Long Chen’s fingers traced the glowing runes on the ancient tablet, his brow furrowed in deep thought. “This makes no sense. The Temporal Palace shouldn’t exist in records from the Sacred City era.”
Tang Wei’s liquid form rippled uneasily. “That tablet was here before I arrived. I never could read it… until now.”
Ling Xuan’s dagger hand trembled slightly. “Wait—if this place was the Mirror Lake of Sacred City, and this tablet existed back then… how does it contain information about something built after the city’s fall?”
A heavy silence fell over the chamber.
Xiong Ba scoffed. “Who cares? We’re trapped here anyway!”
“Hmm?” Tang Wei suddenly stiffened. “That woman… she’s gone quiet.”
The massive chains that had been trembling moments ago now hung still in the abyss. No roars. No struggles. Just… silence.
“Maybe she’s resting?” Ling Xuan suggested nervously.
Tang Wei’s form rippled slightly. “Maybe…”
He wasn’t sure either. This was the first time the woman became so restless to this extent. Now, she suddenly went quiet, which made him feel uneasy as if something big was about to happen next.
***
**
*
The Celestial Pavilion’s group materialized in a vast, silver-hued hall, its towering pillars stretching endlessly upward. The air shimmered with distorted time—some areas moving sluggishly, others flickering rapidly like a sped-up illusion.
Lan Huiqian’s sharp eyes immediately scanned their surroundings. “This isn’t the same as last time.”
Jian Kun nodded grimly. “The temporal distortions are wilder. More unstable.”
Jian Feng and the younger disciples huddled together nervously. The very ground beneath them seemed to shift—one moment solid stone, the next slightly translucent, as if they stood on fragile ice over an abyss.
“Elder, what do we do?” a disciple whispered.
Lan Huiqian and Jian Kun exchanged glances.
“The main reception room,” Jian Kun decided. “It was the safest zone during our last expedition.”
Lan Huiqian agreed. “If the palace’s layout hasn’t completely changed, it should be east of here.”
Jian Feng frowned. “But how do we navigate when even the walls keep shifting?”
As if to emphasize his point, a corridor to their left suddenly folded in on itself, vanishing like a mirage.
Jian Kun withdrew an ancient compass from his sleeve—its needle spun wildly before jerking to a fixed direction. “This points to temporal anchors. The reception room has one.”
“Let’s go,” Lan Huiqian said, taking the lead.
The group advanced cautiously. The palace seemed alive—hallways stretched longer than possible, doorways led to nowhere, and occasionally, ghostly echoes of past visitors flickered at the edges of vision.
One disciple yelped as his foot sank slightly into what should have been solid ground. Jian Kun yanked him back just as the floor solidified again.
“Don’t trust your senses here,” Lan Huiqian warned. “The palace deceives.”
After what felt like hours, they reached a massive set of silver doors etched with celestial motifs.
“This is it,” Jian Kun confirmed.
The doors swung open silently, revealing a grand chamber frozen in perfect stillness. Unlike the chaotic halls, this room remained untouched by temporal distortions. A circular table dominated the center, surrounded by nine chairs—each carved with different constellations.
Lan Huiqian’s tension eased slightly. “At least this place hasn’t changed.”
The disciples rushed in gratefully, collapsing onto the chairs.
Click!
A soft click suddenly echoed.
The constellation carvings on the chairs began to glow.
Jian Kun’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s new.”
The stars projected upward, forming a rotating map above the table—a perfect miniature of the Temporal Palace’s outer zone. Red dots marked their current location, while golden paths snaked toward deeper areas.
“A guide?” Lan Huiqian was surprised.
Jian Kun studied the map intently. “Look—the paths shift every few breaths. The palace is rearranging itself in real time.”
One bold disciple reached toward the projection—
“DON’T TOUCH IT!” Jian Kun roared.
Too late.
The moment the disciple’s finger brushed a golden path, his entire arm froze—not in ice, but in a perfect stasis where not even dust motes moved around his immobilized limb.
Panicked, he tried to pull back, but his arm might as well have been embedded in mountain stone.
Lan Huiqian drew her sword. “Elder?”
Jian Kun’s hands flew through a series of complex seals. “Temporal lock. I can break it, but…”
His voice trailed off as the map pulsed.
The frozen disciple’s eyes bulged as the stasis spread—up his arm, across his shoulders—
“Cut it off!” Jian Kun commanded.
Lan Huiqian’s blade flashed.
The severed arm remained suspended in air as the disciple stumbled back, blood spraying. A senior disciple quickly staunched the wound with healing powders.
The severed limb then unfroze, dropping to the floor with a wet thud—perfectly preserved from the moment of contact.
Silence.
Then—
The map shimmered again, the golden paths rearranging into a new pattern. This time, words formed beneath:
“Only the worthy may proceed.”
Jian Feng paled. “That was a test?”
Jian Kun frowned and said nothing.
Lan Huiqian sheathed her sword, her gaze calculating. “The rules have indeed changed. Last time, this room was safe. Now, it’s another trial.”
A timid voice piped up from the back. “Should… should we leave?”
Jian Kun studied the shifting map. “This might be our best chance. But from now on—no one touches anything without my command.”
As the group tended to the injured disciple, Lan Huiqian noticed something odd. The constellation carved on her chair—the Great Bear—glowed slightly brighter than the others.
She leaned closer.
The carving whispered:
“The inner zone awaits those who see beyond time.”
Her breath caught.
This wasn’t just a test.
It was an invitation.
***
**
*
Yun Lintian stood before the archway of the Ruins of Forgotten Time, his mismatched eyes scanning the desolate landscape. Behind him, Zhou Xuan and the others waited anxiously.
“Stay here,” Yun Lintian said without turning. “When the entrance opens again, leave immediately.”
Zhou Xuan swallowed hard. “Senior, do you really want to go to the Mirror Lake?”
Although he knew that Yun Lintian would go to the Mirror Lake no matter what, he just wanted Yun Lintian to stay with him longer.
Yun Lintian didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on the western horizon where Mirror Lake lay.
Feng Yang stepped forward hesitantly. “Those True Gods from earlier… if they—”
“Won’t be your problem,” Yun Lintian interrupted. He glanced at Linlin and Qingqing perched on his shoulders, then at Yue Zhihe standing quietly nearby. “Let’s go.”
The group watched as Yun Lintian and his companions walked away, their figures soon swallowed by the ruins’ mist.
Bai Xue hugged herself. “Do you think… we’ll ever see him again?”
Mei Ling shook her head. “Someone like him don’t walk the same paths as us.”
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