The bell's sound did not feel like sound anymore. It felt like a hand closing around the whole dome.
For a moment, the air inside the Court barrier became thick, like soup. Dust stopped falling. Blood stopped dripping. Even the prismatic flames licking out from Drakonix's cracked cocoon held still, like they were afraid to move.
Then the bell rang again.
Everything "caught up" at once.
Dust fell. Blood hit the ground. The prismatic flame flickered hard. Outside the dome, weaker cultivators cried out and dropped to their knees, like the bell had grabbed their bones and pulled them down.
Qi Shan Wei did not flinch.
His golden eyes stayed steady, calm like a deep lake. He looked at the thin silver line hanging in the air—the Time-Debt Ledger—where names glowed in ancient script, each one sharp like a blade and heavy like a mountain.
Above them, the Court elders hovered in silence. They were used to being feared.
But today, their fear was not aimed at Qi Shan Wei.
It was aimed at the bell.
The Silent Bell envoy stood with his hands together, as if he was praying. The small silver bell on his chest shook slightly on its own, like it was listening to something far away… something old.
"The second bell has answered," the envoy said softly.
A Court elder's voice came out tight. "From where?"
The envoy lifted his gaze. "From the River of Time."
Many did not understand those words, but everyone understood the feeling that came with them.
The world felt older.
The sky above the dome looked like it had seen too much, like it carried memories it never asked to hold.
The envoy looked at the ledger again, then at Qi Shan Wei. "Returning Prismatic One," he said, "you know what this is."
Qi Shan Wei's voice stayed level. "It is a record."
"A record of theft," one elder snapped.
Qi Shan Wei did not look at that elder. His eyes stayed on the ledger. "A record of change."
The bell on the envoy's chest rang once, very lightly—like a warning to keep words careful.
"Time does not care if you call it theft or change," the envoy said. "Time only cares that something was moved."
A thin line of light formed in front of the envoy. It looked like a flowing string, and along it were small marks, like steps on a long path.
"This is the simple truth," the envoy said. "The Silent Bell Monastery keeps the flow of time stable. We do not rule the world. We keep it from breaking."
He raised one finger. "When a person changes a fate that should not be changed—when they pull someone back from death, when they cut a destiny thread, when they force a future to bend—time creates a debt."
The elder's eyes narrowed. "A debt paid with what?"
The envoy's face stayed calm. "Not with treasure."
He said it like it was normal. But the dome felt colder anyway.
"Not with pills," he continued. "Not with spirit stones. Not with armies."
He pointed at the ledger. "Time takes payment in one of three ways."
He lifted three fingers.
"Years."
Second finger.
"Memory."
Third finger.
"Threads."
At the word "threads," the Six Consort Threads above the Court platform trembled as if they were alive.
Ling Xueyao's breath caught. Her eyes flicked up to the threads, then down to Qi Shan Wei's chest, like she could feel something pulling on an invisible line tied to her heart.
Zhen's head turned slightly. His voice came out blunt and flat. "Conclusion: the bell targets what stabilizes the master."
People outside the dome stared at the puppet like he had spoken a forbidden truth.
Qi Shan Wei's tone stayed calm. "Explain the ledger."
The envoy looked at the glowing names. "This ledger is not written by the Court," he said. "It is written by the Bell that remembers."
The bell on his chest rang once on its own, like it agreed.
The envoy continued, "Long ago, someone used a Bell-Law relic. That relic can touch time. It can pause a moment. It can repeat a moment. It can skip a moment."
His eyes sharpened. "And it can cut threads across cycles."
The Court elders stiffened. One of them whispered, "Across… reincarnation?"
The envoy nodded. "Across lives. Across worlds."
Outside the dome, whispers rose like a swarm. Fear mixed with greed. It always did.
Qi Shan Wei's golden eyes did not change. But the air around him grew heavier, like his calm was holding back something huge.
The envoy lifted his hand, and the top line of the ledger brightened.
A name pulsed at the top. A long name. Old and sharp. Not written the way the world knew it.
The envoy spoke slowly, and the way he spoke made the words feel like a key turning in a lock.
"Qi… Shan… Wei."
But the ledger's light did not match the sound perfectly. The name carried extra weight—hidden titles inside it, like a crown buried under cloth.
