The wall didn't look like a door.
It looked like stone that had never moved in its life.
Old bricks.
Moss in the seams.
A carved crescent that was half broken—like someone tried to erase it but couldn't.
Lin Yue stood inches away, breathing hard.
Her fingers trembled as they traced the symbol.
Shen Rui's voice was low, urgent.
"Lin Yue. We don't have time."
The guards' shouts echoed from the alley mouth.
Boots hit stone.
Spears scraped walls.
They were seconds away from being swallowed.
Lin Yue's lips parted.
Her eyes were wide, not with fear…
with recognition.
"This is it," she whispered. "This is the place."
Shen Rui's stomach tightened.
"The place for what?"
Lin Yue swallowed hard.
Her throat bobbed like she was forcing a memory through a door too small.
"…Where Lian Yu was made."
The doctor's face turned pale.
The scarred man cursed under his breath.
Shen Rui felt cold spread through his chest.
"Made," he repeated, sharper. "What do you mean made?"
Lin Yue didn't answer.
Because she couldn't.
Because the truth was too big to fit into words.
Shen Rui grabbed her shoulders.
"Look at me."
Lin Yue's gaze snapped to his.
Her eyes were wet.
Her voice cracked.
"I don't know," she whispered. "But I… I can smell it."
Shen Rui blinked.
"Smell it?"
Lin Yue nodded, breathing fast.
"Like ink," she said. "Like old paper and… burned flowers."
"Like someone tried to make a person out of a lie."
The alley behind them exploded with sound.
"THEY'RE HERE!"
Shen Rui's jaw clenched.
"Doctor."
The doctor snapped out of her trance, hands already moving.
She pressed her palm against the crescent carving.
Nothing happened.
She pressed again.
Harder.
Still nothing.
The scarred man slammed his shoulder into the wall.
Stone didn't budge.
"IT'S A DEAD END!" he hissed.
Lin Yue's breathing turned frantic.
"No," she whispered. "No, no—"
Her fingers slid into a crack between two bricks.
A hidden groove.
A seam.
She pressed.
There was a sound.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just—
a soft click.
Like a lock deciding to remember its job.
The wall shifted.
A narrow slit opened, barely wide enough for a person to slip through sideways.
Cold air poured out.
Air that smelled like dust and secrets.
Shen Rui didn't hesitate.
"GO."
Lin Yue stumbled first.
The doctor followed.
The scarred man shoved Shen Rui in, then squeezed through last, pulling the wall shut behind them.
Stone sealed again.
And the noise outside…
became muffled.
Distant.
Like the city was suddenly underwater.
They stood in darkness.
Not total.
There was faint light ahead, thin as a thread.
Lin Yue's breathing was loud in the silence.
Shen Rui's hand found the hilt of his weapon.
His eyes adjusted.
And then he saw it.
A corridor.
Not built like a palace.
Not carved like a temple.
This place was…
designed.
Precise.
Geometric.
Too clean for something hidden this long.
The floor was smooth stone, but etched with lines—circles within circles.
Symbols repeated like a pattern.
Like a map.
Lin Yue took a slow step forward.
Her footsteps sounded wrong.
Too sharp.
Like the room hated being touched.
The doctor whispered, voice trembling.
"This… this isn't ancient."
Shen Rui frowned.
"What?"
The doctor ran her fingers over a wall.
"There's no erosion," she murmured. "No water damage."
"This was maintained."
The scarred man spat.
"By who?"
No one answered.
Because the answer was in the air.
By the same people who were hunting them.
Lin Yue's hand pressed to her chest.
She looked like she was trying to hold her ribs together.
Shen Rui stepped closer.
"Lin Yue."
She flinched at her own name.
Shen Rui's throat tightened.
The corridor opened into a chamber.
And the chamber—
was a nightmare made elegant.
Rows of hanging cloth, like curtains.
Tables covered in thin white sheets.
Glass jars filled with dried petals, blackened as if burned.
A rack of masks.
Not festival masks.
Face molds.
Perfect.
Blank.
Identical.
Lin Yue froze.
Her lips parted.
Her eyes widened like her soul had just recognized its own coffin.
The doctor walked forward slowly, almost reverent.
On the far wall, there were papers pinned in neat rows.
Calligraphy.
Notes.
Diagrams.
A blueprint of a face.
The face…
was Lin Yue's.
But labeled in bold characters:
LIAN YU.
Shen Rui's blood ran cold.
He stepped closer, eyes scanning the papers.
It wasn't poetry.
It wasn't prophecy.
It was instruction.
—Eye shape adjustment.
—Voice modulation.
—Posture training.
—Behavioral correction.
—Memory trimming.
Lin Yue's knees buckled.
Shen Rui caught her instantly.
Her body was shaking.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
She looked like she wanted to scream…
but her lungs couldn't find the permission.
Shen Rui's voice was low, dangerous.
