The dreams didn't stop.
Yao Yi avoided sleep, but exhaustion came like the tide—patient, merciless. Meditation no longer stilled his thoughts; it only brought him closer to the mirror's whispers. He tried burning incense, surrounding himself with silence, even sleeping away from the mirror entirely. None of it worked.
Every night, he dreamt.
Every dream, he bled.
And in every dream, someone he cared for died by his hand.
The mirror didn't speak in words. It didn't command. It simply showed him things—possible futures, broken memories, lives not his own… yet too familiar to dismiss. He saw fires, storms, a thousand mirrored halls each containing a version of himself.
In most, he stood alone.
In some, he didn't stand at all.
On the seventh morning after the duel with Li Zhi, Yao Yi received a summons.
A white envelope sealed with red wax, left at his door. The seal bore no insignia—only a simple sun, drawn with nine strokes.
He broke it open.
"Come to the Forgotten Courtyard by sundown. Bring the Sutra. Come alone."
No name. No signature.
But he recognized the handwriting.
Ling Yue.
The Forgotten Courtyard lay in a disused portion of the Inner Sect, behind crumbling prayer towers overtaken by ivy and silence. It was a place for abandoned shrines and forgotten oaths—a corner of the Sect no one swept clean anymore.
By the time he arrived, the sun was low. The light filtered red through the bamboo trees, casting long, broken shadows across the moss-covered stones.
Ling Yue stood in the center, not cloaked as usual, but in simple robes dyed blue. A soft wind stirred her hair. She held a lantern—unlit.
"You came," she said without turning.
"You summoned me," Yao Yi replied. He handed her the scroll, still wrapped in black silk.
She accepted it silently, then looked up at the darkening sky.
"You should know something," she said. "Before we continue."
Yao Yi waited.
"The first mirror-bearer… the one Elder Jiu Tan mentioned—the Sun Reborn—his name wasn't recorded. But I know it now. His true name."
She met his eyes.
"It was Yao Jian."
A silence fell between them.
Yao Yi felt the weight of the name sink into his bones like cold rain. "He was a relative?"
"Ancestor. Three generations back. On your father's side."
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Because the Sect wiped him out of the records. His entire bloodline, cursed or silenced. You only survived because your family lived outside the Core provinces for decades. Your name—your blood—should've been enough to brand you. But the Sect forgot."
"Until now," Yao Yi murmured.
Ling Yue nodded. "The mirror didn't choose you by chance."
She led him to an old pavilion at the edge of the courtyard. Beneath the floorboards, she uncovered a hidden trapdoor sealed with copper runes. She pressed the scroll against them, and the seals unraveled like threads.
"What is this?" Yao Yi asked.
"Another fragment of the Mirror Sutras. But this one is... older."
They descended together, lanterns flickering. The tunnel curved downward, too perfectly shaped to be natural. The walls were carved with ancient script—fragments of chants, warnings, invocations. None of it readable.
At the end was a chamber.
Inside: a mirror.
Unlike the others, this one wasn't mounted or hung—it floated in the center of the room, suspended in midair, its frame made of obsidian teeth. It didn't reflect anything. Its surface rippled like oil over stone.
Ling Yue inhaled. "This is the Origin Glass."
Even she seemed uneasy.
"It doesn't just remember. It binds."
Yao Yi took a cautious step forward. The mirror pulsed—once.
From its depths, a figure emerged.
Him.
Not exactly.
This version of Yao Yi wore golden robes, his eyes pale and rimmed in red. A spear rested on his shoulder, soaked in fresh blood. His smile was calm. Cold.
He raised a hand and pressed it to the mirror's surface from the other side.
And Yao Yi felt a sharp pain in his chest—like a heartbeat that wasn't his.
Ling Yue stepped forward. "We should leave."
But the mirror wouldn't let them go so easily.
When they turned to leave, the path was gone.
In its place, only mirrors—hundreds—lining an endless corridor that hadn't been there before.
Ling Yue swore softly.
"We've triggered the Binding Path."
Yao Yi looked at her. "What is that?"
"A mirror trial. The deepest part of the Sutras. You must face every self the mirror remembers—every life you could have lived."
He stared at the corridor. "And if I don't?"
"You'll be trapped. Forever."
Trial One: The Scholar of Ash
The first mirror showed a Yao Yi who had never trained in cultivation.
Instead, he sat in a ruined temple, transcribing records from shattered stones, piecing together the lost Sutras with bleeding hands. His eyes were dull, his robes tattered. Yet when Yao Yi touched the glass, pain struck—an agony that wasn't physical.
This version of him had sacrificed everything to understand.
He hadn't died. He'd gone mad.
A voice whispered:"You could become this. If you keep asking the wrong questions."
Trial Two: The Reaper of Red Blossoms
In the next mirror, he was powerful—terrifyingly so. He floated above a battlefield, commanding mirrors as weapons. Thousands lay dead beneath him. He smiled as he killed. No remorse. No memory of who he once was.
Ling Yue stepped between him and the mirror."This one is a warning."
Yao Yi nodded. He felt sick.
The mirror pulsed—then cracked.
Trial Three: The Orphan in Chains
This version had never escaped the island.
He saw himself in chains, starved, tortured by rogue cultivators who used mirrors as punishment. His mirror wasn't a weapon. It was a prison.
When he turned away, tears ran down his cheeks without his realizing.
They passed more mirrors.
Some showed lives that were boring, some violent, some peaceful. In one, he was a farmer. In another, a beast-hunter. In yet another, he was blind—but had learned to listen to mirrors instead of see.
Each one left a mark.
Each one left a scar.
When they reached the final chamber, Ling Yue faltered.
"This is it," she said. "The Judgment Mirror."
It was immense—floor to ceiling, shaped like a gate. No frame. No edge. Its surface was pure black.
Yao Yi stepped forward.
His reflection did not appear.
Instead, one by one, every version he had seen walked onto the surface—until dozens stood before him.
And then they merged.
The gate cracked open.
Inside, he saw only darkness.
Then a voice—his own—echoed:
"You are not one of us yet. But you will be. One day."
Yao Yi awoke outside, alone, just before dawn.
No sign of Ling Yue.
The Sutra scroll was still in his hands.
But the mirror at his waist was different now—its edges silver, its face no longer clear.
It didn't reflect him anymore.
It showed something behind him.
He turned.
No one was there.
Meanwhile – The Elders Convene Again
In the Veiled Lantern Room, Silvermoon stood in silence.
"He walked the Binding Path," Jiu Tan said grimly. "No one has done that in over a century."
"Did he survive?" Elder Mu Xiang asked.
"He returned," Ru Lan said. "But that does not mean he survived."
Silvermoon raised a hand.
"Send word to the Northern Vault. Prepare the Oath Seal. If he breaks, we bind him."
"And if he doesn't?" someone whispered.
Silvermoon turned to the mirror.
"Then perhaps… he'll bind us instead."