The crowd outside the dome gasped. Elders from great sects went pale.
"A hidden name…" someone whispered. "A name with weight…"
Ling Xueyao's fingers curled. The frozen law scars around her flickered, and the air made a faint cracking sound like ice breaking far away.
The envoy looked at Qi Shan Wei. "Your present name is a mask," he said. "Not a lie. But not the full truth."
Qi Shan Wei's voice stayed steady. "I did not choose to be written on your ledger."
The envoy's eyes were empty like still water. "Time does not ask permission."
A Court elder leaned forward, eyes cold. "So he is guilty."
The envoy did not look at him. "Guilt is not my job."
The elder's face twisted. "Then what is your job?"
The envoy's bell rang once.
"My job," the envoy said, "is to collect what time is owed."
As he spoke, the second bell beyond the realm rang again.
This time, the sound was deeper.
It did not bounce off the dome.
It went through it.
People screamed—not because it hurt their ears, but because it touched something inside them that felt like "before." Like an old fear from a dream they forgot.
For one heartbeat, the battlefield changed.
The broken ground looked whole again.
The dead looked alive again.
Then everything snapped back.
Ling Xueyao staggered. Her breath came out white. "That… was time…" she whispered.
Her Lunar Frost Domain was close. Too close. The frozen law scars around her surged like they wanted to become a full moon.
Qi Shan Wei moved one step toward her. He did not rush. He did not panic. But his presence felt like a wall between her and the bell.
He lifted his hand.
A prismatic formation line appeared—thin, gentle—and wrapped around Ling Xueyao's wrist like a bracelet of light.
Not a chain.
A guard.
Ling Xueyao's eyes widened slightly. She felt it at once. The formation was not trying to control her. It was trying to steady her.
Qi Shan Wei spoke one line, quiet but firm. "Breathe with me."
Her throat tightened. She nodded once.
Their breaths matched for a few beats.
The frozen law scars stopped growing for half a moment. The sharp pain in her eyes eased just a little.
Then the dome shook again.
A black ripple burst from the trapped assassin's wrist.
The Thousand Masks contract seal tried to rebuild itself. It tried to write new words in the air.
But Drakonix's prismatic flame touched it again.
The words burned like dry paper.
Inside the cocoon, Drakonix let out a rough, proud sound—half-growl, half-laugh, half-baby. "Stop… writing… on my sky."
Then, like he still had time to be jealous even while half-born, his wing twitched toward Ling Xueyao like a warning.
Zhen's voice came out flat, with timing so strange it made a few people blink. "The young lord is jealous. This is inefficient during crisis."
From inside the cocoon, Drakonix hissed, weak but offended. "Shut… metal."
Zhen replied without emotion. "I am not metal. I am Zhen."
The humor lasted only a breath. Then pressure returned like a blade.
The Court elder's eyes narrowed at the envoy. "If the debt is real, take it now. Prove it."
The envoy's gaze moved to the Six Consort Threads. "Time has already chosen the payment."
The elder's face tightened. "Chosen… how?"
The envoy raised his hand.
The bell on his chest rang—not loud, not violent, just clear.
The sound spread through the dome like a net.
Qi Shan Wei felt it at once.
This was not an attack on his body.
This was an attack on his connections.
The bell's sound sank into the prismatic lines around Qi Shan Wei's heart. The Time-Debt Ledger glowed brighter. The Six Consort Threads trembled harder.
Outside the dome, a masked woman—another Thousand Masks watcher—stepped back, shocked. "That's not our method…" she whispered. "That's… Bell-Law…"
The trapped assassin looked up at the envoy, fear finally breaking through. "We were promised no karma," they rasped. "We were promised safety."
The envoy's voice did not change. "You were promised a clean death."
The assassin's mask cracked further. Under it, a burned seal mark showed again—an old time mark carved into their spirit.
Qi Shan Wei's gaze sharpened. "They were tagged."
The envoy nodded. "The Pavilion's contract was bait."
A Court elder's eyes widened. "Are you saying the Thousand Masks Pavilion was used?"
The envoy's bell rang once, soft like a sigh. "The Pavilion sells secrets. Even they can be bought."
