Echoes of the Hollow Domain

The Old Scroll Terrace sat on the western side of the Archive Tower — long sealed, opened only when forgotten scripts needed air.

Shen Jin pushed open the gate. Luo Qinghan was already there, standing at the steps, her robes trailing lightly behind, hair unbound.

As if she knew he would come.

"You're back,"

She said quietly, without turning.

He stopped behind her — three steps away.

"Where were you last night?" she asked.

"…The stone grove."

"They took you to the Hall of Silence, didn't they?"

"Yes."

She finally turned.

Her face was calm. Tired, but calm — like frost gathering gently on glass.

"What did they ask you?"

He didn't answer right away.

She fixed her gaze on him.

"Did you already know that monument was… wrong?"

"I did," he replied, not avoiding her eyes. "But I didn't know it was like this."

"And the mark on your body? You've had it all along, haven't you?"

He was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"Yes. It wasn't given by them. And I didn't plant it myself."

Her eyes changed — not anger.

But something more painful.

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I can't explain it."

She looked at him for a long time.

Then her voice dropped:

"Shen Jin… I'm not your judge."

"I know."

"I only want to help you."

"I know that too."

"But you never let me close."

Her voice cracked slightly.

He lowered his gaze.

"It's not that I won't.

It's that I don't know what happens if I do."

He paused.

His voice grew dry.

"… I don't even know who I am."

A long silence fell between them.

The wind caught a half-curled paper scroll and cast it to the floor with a soft slap.

She turned away.

But then said, just above a whisper:

"Then tell me at least one thing."

"What?"

She looked at him again.

Her gaze wasn't cold now.

It was… resolute.

"Do you want to know who you are?"

He didn't answer immediately.

But he looked at her.

And kept looking.

As if this one question was harder than any whisper from the monument…

harder than any dream.

—

The outer courtyard of the Archive Tower was unusually crowded today.

Representatives from the Five Orders and Eight Sects arrived in turn, their presence cloaked in the language of alliance: joint review, cooperative investigation.

But the truth was simpler.

They were here to watch. To weigh. To bind.

Shen Jin stood at the windward edge of the east loft, watching them from a high window.

The first to enter: Lu Qingheng of the Tiance Sect, in cloud-white battle robes, sword aura spilling behind him.

He didn't hide his contempt.

Each step was deliberate — measured like a blade against enemy ground.

Behind him: Elder Ye Qianci of the Water Mirror Sect. Pale robes, noiseless steps.

She paused at the entryway, toe resting on the threshold as if testing the leyline beneath.

Then came the most peculiar.

The Chu Sect's representative.

A child.

Or rather, something wearing the skin of one.

Grey-robed. Face hidden beneath a black veil. Small, no more than twelve.

But his steps were too even. His presence — untraceable.

Within Lingyuan, they called him "the Faceless Child."

They whispered that this was no child at all, but a soul older than memory, draped in puppet flesh —

not child, not living.

A borrowed life.

He walked in silently.

Yet Shen Jin, from his vantage, met his veiled gaze —

And felt, coldly, that he'd seen those eyes before.

In a dream.

—

"They're not here for an inquiry," said a voice behind him.

Yan Jiuyan, chewing white nuts like they were popcorn at a play.

"They're here to draw lines."

"What kind of lines?"

"Between gods and mortals."

Shen Jin said nothing.

His gaze followed the Faceless Child.

Yan clicked his tongue.

"Last night, a fool from Tiance tried to sneak into the stele grove. Got his soul burned clean through. Only half a face made it back."

"Lingyuan didn't report it?"

"Course not. One whisper of that, and the 'Eight Sects Council' convenes. You know how that ends."

Shen Jin's brow creased.

"They dare enter the grove, and Lingyuan allows it?"

Yan bit into another seed.

"Qi Ming Heng gave permission himself."

"…Why?"

"Because he said — 'if they suspect, let them see for themselves.'"

"Sounds like confidence.

But it's bait. He's fishing."

Yan's grin sharpened.

"If they bite, it's 'joint inquiry.'

If they don't, it's 'god-hiding.'

Either way… we lose."

—

In a shadowed side hall, Luo Qinghan bent over fractured inscriptions.

She didn't hear the softest of footsteps behind her.

Didn't feel the shadow at the door watching her.

For a long moment.

Then — it vanished.