Chapter 10: Chapter 10 – The House That Waits
The summons came with dawn mist curling around the Frost Moon Sect's stone courtyard. Shen Jiu stood in the outer hall, the Elder's words still echoing in his ears as the sealed black scroll weighed down his sleeve pocket.
A mission at the edges of the Lotus Province: an old Murong Clan estate, vast and half-forgotten, the kind of place that used to boast of its noble bloodline before time and spiritual corruption hollowed its heart. Five junior cultivators stationed there had vanished without a trace. Not a scream, not a single mark of struggle — just rooms left cold as tombs.
Outside, Luo Wen waited under the shadow of a peach tree that hadn't yet bloomed, his gaze fixed on the half-frozen pond beyond the walls. He turned the moment he sensed Shen Jiu's approach, his eyes flicking from his Shixiong's face to the faint tension in his shoulders.
"Is it dangerous?" he asked, voice soft and even.
Shen Jiu lifted an eyebrow. "Everything is dangerous, if you look close enough."
Wen Li arrived a moment later, her hair twisted up with fresh talisman paper peeking out from her robe sleeves. She looked less tired than usual, but her eyes didn't quite meet Luo Wen's. She gave Shen Jiu a polite nod. "It's true, isn't it? The Murong Clan begged for us specifically."
"Quietly," Shen Jiu confirmed. "Which means they fear something enough to swallow their pride. Or they're hiding something worse."
He watched Luo Wen's expression shift — but it didn't. Not even a flicker of unease. If anything, he looked pleased, as if a single word — 'dangerous' — had become a promise.
The sun was still low when they set out. Shen Jiu led them through the winding mountain paths, the scent of early plum blossoms sharp and fleeting. He kept an easy pace, and Luo Wen fell into step just behind him, as though there were an invisible string keeping them close. Wen Li stayed a respectful distance back, her hand occasionally brushing the charm hidden in her sleeve pocket, her mind clearly turning over thoughts she hadn't yet spoken aloud.
The Lotus Province's border greeted them by dusk: rolling hills wrapped in drifting mist, the edges of ancient shrines peeking through overgrown fields. Small village altars, cracked and unlit, marked the path toward the Murong estate. By the time they caught sight of its massive outer gate, the sky had turned bruised lavender, and the cold air smelled of stale incense and rotting peach petals.
A single lantern flickered in the courtyard beyond the gate, its flame dancing like a restless spirit in the dark.
Murong Ji stood waiting beneath it.
She looked older than Shen Jiu remembered — not by years, but by something deeper. Her robes were immaculate yet strained at the seams, her once-elegant hair threaded with silver. She didn't bow. Instead, she clasped her hands together so tightly that her knuckles whitened.
"You came," she said. Her voice cracked like a dry branch underfoot.
Shen Jiu inclined his head politely. "You asked."
Murong Ji's eyes darted to Luo Wen, then Wen Li, before settling back on Shen Jiu's face. "They're strong?"
"They're mine," Shen Jiu said. A simple answer. An answer that made Luo Wen's lips twitch with something like a hidden smile behind his sleeve.
Without a word, Murong Ji turned and led them through the courtyard. Their footsteps echoed off stone and faded wood, the peach trees lining the path bent low as if bowing to some unseen weight.
"They all dreamed the same thing," Murong Ji said as they reached the east wing, her voice dropping to a whisper. "A woman in white. In the mirrors."
"Did they describe her?" Shen Jiu asked.
"They couldn't," Murong Ji replied, stopping before the guest quarters' heavy wooden door. "They said her face was… like water. The more they looked, the more it slipped away."
Wen Li's mouth tightened as she unpacked her brushes and talismans. Luo Wen, silent all this time, traced a finger over a dusty peach blossom petal stuck to the doorframe. He flicked it away with a small, almost tender motion.
Murong Ji bowed stiffly and left without another word. The air behind her seemed colder for her absence.
Inside, the guest quarters were better kept than Shen Jiu expected — neat bedding, fresh tea waiting on the low table, incense pots ready for lighting. Yet the shadows stretched just a touch too far into the corners, pooling beneath the ornate mirrors that adorned every wall.
One cracked mirror faced Shen Jiu's bed directly. Its fissure ran like a black vein from corner to corner, thin yet impossibly deep. He caught his reflection there — a flicker of himself staring back with unreadable eyes.
"We should cover these," Wen Li said, unrolling a fresh batch of talisman paper. She began scribbling binding runes, her brush steady despite the cold. "At least until we know what we're dealing with."
Luo Wen drifted to the largest standing mirror, his fingertips hovering just above its silver surface. When he spoke, his voice was light, but Shen Jiu caught the subtle strain beneath it. "It's strange. This glass feels warm."
