Lord Ling’s words kept circling in Shao’s mind, like smoke refusing to dissipate. “Because your story was not finished. And neither was mine..” The way he said it—drawling, almost amused—carried a weight Shao couldn’t quite decipher, as if every syllable had been laced with something dangerous and dark.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Shao muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He stood frozen between two presences that seemed to warp the very air around them. Nothing about this made sense. He was supposed to be walking home, not standing between a smug, smirking man in silk and a hooded figure straight out of a nightmare.

  “I… I quite don’t understand anything,” he admitted, voice trembling with the effort not to lash out. Because what he really wanted to do was curse Lord Ling into the floor. But something about the man made that feel like a spectacularly bad idea. Lord Ling only smiled wider, a slow, measured expression that suggested he knew. “And I shall explain it all… clearly,” he said again, the last word sliding out with a curl of meaning that made Shao’s stomach twist.

  The air turned colder. The hooded figure, who had until now stood silent and still as a gravestone, finally spoke. Its voice was low and solemn, void of inflection, like something ancient echoing in a tomb. “Oh, Lord, you don’t have to—I will explain everything to him myself.” But Lord Ling turned slightly, his gaze not leaving Shao for even a second. “No,” he said, tilting his head. “This one here... he’s interesting. I shall explain everything myself.”

  A smirk ghosted across his lips, subtle yet devastating. It wasn’t just a smile—it was a promise. One that made Shao’s throat dry and his pulse skitter beneath his skin. The figure inclined its head in response, the hood dipping in reverence. “Your wish is my will.” Shao didn’t know what that meant. All he knew was that Lord Ling was now walking toward him, and with each step, something inside him recoiled—and leaned forward at the same time. “I shall now take him with me,” Lord Ling announced, reaching out.

  “No, no, no,” Shao murmured under his breath, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t. His body betrayed him with stillness, even as every instinct screamed to run. Lord Ling’s fingers found his arm. The contact was a lightning bolt. A jolt of something hot and searing raced up Shao’s skin. His breath hitched. He blinked, stunned, and could almost swear the world tilted slightly on its axis. It wasn’t just a touch. It was a mark. A brand. Something invisible and irrevocable.

  “I think I’m going to need a defibrillator after this,” he said, half-joking, half-panicked. Lord Ling chuckled, the sound low and intimate. “I assure you, Shao, my touch is quite… enlivening.” His voice dropped on the last word, sultry and sharp, and Shao flushed despite himself. The implication was not lost on him. The hooded figure, as if sensing the shift in air, nodded. “I will leave him in your care, Lord Ling. May the shadows guide you.” Then it turned and melted into the darkness, leaving nothing but silence in its wake. The silence felt like a closing door. Lord Ling took Shao’s wrist gently—but with an unshakable grip—and led him down the corridor.

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  The stones beneath their feet seemed to shift and change. Shao realized with growing unease that this was no ordinary hallway. It coiled like a serpent, narrowing in ways that defied logic, pulsing with an ambient energy that wasn’t quite magic but wasn’t anything else, either. The scent of incense curled in the air—sweet, cloying, and underscored by something iron-sharp, something that made Shao’s heartbeat spike.

  “So,” he said, voice hoarse, desperate to break the tension, “what’s the plan for my… enlightenment?” Lord Ling gave a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. It was a purr. “Oh, Shao, I have a few lessons in mind. And I promise you… they will be unforgettable.” That was not reassuring. That was ominous. Still, Shao followed. He didn’t have much of a choice, but there was more to it than that. Every step he took felt like walking deeper into a dream—a dream scented in smoke and strangeness.

  A dream from which he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to wake. His heart thudded in his chest. Loud. Too loud. Like it was trying to send him a message. But every time he looked at Lord Ling’s back—elegant, composed, cloaked in robes that shimmered like starlight—his body moved forward anyway. Lord Ling terrified him. And made him feel alive. Each breath Shao took felt too sharp, his thoughts pulling tight like wires in his head. He hated how vulnerable he felt in this place, in his own skin. But even more than that, he hated how drawn he was to the man beside him. Every move Lord Ling made was precise, deliberate, seductive in a way that shouldn’t be allowed.

  There was something ancient in the way he walked, like he didn’t just belong to the Night Realm—he commanded it. Then, something shifted in Shao. Not outside. Inside. A flicker. A feeling. Recognition. He stumbled for a second, catching himself against the wall. Runes flickered to life beneath his fingers, pulsing in time with a heartbeat. Not his. Someone else’s. Or maybe… his from another life.

  The corridor was changing again—narrower now, lit by torches that burned with blue fire. The air trembled with memory. Fragments of moments not his own, emotions that came from somewhere deep and forgotten. And at the center of it all was Lord Ling, surrounded by shadows that shimmered like velvet and threat. Too beautiful. Too perfect. Like a blade meant to cut. And Shao couldn’t look away. He hated it. Hated the weakness in his limbs, the pull in his gut. Hated that part of him ached to follow, even knowing this path might end in ruin. He should turn back. But he didn’t. And maybe… he couldn’t