmaking us in the weirdest way possible."
Zhaoyan finally met his gaze. "If it is, then the universe has a terrible sense of humor."
Yuren smirked. "You like terrible humor."
Zhaoyan opened his mouth to argue—
—but the candles all blew out at once.
Both of them froze.
From somewhere outside the window, a voice whispered:
"You were never supposed to meet."
---
To be continued…