The doorway of mist and dark water hung in front of Qi Shan Wei like a wound in the world.
Behind him, the battlefield shook under the Memory Sea Screen. Fog rolled like a living tide. Bell law hummed in the sky.
In front of him, the Memory Sea waited.
Inside the sea, a silhouette stood still, smiling like it had been waiting for many lifetimes.
"Prismatic One," the figure said again, voice soft and wrong. "Give me one more memory, and I will give you one name."
Qi Shan Wei's face stayed calm.
He did not flinch.
He did not step back.
He looked at the silhouette like he looked at any enemy—quiet, clear, and already measuring the weak points.
"You are not the Monastery," Shan Wei said.
The silhouette smiled wider.
"No," it replied. "I am older than their bells. Older than their rules. I am the Warden of what they hide."
Shan Wei's golden eyes narrowed.
"Then you are their dog," he said.
The Warden laughed gently, as if amused by a child's brave words.
"I am a lock," it said. "A lock does not choose who uses it. A lock only decides what it costs to open."
Shan Wei's hand tightened around the bell chain.
"I will not feed you my bonds," he said.
The Warden tilted its head.
"Then feed me your warmth," it whispered. "Give me the memory of someone's hand holding yours. Give me the sound of someone calling you home. Give me a tear you never let fall."
The Warden's smile became hungry.
It could smell meaning.
It wanted the kind of memory that would weaken him.
Shan Wei's eyes turned colder.
"You want to cripple me," he said quietly.
"I want to keep the sea full," the Warden replied. "Names drown here. Feelings drown here. This is how the world stays 'clean.'"
Shan Wei stepped forward.
The moment his foot touched the doorway, the air became heavy and wet.
The Memory Sea did not feel like water.
It felt like pressure.
Like a thousand lives pressing down on one breath.
His robes fluttered, then went still, as if the sea had stolen the wind.
The world behind him blurred.
The fog, the battlefield, the sky page—everything faded like a dream.
Shan Wei stood inside the Memory Sea.
Dark waves rolled under his feet like a moving mirror. Silver fog drifted around him. Faces floated in the mist, half-formed, whispering.
Some whispered names.
Some whispered regrets.
Some whispered nothing at all.
And every whisper tried to bite his mind.
"Forget… forget… forget…"
Shan Wei's Name Anchor formation flared around his chest.
Seven rings.
Seven colors.
He kept them small, tight, and steady—like a crown holding his mind in place.
The Warden walked closer.
It did not splash.
It did not leave footprints.
It simply moved, like a thought sliding across the sea.
Up close, the Warden looked like a person made of bell-silver and shadow.
A face that was almost kind.
Eyes that were empty.
A smile that never stopped.
"You are strong," it said softly. "But even strong men drown if they breathe wrong."
Shan Wei stared straight into its empty eyes.
"Show me the slot," he said.
The Warden raised one hand.
The sea in front of Shan Wei rippled.
A floating ring appeared.
A consort slot.
Not the page in the sky.
A real slot—hidden deep inside the sea.
It hovered like a small moon, half-submerged in mist.
And from inside it, a voice whispered.
Soft.
Faint.
Like a song heard through a wall.
"Shan Wei…"
The voice made Shan Wei's Prismatic Heart ring slam like a drum.
His eyes sharpened.
That voice was gentle.
Warm.
Shy.
A voice that tried hard even when it was scared.
The slot whispered again, barely audible.
"Do you… still remember me?"
For the first time in a long time, Shan Wei felt something stab his chest that was not an enemy attack.
It was fear.
Not fear of death.
Fear of forgetting.
Shan Wei's face stayed calm, but his hand lifted slightly—like his body wanted to reach out.
The Warden watched him closely.
It smiled wider.
"Yes," it whispered. "That's the one. The one you would burn worlds for."
Shan Wei lowered his hand again.
He forced his breath steady.
"You will not use her voice to control me," he said.
The Warden's smile did not fade.
"Then pay," it said.
Shan Wei's eyes narrowed.
"What memory do you want?" he asked.
The Warden leaned close, voice like silk.
"Give me the first time you felt pride," it whispered. "A clean pride. A warm pride. The kind that makes a boy believe he can become a man."
Shan Wei's heart tightened.
That was dangerous.
Because pride was not just a feeling.
It was a pillar.
The Warden wanted to remove a pillar from his soul.
Shan Wei's voice stayed calm.
"No," he said.
The Warden's eyes flickered, almost annoyed.
"Then give me the memory of your mother's face," it whispered. "Just her face. Not her love. Just the shape. Just the eyes."
Shan Wei's aura sharpened.
The sea around him trembled.
The Warden laughed softly.
