“W-what are they? What’s happening to me?” Shao asked, his voice trembling as a strange warmth flooded his chest.

  Lord Ling’s gaze didn’t waver. “Your soul... it’s beginning to remember. The memories from your past life—they’re coming back to you.” He paused, his breath caught between urgency and desire. His voice dropped to a low whisper. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. I’ll protect you at any cost. Just let me do this.”

  Without waiting for permission, Ling pulled Shao even closer—so close their bodies molded into one. His hands tightened on Shao’s waist, firm and possessive. His fingers roamed with reverence, tracing the lines and curves like they were sacred. Shao’s body was perfection—strong, graceful, and achingly divine, like it had been sculpted by the gods themselves. His skin was warm, soft, and glowing with an ethereal light.

  Lord Ling could barely breathe. It was as if all the stars in the heavens had conspired to shine through Shao Han.

  “You look like you’ve been kissed by Aphrodite herself,” Ling murmured, lips brushing against the shell of Shao’s ear. “You don’t even realize how deadly your beauty is.”

  Shao shuddered beneath Ling’s touch, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. He didn’t know what was real anymore—the mirror, this strange world, the terrifying truths about his soul... or this feeling, this fire that burned whenever Lord Ling was near.

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  His mind screamed to resist, to stay grounded, but his body betrayed him—arching subtly into Ling’s touch, aching for more. The memories stirred inside him like smoke rising from embers. Flashes of a temple bathed in moonlight. The sound of his own voice chanting ancient spells. And Ling—always Ling, standing beside him, eyes filled with longing and fury.

  Shao gasped, the visions overwhelming. His knees buckled.

  “I... I remember,” he whispered. “You were there. You always were...”

  Lord Ling caught him, one arm slipping behind his back, the other cradling his head. Their eyes met—and in that moment, time fractured.

  Suddenly, a sharp crack split the air.

  The mirror behind them—the same mirror that brought Shao here—shattered, glass flying like silver snow. Shao’s body jerked in Ling’s arms, his eyes rolling back for a heartbeat.

  Then—his voice changed.

  A new tone, deeper, ancient. “You should not have awoken me yet.”

  Lord Ling froze. That voice—it wasn’t Shao. No. It was him. The sorcerer. The true soul hidden deep inside.

  Shao’s body radiated power now, darkness and light swirling around him. The air thickened. Candles blew out one by one. The room pulsed with energy.

  “Shao?” Ling whispered, cautious.

  Shao blinked, disoriented, the ancient voice gone as quickly as it came. “I... I don’t know what just happened.”

  Ling narrowed his eyes. The soul has begun to merge. But something’s wrong. Someone—or something—else came through with him.

  Outside the chamber, footsteps echoed in the halls. Slow. Deliberate.

  And then a voice—a woman’s voice, sharp and familiar—cut through the silence.

  “So... he’s finally returned,” she said coldly. “I suppose it’s time I finished what I started—before he remembers everything.”

  Lord Ling turned, his body shielding Shao instantly. “She’s back,” he whispered.

  “Who?” Shao asked, fear and fire bu

  rning in his voice.

  “Your executioner.”

  ---