Outside the dome, angry whispers exploded. "Who paid?" "Who dared?" "Who can use the Pavilion like a tool?"
The envoy did not answer.
Because the second bell beyond the realm rang again.
This time, the sound came with pressure like a giant finger pressing down on the dome.
Zhen moved instantly.
His chest core flared crimson. Armor runes lit in clean lines. The Imperial Shield Matrix shifted, and a new pattern formed—layers inside layers, like a fortress learning to walk.
Zhen's voice stayed calm. "Imperial Shield Matrix: Echo-Breaker Layer."
A strange effect spread around them. The air felt thicker, like sound could not travel straight anymore. The bell's pressure hit the shield and bent, forced to "walk around" a wall.
Court elders stared. "A shield that blocks bell-sound?"
Someone outside shouted, "Impossible!"
But Qi Shan Wei's "simple" systems were never simple. They were stable. They were clean. They behaved like the world wished formations could behave.
The envoy stared at Zhen. "That is not normal shielding."
Qi Shan Wei answered calmly. "Sound is movement. Movement can be guided."
For the first time, the envoy's empty eyes showed a thin ripple—like respect he did not want to show.
Then Ling Xueyao lifted her head.
Her eyes were bright, like moonlight on ice. The air behind her shimmered, and for one heartbeat, a pale moon shape almost appeared—huge, quiet, terrifying.
Her Lunar Frost Domain was trying to awaken.
The bell's pressure had pushed her too close to the edge.
Her voice came out strained. "It's… touching the thread."
Qi Shan Wei's gaze sharpened. "Which thread?"
She did not answer with words.
She pointed.
Above the platform, one of the Six Consort Threads lit brighter than the rest.
It did not glow warm.
It glowed cold.
A Court elder's lips parted. "The Frost Thread…"
Ling Xueyao's breath shook. "Mine."
The bell rang again.
The Frost Thread pulled taut, like someone had grabbed it.
Ling Xueyao's body jerked as if a hook had caught her heart. Frost crawled up her neck like sudden winter.
Qi Shan Wei's bracelet formation flared hard, trying to hold her steady.
But this was not normal force.
This was law.
The envoy's voice was quiet, almost gentle. "The Bell has chosen its payment."
A Court elder leaned forward with greedy eyes. "Good. Sever it. Prove he is unstable."
Qi Shan Wei's voice dropped—calm, but colder. "If that thread is cut, what happens?"
The envoy did not blink. "The bond will not vanish in one breath. But it will be damaged. It will become harder to find in the next cycle. Harder to heal. Harder to return."
Ling Xueyao went pale.
Her pride did not crack. But fear showed in her eyes—small and real.
Not fear of death.
Fear of being lost.
Qi Shan Wei's hand tightened around Heavenpiercer.
"You will not take it," he said.
The envoy's bell rang once, and the Frost Thread pulled harder.
Ling Xueyao gasped. The cold inside her snapped like a trap closing.
Zhen stepped forward, ready to block even law with his body.
Drakonix's prismatic flame surged, and his wing pushed out farther. The flame touched the invisible hook on the thread.
For a second, the hook burned.
Then Drakonix growled in pain. "Too… old… to burn…"
The Bell was older than contracts. Older than many flames.
But Drakonix still hurt it.
That alone changed the Court elders' faces.
The envoy's eyes narrowed. "A bloodline flame that can bite Bell-Law…"
Qi Shan Wei's voice stayed calm. "Drakonix. Don't force it."
Drakonix huffed, stubborn. "Mine… too."
Then, through the pain, the little menace still found time to throw a weak jealous warning toward Ling Xueyao. "No… stealing… him…"
Ling Xueyao tried to speak, but the thread yanked again and her voice broke into a hiss.
Qi Shan Wei moved—not in panic.
In command.
He lifted two fingers, and a formation disc appeared in the air—plain, bronze, publicly sold.
The Nine-Fold Stillwater Barrier.
A "simple" defensive formation used by nobles.
Qi Shan Wei activated it inside the dome, not as a wall, but as a calming field.
A quiet ripple spread like still water.
The bell's pressure hit it and did not explode.
It softened.
It slowed.
Like a raging wave forced to flow into a deep lake.
The Court elders stared, shocked. The bell's pull weakened for one breath.
