The trial grounds loomed beneath a pale sun, hidden behind ash-colored clouds. Mist curled around the ancient stone pillars like serpents guarding a forgotten ruin. At the heart of the circle stood the Spirit Mirror, silent and tall, framed in obsidian etched with runes so old they wept faint light.

  Zhao Wei stepped forward, her breath steady, though her heart raged like a storm behind her ribs.

  “It reflects your truth,” said Elder Huo from the tribunal platform. “But truth can be sharp enough to draw blood.”

  “Truth,” she murmured, “is just a dagger we learn to hold by the blade.”

  Behind her, Jian Yu leaned in and whispered loudly enough for most of the audience to hear, of course, “If she sees her real self, will she finally admit she’s secretly a thousand-year-old demon fox?”

  She didn’t turn, but her hand moved fast as lightning, flicking a stray pebble that struck his forehead with satisfying accuracy.

  “Ow!” He rubbed the spot. “Assaulting your best friend before a sacred relic? Have you no shame?”

  “I had it,” Zhao Wei replied, stepping fully into the mirror’s reach, “then you opened your mouth.”

  A ripple shimmered across the glass as she drew closer.

  Lin Yuan watched from the shadows. His robes were simple gray as early dawn but nothing could dim the gleam in his eyes when they locked onto hers. That walk, that gaze… he remembered.

  He had seen her walk through fire once, long ago. But that was Wei Ning, not this girl called Zhao Wei.

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  Or was it?

  The Spirit Mirror pulsed, drawing a hush over the crowd. A faint hum began to rise, like a low, melodic chant woven through the stones themselves.

  Zhao Wei placed her palm against the mirror.

  At first, it showed nothing but her reflection, stubborn brow, guarded eyes, hair loose in the breeze.

  Then, the mirror cracked.

  Only slightly. A thin fracture spiraling outward from the center like a blooming frost flower.

  Gasps echoed, but Zhao Wei didn’t move. Her eyes stayed on the glass as it shimmered again and revealed her.

  Not Zhao Wei. Not entirely.

  A girl dressed in battlefield crimson, her blade wet, her eyes colder than death. Wei Ning.

  War General of the Ember Sovereignty. The woman who led armies with a voice like silk and a heart made of razors.

  Whispers surged like wildfire through the assembly.

  “Is that…?”

  “Looks like her…”

  “No, it can’t be”

  A second image flickered in the mirror. Lin Yuan, younger, armored, his blade clashing with hers under a bloodred moon.

  Zhao Wei staggered back a step. Not from pain, but recognition.

  The mirror shifted again, showing a broken oath, Wei Ning clutching a torn banner, Lin Yuan walking away, and a voice whispering, “You should have chosen loyalty.”

  Then silence.

  The mirror returned to its blank state, the crack gleaming faintly like a scar.

  The elders stared, unmoving. The students buzzed with tension and speculation. But it was Lin Yuan’s expression that carved deepest.

  Because he had known.

  Not guessed. Not suspected. He had known.

  Zhao Wei breathed out slowly and turned from the mirror. Her eyes were unreadable.

  “Well?” she said lightly, her tone flippant. “Did I pass?”

  Jian Yu raised a hand. “I vote yes. She only mildly traumatized the relic. That’s gotta count.”

  The silence broke. A few chuckles slipped out. Even Elder Huo coughed to hide a twitching smile.

  But Lin Yuan didn’t laugh.

  He stepped forward, his voice low but clear. “Who are you really?”

  Zhao Wei tilted her head, lips curled just enough to be unreadable. “Does it matter, if I bleed like you?”

  He blinked at her. That was her, Wei Ning answer, sharp as a blade drawn in moonlight.

  And suddenly, the boy he once was stood staring across time, not at an enemy… but at a ghost.