There are moments when time does not flow forward, nor back.It simply stops.Holds its breath.And listens.
This was one of those moments.
Lian Qiao stood beneath the crumbling arch of the ancient temple, eyes locked with the man who had haunted her dream and now stood before her in flesh and shadow.
She wasn't sure how she'd arrived here.
One moment, she was touching the glowing thread near her terrace…The next, she was in a frozen ruin, bathed in dim starlight and standing before a god.
Not just any god.
The God of War.
The Immortal Who Never Fell.
Mo Yujin.
And he had just spoken the words her soul had been aching for.
"Because once… you did."
Her breath hitched.
She took a slow step forward, the frost beneath her bare feet blooming with each movement, as though the cold bent to her.
"…Who was I?" she asked softly.
Yujin's expression did not change.
But something in his eyes — deep, buried, wounded — shifted.
"You were Lian Hua," he said. "The Flame of the Southern Sky."
She blinked. "That's… that's not my name."
"It was. Once."
She looked down, confusion rippling across her brow.
"I don't remember her," she admitted. "Only… pieces. Emotions. The way my chest tightens when I hear your voice. The ache in my palms like I let go of something I shouldn't have."
"That," he said, "is memory carved into soul, not mind."
She looked up.
"Tell me," she whispered. "What did I mean to you?"
His jaw clenched.
Silence fell again. Not cruel, but heavy.
"I was your sword," he said at last. "You were my fire."
She gasped softly.
He turned from her, walking to the dry well.
"Ten thousand years ago," he said, voice low, "you stood here — burning with light, too bright even for the heavens. You defied the Divine Order. You rewrote your fate. And they feared you for it."
She moved to stand beside him, slowly.
"They made me choose," he said. "My title. Or you."
She saw it then — not just the man, but the myth. The grief. The burden. The silence of a thousand years not because he lacked words, but because there was no one left to speak them to.
"And you let me fall?" she asked, voice breaking.
"No," he whispered.
He turned, eyes glowing silver-blue — not with anger, not with power, but with pain.
"I died with you."
The wind howled then — sharp and sudden, as though the temple itself mourned.
Qiao staggered back, heart hammering.
She didn't know what she felt — sorrow? Guilt? Something else, something too big for a name?
But she believed him.
Every word.
"Why now?" she whispered.
"Because the prophecy has awakened," he said.
"And because…" His voice dropped lower, almost reluctant. "Because I felt you fall again."
She bit her lip. "And now?"
"Now…" He looked at her, really looked — not as a stranger, but as something remembered.
"…you must choose who you want to become."
In the heart of Peach Blossom Sect, Master Bai jolted awake from a nap, wine gourd slipping from his hand.
He stared up at the sky, eyes narrowed.
"She's remembering too fast," he muttered. "And he… he is unsealing."
He stood.
"Fate," he said to no one, "you meddling old fool. What are you planning now?"