The morning after the banquet, the capital felt different.
It wasn't the light or the sounds—those remained the same: the lazy clang of temple bells, the rustling of spring winds through plum blossoms. No, it was the quiet between breaths that had changed, like the world was holding something back.
Xiao Mo woke in Yuan Sijun's guest estate, wrapped in embroidered sheets, still tasting the warmth of a kiss that lingered like a secret.
He didn't know how to name what they had shared. It was not yet love—but it was no longer friendship.
Yuan hadn't said a word after they parted at the bridge, only pressed his forehead to Xiao Mo's in a rare gesture of tenderness, before sending him home under the stars with a silent promise in his eyes.
Stay.
But even now, doubt itched beneath Xiao Mo's skin.
He had lived an entire life being abandoned, unwanted. And beautiful things, in his experience, never lasted.
He slipped out of bed and pulled on his robes, heading to the scroll chamber of Yuan's estate. He needed clarity. Stillness. And books had never betrayed him.
—
The scroll chamber was a sanctuary. Shelves of ancient manuscripts lined the walls, their scents of ink and age soothing to the soul.
As he browsed titles by habit, one drawer caught his eye—plain and oddly out of place, marked only by a faded emblem: a phoenix encircling a sun.
The Yuan family crest… but older.
Curious, Xiao Mo opened it.
Inside lay a single scroll wrapped in red silk, sealed not by wax but thread—golden, fine, and humming faintly with energy.
He reached out—and the air shifted.
For a heartbeat, the chamber around him flickered. Like the veil of reality had been tugged ever so slightly.
Xiao Mo recoiled.
"What… was that?"
But before he could inspect further, footsteps echoed down the hall. He quickly closed the drawer and turned just as Yuan entered, his expression unreadable.
"I thought you might be here," Yuan said softly, walking over.
"I couldn't sleep."
Yuan nodded and stepped close enough for Xiao Mo to smell the tea on his breath. "About last night…"
"You don't have to explain," Xiao Mo interrupted. "We were both… caught up."
Yuan frowned. "That's not what I was going to say."
Xiao Mo looked down.
"I meant it," Yuan continued. "I don't care what they say. I don't care about politics. What I feel for you—it's not a passing thing."
Xiao Mo swallowed hard. "People will talk."
"Let them." Yuan stepped closer, his voice low. "I've endured worse than gossip."
There was a pause. Then Yuan's hand reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Xiao Mo's ear, his touch careful.
"You're worth any consequence," he whispered.
Xiao Mo blinked, lips parting, but he said nothing. He didn't know how. The warmth was too much. And beneath it, still, was that nagging sense—
That this world, like the last, might tear everything away.
—
Later that evening, Xiao Mo returned to the scroll chamber when no one was watching. This time, he brought a knife.
He cut the golden thread with the tip of the blade.
The scroll unrolled with a strange softness, almost like it was breathing. And then—before his eyes—the ancient script rearranged itself, forming words in a tongue he recognized not from this world, but from the modern one.
"To the One Who Remembers: The Forbidden Scrolls are not mere prophecy. They are memories—fractured pieces of a thousand forgotten lives. Yours among them."
Xiao Mo's breath caught.
"You were chosen, not by fate, but by design. You are not the only one who walks through worlds."
Not the only one?
His fingers trembled.
"When the Seven Seals break, all timelines converge. The Forbidden Scrolls are the key—but they are hunted. Guard them well, Mo Xianyu. Or lose yourself again."
The ink shimmered—and then vanished.
The scroll turned blank.
Xiao Mo fell to his knees, heart pounding.
Someone brought me here. And someone knows.
A noise outside startled him.
He hid the scroll and rushed out—only to come face-to-face with Lady Wen Qian.
She arched a perfectly manicured brow. "How curious. You always seem to be where you shouldn't."
Xiao Mo straightened his spine. "I could say the same of you."
She stepped closer, gaze sharp. "Did you know your eyes change when you lie?"
He said nothing.
"I've seen many masks in my life," she continued, circling him. "But yours… yours isn't from here, is it?"
Xiao Mo froze.
She smiled.
"You're not like the rest of us, Mo Xianyu. And if I were cruel, I'd expose you." She paused, then added, "But I'm not. Not yet."
"What do you want?"
"I want to see which way you lean—toward Sijun's heart or the empire's throat."
With that, she walked away, her red sleeves vanishing like smoke.
—
That night, Xiao Mo sat under the camphor tree, fingers clutching the rabbit charm Yuan had carved him.
He was no longer just a stranger in time.
He was a piece of something bigger—a past and a future bound by a mystery older than this empire. He had been brought here with a purpose. But to fulfill it…
He might have to risk everything. Including the only person he had come to care for.
As the moon hung high above, Yuan found him again, wordless as he always was when emotions ran deep.
"Something's changed," Yuan said quietly.
Xiao Mo nodded.
Yuan reached out and took his hand.
"I'll fight whatever comes," he said. "Even if I don't understand it."
Xiao Mo leaned against him, his head resting on Yuan's shoulder.
"I'm afraid," he whispered.
Yuan laced their fingers together.
"Then be afraid with me."