The Temple of Hollow Sky was not a temple in the traditional sense. No priests tended its shrines. No incense curled into the heavens. It was a ruin, swallowed by ivy and time, balanced precariously on the edge of a cliff that overlooked the sea. From afar, it seemed abandoned. But within its stones, secrets slept.
Feiyue stood at the threshold, her fingers brushing the ancient runes carved into the archway. The glyphs pulsed faintly at her touch.
"The air tastes like history," Chu Yunzheng muttered behind her. "Or mold. Hard to tell."
Feiyue didn't respond. Her eyes had narrowed at the faint shimmer of illusion magic along the entrance. She reached into her sleeve, drew a silver needle, and pricked the runic edge.
The illusion collapsed.
Behind it, a stone stairwell spiraled downward into cold shadow.
"Another fun cave," Chu said. "What could possibly go wrong?"
They descended in silence, the walls damp and lined with mirrors—warped and cracked, each reflecting fragments of themselves. In one, Chu looked taller. In another, Feiyue had eyes glowing like flame.
"Do you think these are visions?" he asked.
"No," she said. "Lies. Shaped by fear."
At the base of the stairs was a circular chamber. A dais sat at its heart, atop which rested a stone urn. Around it, inscriptions spiraled like vines.
Feiyue approached, palm open. "This is a memory vessel."
Chu tilted his head. "Meaning?"
"If the Crescent Flame were right, this should contain the last thoughts of a dying priestess. Maybe… one who knew the truth."
She pressed her hand to the vessel.
Light surged.
A vision poured out.
The chamber transformed.
They were no longer in the temple but in a courtyard of white sand and red banners. Foxfolk danced beneath a full moon. Music floated on the wind.
Then—a scream.
The vision shifted violently.
Smoke. Blood. A palace in flames.
A woman—tall, graceful, with the same eyes as Feiyue—ran toward a child clutching a jade pendant.
"Hide," she whispered. "Trust the stars."
Then she turned, blade drawn, to face shadows emerging from the flames.
One wore a silver mask.
Another—a woman in green, with eyes like knives.
The vision froze on her face.
Feiyue's breath caught.
It was… 柳烟.
The vision snapped back.
Feiyue staggered, hand pulling away from the urn. Her pulse roared in her ears.
Chu caught her arm. "What did you see?"
"My mother," she whispered. "She fought… and someone betrayed us. A woman. I—"
Before she could finish, a soft voice echoed through the chamber.
"Funny, isn't it," the voice said. "Memories lie. They show only what you want to believe."
Feiyue spun around.
From the shadows stepped 柳烟.
She wore a silk dress of forest green, lips painted blood red. A jade flute dangled from her fingers, delicate and cruel.
"You've come far, little fox," she said. "But even you must know—truth is rarely pure."
Feiyue's voice was cold. "Why were you there? That night?"
Liu Yan smiled. "A favor for a friend."
"You helped burn my people!"
"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Liu Yan said, stepping lightly across the cracked floor. "I merely played a tune. Others danced to it."
Chu stepped forward. "You're the one who's been tracking us."
"Correct," she said sweetly. "And honestly, you've done better than expected. For a vagabond and a girl with delusions of grandeur."
Feiyue's eyes darkened.
"You knew my mother."
Liu Yan tilted her head. "I envied her."
That single confession was more honest than all her words.
"She had grace. Power. The loyalty of foxblood and mortals alike. And then she disappeared—leaving you. An echo of what she once was."
Chu raised his blade, expression grim. "Talk's over."
But Liu Yan didn't move. "Fight me? Here? Please. You'd die before touching my shadow."
She raised the flute to her lips.
The first note trembled through the room like silk turning to steel.
The mirror walls trembled. Reflections peeled from their glass prisons—illusions turned to life. Ten Feiyues stepped forward, each armed, each silent.
Liu Yan lowered the flute.
"Let's see if you know yourself well enough… to survive."
Feiyue drew her fan, eyes narrowing.
"Yunzheng," she said, voice level. "Close your eyes."
"What? Why?"
"Because if you see me like this," she whispered, unfurling her fan, "you'll never treat me like a normal girl again."
And then she moved.
Not like a dancer, but like a storm given shape. Her fan sliced through the illusions, not at their bodies—but at the faint light of memory that bound them.
Each shattered like smoke.
Liu Yan's smile faltered.
"You learned to read echoes."
"I learned," Feiyue said, stepping closer, "from my mother's last gift."
She closed the distance, her fan a whisper of death.
Liu Yan barely blocked the strike, retreating with a hiss. "You're not ready. Not yet."
"Then wait," Feiyue said. "I'll come for you."
Liu Yan's form blurred—then vanished into the mirror.
Only her laugh remained.
Outside, wind whipped through broken columns.
Chu looked at Feiyue. "That was… intense."
Feiyue didn't answer right away. She stood still, hands clenched.
"She was there," she said finally. "The night it all ended. And she still doesn't know why."
Chu glanced at the empty temple.
"Well, the next time she shows up," he said, "let's bring a bucket of holy water and some very sharp questions."
Feiyue smiled faintly.
"Next time," she agreed.