"They built you," he said.
Lin Yue shook her head violently.
"No," she whispered. "No, I'm—"
"I'm me."
Shen Rui held her tighter.
"I know," he said.
But the room disagreed.
The room was proof that the palace had been playing god.
The doctor's hands trembled as she lifted a page.
Her eyes widened in horror.
"There are… versions," she whispered.
Shen Rui's gaze snapped to her.
"Versions?"
The doctor swallowed.
She pointed to a shelf.
There were stacks of thin books.
Each with a label.
Lian Yu — Version 1.
Lian Yu — Version 2.
Lian Yu — Version 3.
Lin Yue stared at them.
Her lips trembled.
Her voice cracked.
"…How many?"
The doctor's voice was barely audible.
"Too many."
The scarred man's face twisted.
"So she's not a princess," he growled. "She's a… product."
Lin Yue flinched like he slapped her.
Shen Rui's eyes snapped to the scarred man.
"Shut your mouth."
The scarred man froze.
Because Shen Rui's voice wasn't a warning.
It was a verdict.
Lin Yue's breathing turned ragged.
She stared at the blueprint of her own face like it was a corpse that refused to rot.
Then she whispered:
"Then why do I remember… being hungry?"
"Why do I remember my mother's hands?"
"Why do I remember crying until my throat hurt?"
The doctor looked at her with raw pity.
Because those memories…
weren't on the papers.
Those weren't instructions.
Those were human.
Shen Rui's jaw clenched.
He stepped forward and tore the blueprint off the wall.
Paper ripped.
The sound echoed in the chamber like a gunshot.
Lin Yue flinched.
Shen Rui crumpled the paper in his fist.
His voice was hoarse.
"They can label you whatever they want," he said.
"They can carve you into their shape."
"But they can't change the fact you bled."
Lin Yue stared at him, shaking.
"But I'm fading," she whispered. "I felt it."
"I couldn't even say my own name."
Shen Rui's throat tightened.
He hated the truth.
But he said it anyway.
"Because they designed the world to punish you for remembering."
Lin Yue's eyes filled with tears again.
She whispered, almost childlike:
"So what am I supposed to do?"
Shen Rui didn't answer.
Because the answer was cruel.
Because there were only two paths.
Freedom with death.
Or captivity with survival.
The doctor moved deeper into the chamber.
She pulled a sheet off a table.
Underneath—
a chair.
Not a throne.
Not a simple stool.
A chair carved with the same circular symbols as the floor.
The seat was stained dark.
Not with dirt.
With old, dried blood.
Lin Yue's breath hitched.
Her fingers curled into Shen Rui's sleeve.
Shen Rui's voice went low.
"What is that?"
The doctor swallowed.
"I think…" she whispered. "This is the imprint chair."
Shen Rui's stomach dropped.
"The what?"
The doctor pointed at the symbols carved into the arms.
"These are not decorative," she said. "They're instructions."
"This chair doesn't hold a body."
"It holds… an identity."
Lin Yue's face went pale.
She shook her head.
"No," she whispered. "No—"
Shen Rui stared at the chair like it was a monster.
The doctor's voice trembled.
"If they sat her here," she said, "they could imprint the name 'Lian Yu' over and over."
"Until it becomes stronger than her own."
Lin Yue's breathing turned frantic.
She backed away, stumbling.
"I'm not sitting on that," she whispered. "I'm not—"
"I'm not becoming her."
Shen Rui grabbed her hand.
"You won't," he said, voice fierce.
But even as he said it—
he felt the lie in his mouth.
Because he could feel the pressure.
Like the city was tightening its grip.
Because they weren't safe here.
This wasn't a hiding place.
It was the belly of the beast.
The scarred man cursed softly.
"We need to leave. Now."
Shen Rui nodded.
He turned—
and froze.
The wall behind them…
was no longer stone.
It was open.
A thin slit of lantern light cut into the darkness.
Someone had opened it from the outside.
The robed man's silhouette appeared in the doorway like a shadow stepping out of a dream.
His voice was calm.
Soft.
Deadly.
"Your Highness," he said, almost politely.
"You should not be here."
Shen Rui's body moved instantly.
He stepped in front of Lin Yue.
His hand went to his weapon.
The scarred man shifted to attack.
The doctor froze, breath caught in her throat.
Lin Yue stared at the robed man like she was staring at the author of her suffering.
The robed man's gaze slid to Lin Yue.
His smile was faint.
Almost kind.
"Lian Yu," he murmured.
Lin Yue flinched.
Her fingers tightened around Shen Rui's sleeve.
The robed man stepped inside.
And the air thickened.
He didn't bring guards.
He didn't need to.
This room was already a cage.
He looked at the chair.
Then back at Lin Yue.
"Come," he said gently.
"Sit."
Lin Yue shook her head violently.
"No."