"Oh?" it teased. "That one hurts? Good."
Shan Wei did not swing his weapon.
He did not waste power.
He simply spoke one cold truth.
"If you touch my mother," he said, "I will break this sea."
The Warden's smile twitched.
For one tiny breath, it looked less amused.
Then it recovered and sighed.
"So stubborn," it said. "Fine. A smaller memory."
It raised a finger and pointed at Shan Wei's chest.
"Give me the memory of your first kindness," it whispered. "A moment when you helped someone weaker than you. A moment that built your 'righteous heart.'"
Shan Wei's eyes narrowed.
He understood the trap.
If he gave that away, his kindness would become colder. His leadership would lose warmth. His allies would feel the difference.
The Warden wanted to slowly change him.
One memory at a time.
Shan Wei looked at the floating slot again.
Mei Yulan's whisper came again, weak and shaking.
"Shan Wei… I'm… here…"
Shan Wei's jaw tightened.
He had two choices:
Refuse and watch the name drown.
Or pay and open the lock.
He chose a third way.
He raised his hand and drew a prismatic glyph in the air—simple, clean, and sharp.
It was made from the stolen Bell proof and his own Prismatic law.
MEMORY PAYMENT: SUBSTITUTE.
The Warden froze.
"What?" it asked.
Shan Wei's eyes stayed steady.
"I will not give you a pillar," he said. "I will give you a stone."
He pressed the glyph into his Name Anchor rings and searched inside his own memories—carefully, like choosing a small coin instead of a priceless treasure.
He found it.
A tiny memory.
A useless one.
A moment with no bond, no warmth, no power.
The memory of a random stranger's face in a market—someone he never spoke to, never cared about, never saw again.
He offered it like a dry leaf.
The Warden stared at him.
It smiled slowly, but the smile was no longer playful.
It was angry.
"You think you can cheat the sea?" it whispered.
Shan Wei answered calmly.
"I think you are not the only one who understands rules," he said.
He pushed the substitute memory forward.
The Warden's hand moved like lightning.
It grabbed the memory.
For one breath, Shan Wei felt the stranger's face blur inside his mind.
Then it vanished completely.
Gone.
The Warden tasted it.
Its smile twisted.
"Empty," it hissed. "Worthless."
Shan Wei did not blink.
"You said a memory," he replied. "You did not say it must be sweet."
The Warden's eyes darkened.
The sea around them surged.
Faces in the fog began to whisper louder.
"Cheater… cheater… cheater…"
The Warden lifted both hands, and a heavy bell sound rolled through the Memory Sea.
The water-mirror beneath Shan Wei's feet cracked like glass.
"You will pay properly," the Warden said softly. "If not now… then later."
Shan Wei's aura stayed steady.
"Open the slot," he said.
The Warden stared at him for a long time.
Then it snapped its fingers.
The floating slot shivered.
A thin line of light rose from it, like a thread pulled up from deep water.
Letters began to form—faint, shaky, but real.
MEI YULAN.
The name appeared fully for one heartbeat.
Shan Wei's Prismatic Heart ring slammed, and his Name Anchor rings flared.
He reacted instantly.
He carved a new prismatic seal in the air and pressed it onto the name like a stamp.
RETURN SEAL: CONFIRMED.THREAD MARK: LOCKED TO EMPEROR.
The Warden's eyes widened slightly.
It did not expect that.
It expected Shan Wei to look and cry and weaken.
Instead, he locked the thread like a commander securing a fortress gate.
The sea shook.
The Warden's smile came back, but colder now.
"Smart," it whispered. "Very smart."
Shan Wei turned his gaze toward the deeper fog.
"Now show me the key path," he said. "Show me where you keep the drowned threads."
The Warden chuckled.
"You want more?" it asked. "You want to pull them all out?"
Shan Wei's voice stayed calm.
"Yes," he said.
The Warden leaned close.
Then it whispered a sentence that made the sea go quiet.
"If you want the key path," it said, "you must meet the one who first drowned them."
Shan Wei's eyes narrowed.
"Who?" he asked.
The Warden's smile returned—wide and wrong.
It lifted a hand and pointed into the dark fog behind Shan Wei.
A silhouette stood there.
Not the Warden.
Someone else.
Tall.
Still.
A figure made of pale bell light and frozen moon dust.
And the figure's eyes were the same kind of calm as Shan Wei's.
Like an Emperor.
Like a judge.
Like a mirror.
The silhouette spoke one name, slow and heavy:
"Qi Shan Wei."
Then it smiled.
And the Memory Sea whispered like a thousand dead voices joining together:
"WELCOME BACK."
To be Continued
© Kishtika., 2025
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