Shen Jiu stepped closer, studying Luo Wen's reflection beside his own. They looked almost peaceful together — the righteous sect brother and his quiet, loyal disciple. A simple lie, wrapped in the gilded edge of old silver.
"Don't linger," Shen Jiu said. "It could be a conduit. Or worse."
Luo Wen's eyes met his in the mirror. They gleamed in the lantern light, the faintest curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "I know, Shixiong."
But he didn't pull his hand away.
---
The first night in the Murong manor was heavy with unspoken things.
Shen Jiu lay awake long after the candles guttered out, listening to the creaks of the old beams settling overhead. The talismans Wen Li had pressed to each mirror still glowed faintly, a subtle golden sheen that should have felt reassuring — yet every flicker made the shadows twitch.
From the far end of the room, he could hear Luo Wen's breathing: calm, rhythmic, like a heartbeat echoing in the dark. Sometimes it caught on an exhale, as if the boy were half-awake, listening too.
He wondered, not for the first time, what exactly Luo Wen dreamed about when he finally did sleep.
Shen Jiu's eyes drifted to the pendant he'd tucked under his collar — the one Luo Wen had given him after Qingshi Hamlet. It felt warm now, warmer than his skin. He ran his thumb along its edge, telling himself the warmth was just residual qi, some gentle trace of protection. Nothing more.
He didn't see Luo Wen's eyes open slowly in the dark, the faint glint of reflected moonlight like a predator's gleam.
---
When morning came, it arrived with a hush instead of birdsong.
They ate a sparse meal in the main courtyard. Murong Ji was nowhere to be seen. The household servants who had lingered at the edges the night before had melted away like mist. Wen Li worked in silence, laying fresh charms at each door and window, her brushstrokes methodical.
"You seem troubled," Shen Jiu said as he joined her, careful to keep his voice low.
Wen Li pressed a rune into the wood. "This place doesn't want to be saved. The walls feel… hungry."
She glanced sideways at Luo Wen, who was kneeling beneath the oldest peach tree, pruning its blossoms with a small blade he carried hidden in his sleeve.
Shen Jiu followed her gaze. "He's doing what I asked."
Wen Li's eyes flickered with something close to pity. "Do you really think he does anything without a reason?"
Before Shen Jiu could answer, Luo Wen rose, his hands dusted with fallen petals. He stepped toward them, the small knife vanishing back into his sleeve.
"The old peach trees feed on lingering spirits," he said, smiling at Shen Jiu. "If they bloom when they shouldn't, it means there are ghosts nearby. Or something worse."
Wen Li stiffened. "You should have said that last night."
"It wasn't ready to be said," Luo Wen replied mildly. Then he looked at Shen Jiu, his smile deepening. "You trust me, don't you, Shixiong?"
"Of course," Shen Jiu said. The answer came so easily. Too easily. "Why wouldn't I?"
Luo Wen's eyes softened, the smallest shadow of possessiveness passing behind them. "Then trust that I'll handle whatever comes."
---
The second night dragged like silk across a blade.
Dreams wrapped Shen Jiu's mind in pale threads: white corridors lined with mirrors, each reflection showing him pieces of himself he had tried so hard to bury. Old cruelties. Old guilt. The image of Luo Wen as a child, snow clinging to his hair, eyes wide with the kind of hope that begged to be broken.
When he startled awake, the cracked mirror at the foot of his bed had split further — a fresh vein running through the reflection of the sleeping room. Luo Wen sat at its base, one palm pressed to the glass. He turned when he felt Shen Jiu's stare.
"Bad dream?" he asked, voice soft as wind through paper screens.
Shen Jiu swallowed. "I don't remember."
"You said my name," Luo Wen murmured. His tone made the simple fact sound like a confession — or a vow.
Shen Jiu started to deny it, but the words fell apart when Luo Wen rose and crossed the floor to kneel by his side. He laid a hand over Shen Jiu's, fingers cool, almost reverent.
"Don't be afraid," he whispered. "As long as I'm here, nothing can take you. Nothing."
The warmth in the pendant pulsed again, the same heartbeat echoing through the silence.
And Shen Jiu, exhausted and guilt-ridden, almost believed him.
---
By the third day, the manor itself began to shift.
Corridors twisted back on themselves. Doors that opened to familiar courtyards now opened into forgotten shrines. Wen Li found peach blossoms drifting through the window of her room despite every branch outside having been cut bare.
She cornered Shen Jiu before dusk, her charm pressed into his hand.
"I don't know what it means," she hissed, glancing over her shoulder. "But every time you're near him — the reading changes. It's not just demonic. It's… binding. Like it's rewriting you, Shixiong."
Shen Jiu looked down at the fragile paper rune, the ink dark and shifting beneath his thumb.
And somewhere behind them, hidden in the echo of the old peach trees, Luo Wen smiled.
---