The robed man sighed, like a disappointed teacher.
"You're tired," he said softly.
"You're confused."
"You're in pain."
Lin Yue's voice broke.
"I'm not yours."
The robed man's eyes sharpened.
"But you were made here," he replied.
Shen Rui's voice turned cold.
"She was born," he snapped.
The robed man smiled.
A slow, cruel smile.
"Born?" he repeated.
"Your Highness, you speak like someone who still believes in accidents."
Shen Rui's jaw clenched.
Lin Yue's breathing turned ragged.
The robed man stepped closer.
"Do you want the pain to stop?" he asked her, voice almost soothing.
"Do you want your body to stop fighting itself?"
Lin Yue's eyes widened.
Because the offer was tempting.
Not because she wanted to be controlled—
but because she was exhausted.
Shen Rui felt it.
The weakness in her knees.
The tremor in her fingers.
The way she was holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
The robed man lifted his hand.
Not threatening.
Inviting.
"Sit," he whispered.
"And you will not fade."
Lin Yue swallowed hard.
Her eyes flicked to Shen Rui.
A silent question.
*If I don't… will I die?*
Shen Rui's chest tightened so hard it hurt.
Because he didn't know.
But he suspected.
The doctor whispered, voice shaking.
"Your Highness… he's right about one thing."
Shen Rui's gaze snapped to her.
The doctor looked sick.
"If the imprint is active," she said, "her body will keep rejecting her real name."
"Her mind will fracture."
"She'll lose language first."
"Then memory."
"Then… herself."
Lin Yue's face went white.
Shen Rui's hands clenched.
The robed man's smile returned.
"You see?" he murmured. "I am merciful."
Shen Rui wanted to tear his throat out.
But rage didn't solve equations.
Shen Rui turned to Lin Yue.
His voice dropped, raw.
"Look at me."
Lin Yue's eyes locked onto his.
Tears slid down her cheeks silently.
Shen Rui's throat tightened.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Lin Yue's lips trembled.
"What… what are you saying?"
Shen Rui swallowed hard.
His eyes burned.
He forced the words out.
"If I keep you here," he said, "you fade."
"If I fight them now… you fade faster."
"But if I let them take you…"
Lin Yue's breath hitched.
"…I become her," she whispered.
Shen Rui's voice broke.
"Yes."
Silence slammed into the room.
The robed man watched them like a man enjoying a tragedy he wrote himself.
Lin Yue's hands shook.
She stared at the chair.
At the blood stain.
At the blueprint scraps on the floor.
At the masks.
At the proof that she was never supposed to be free.
Then she whispered, barely audible:
"Is there a third way?"
Shen Rui's jaw clenched.
He didn't answer.
Because the third way was impossible.
Because the third way was war.
Because the third way meant burning the palace down until the name "Lian Yu" had nowhere left to live.
The robed man stepped closer.
His voice softened.
"Come," he repeated. "Sit."
Lin Yue's body trembled.
She took one step back.
Then another.
Until her back hit Shen Rui's chest.
Like she was choosing him over the chair.
Shen Rui's heart shattered and hardened at the same time.
He looked at the robed man.
And in that moment, Shen Rui made a decision that would ruin him.
He lowered his weapon.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The scarred man hissed, "Your Highness—!"
Shen Rui didn't look away.
He raised his hands slightly.
A gesture of surrender.
The robed man's smile widened.
"Good," he murmured. "You finally understand."
Shen Rui's voice was flat.
"I will return her," he said.
"But on my terms."
The robed man's eyes narrowed.
"And what are your terms?"
Shen Rui swallowed the poison in his throat.
He said the words that tasted like betrayal.
"You will not touch her until the ceremony," he said.
"And you will let me walk beside her."
Lin Yue's head snapped up.
Her eyes wide with horror.
"Shen Rui—no—"
Shen Rui turned his head slightly.
Just enough for her to hear him.
His voice was barely a breath.
"Stay alive," he whispered.
"Let me bring you back."
Lin Yue's lips trembled.
She shook her head, tears spilling harder.
"You can't," she whispered. "You can't bring me back if I'm gone."
Shen Rui's eyes burned.
"I will," he said.
"Even if I have to tear your name out of their mouths one by one."
The robed man stepped aside, satisfied.
"Then come," he said.
Shen Rui tightened his grip on Lin Yue's hand.
And as he guided her toward the doorway…
Lin Yue looked back.
At the chair.
At the room.
At the place that tried to turn her into a lie.
Her lips trembled.
And in a whisper so small it barely existed…
she said her own name again.
"Lin… Yue."
The room didn't answer.
It didn't correct her.
It didn't punish her.
It only watched.
Like a grave that hadn't been filled yet.
END CHAPTER 22
Cliffhanger Trigger: Shen Rui "surrenders" Lin Yue to keep her alive—on a condition that puts him inside the enemy's ritual.