Just one.
But one breath was enough.
Qi Shan Wei stepped close to Ling Xueyao. He did not do anything playful. He did not waste time.
He placed his palm lightly over her wrist—over the bracelet formation—and pushed prismatic energy into it like a steady heartbeat.
His voice was quiet. "Hold. Do not let it drag you."
Ling Xueyao swallowed hard. Her eyes shimmered for a heartbeat, then sharpened again. "I… will not break."
Qi Shan Wei's gaze held hers. "I know."
Those two words hit harder than any long speech.
Because they were true.
The envoy watched them. Then his voice turned colder.
"The Bell does not bargain."
Qi Shan Wei answered calmly. "Everything bargains."
The envoy's bell rang.
The second bell beyond the realm answered.
And this time, the sound came with words—pressed into the air like a stamp.
Ancient light formed above the platform.
PAY ONE THREAD.
The Court elders went still. The crowd outside went silent. Even the Thousand Masks watchers held their breath.
A Court elder whispered, almost smiling. "So it is decided."
Qi Shan Wei lifted Heavenpiercer slightly, and everyone felt his intent.
Not fear.
Refusal.
"No," he said.
The word was small, but it shook the dome.
The glowing sentence flickered, like it was offended.
The bell rang again.
The Frost Thread yanked hard.
Ling Xueyao cried out, and for a heartbeat her Lunar Frost Domain flashed—just a glimpse.
A pale moon appeared behind her, huge and cold.
The air froze.
The bell's hook slowed, turning stiff like ice.
Frozen law touched Bell-Law.
For one heartbeat, time itself hesitated.
Qi Shan Wei's eyes narrowed.
He saw the opening.
He moved his hand in a fast, clean motion, like drawing a line through the air.
A prismatic formation pattern appeared around the Frost Thread—not cutting it, not grabbing it, but anchoring it.
Like pinning a star to the sky with a nail of light.
His voice stayed calm. "Heaven-Anchor."
The Court elders' eyes widened.
Because Heaven-Anchor was a public formation.
But this use was not public.
This was a ruler using a "simple tool" in a way no one had ever imagined.
The thread stopped moving for one breath.
The glowing words in the air flickered again.
Then another line formed beneath them.
IF NOT THREAD… THEN NAME.
The envoy's face changed for the first time. Not fear. Not anger.
Concern.
He looked at Qi Shan Wei. "Do you understand what it is threatening?"
Qi Shan Wei answered without blinking. "Yes."
Ling Xueyao's breath shook. "Shan Wei…"
Qi Shan Wei did not look away from the ancient words. "If it takes a name," he said, "it can rewrite the person."
Outside the dome, someone whispered, "Rewrite… existence…"
The trapped assassin trembled. "That's… not the Pavilion… that's something else…"
The envoy's eyes narrowed. "Now you see," he said quietly. "The Bell that remembers is not only collecting debt."
He looked up at the sky above the realm, like he was listening to something huge walking closer.
"It is hunting."
Drakonix's prismatic flame surged again, angry now. The cocoon cracked wider. A second wing began to push out, trembling with power.
Zhen's shield matrix flared, bracing like a moving fortress facing a giant wave.
Ling Xueyao's moon-shadow flickered again—unstable, beautiful, dangerous.
Qi Shan Wei stood between all of them and the bell's demand.
Calm.
Serious.
Emperor-like.
Then the bell rang once more.
And the ancient sentence changed, like a judge making a final choice.
PAY WITH THE FROST THREAD. NOW.
Ling Xueyao's body went cold, like winter snapped shut around her heart.
The invisible hook pulled—hard.
The Frost Thread began to tear.
Qi Shan Wei's formation nail held it, but cracks spread along the light line.
Zhen stepped forward, ready to take the tear into his own core if he could.
Drakonix roared from inside the cocoon—a rough, half-born roar that still shook the dome.
And Qi Shan Wei lifted Heavenpiercer, not to strike the Court…
But to strike the bell's law itself.
His golden eyes narrowed to a single calm point.
Then the air screamed.
Because Heavenpiercer's tip touched the place where the bell's hook did not "exist"…
And tried to cut it anyway.
To be Continued
© Kishtika., 2025
All rights reserved.