The red silk dropped to the floor with a whisper.

Yan Rui stood slowly, fingers stiff from the bindings. Every joint in his body ached from kneeling too long, but he didn’t let it show. He refused to look weak—especially not in front of Mo Jue.

The demon lord watched him with that same eerie stillness, golden eyes half-lidded. Like a snake that had all the time in the world.

> “You carry yourself like a king,” Mo Jue said.

“Was I meant to crawl?” Yan Rui replied.

A flicker of amusement passed over Mo Jue’s face, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

He raised a pale hand and gestured toward the great bronze doors.

> “Take him to the Cold Courtyard,” he said to the priests.

“Give him robes, food, and space to walk. Let’s see what kind of man he becomes when he is no longer bound.”

Yan Rui’s jaw tightened.

> I’m not some pet for your amusement.

But he said nothing.

---

The Cold Courtyard sat at the far edge of the palace — a quiet place of grey stone walls and frozen trees. Moonlight made the tiles shine like ice, and a thin mist hovered just above the ground.

He was given a private room with lacquered screens, a low bed, and folded white robes. A silent servant left a bowl of hot porridge on the table, bowed once, and vanished.

Yan Rui sat down, staring at the meal.

> This isn't a prison. But it isn't freedom either.

He touched the edge of the porcelain bowl. His reflection in the rice broth was pale, tired, unfamiliar.

The last memory of the modern world hit him like a cold wind—

Cameras. Applause. The car. The crash.

And then… this.

> Why am I here?

The door creaked softly.

He turned, muscles tense, but it was not Mo Jue. A girl in pale robes bowed quickly and set something down on the table — a bundle of scrolls.

> “The Lord asked that you read these,” she said in a rush, not meeting his eyes.

“They are records… of previous offerings.”

Yan Rui froze.

> “Previous?”

The girl hesitated. “Yes. You… are not the first.”

Before he could question further, she bowed again and slipped out, sliding the door shut behind her.

Yan Rui stared at the bundle. His pulse quickened.

He untied the cord and slowly opened the first scroll.

Names.

Dates.

Fates.

Dozens of names written in calligraphy. Most followed by short descriptions:

> “Endured three moons.”

“Attempted escape. Executed.”

“Offered to the altar. Consumed.”

“Taken into the Lord’s chamber. Never seen again.”

His breath caught.

One entry was longer, written in sharper ink:

> “Xue Jin — refused the rites. Bit his tongue. Died before the Binding Ceremony. Body returned to earth.”

Yan Rui stared at it for a long time.

> So this is what I’ve stepped into.

He looked up, eyes hard.

> I will not be another name on this scroll.

---

That night, as frost gathered on the window glass, Yan Rui lay awake on the unfamiliar bed. The wind outside howled like something ancient was breathing just beyond the walls.

He closed his eyes.

But sleep did not come.

And high above, in a moonlit tower, Mo Jue watched the Cold Courtyard through an open screen. His long silver hair moved in the breeze, like mist trailing off a blade.

He spoke to no one, but his voice carried into the quiet:

> “This one reads the scrolls without fear.”

He touched the edge of a golden ornament beside him — a broken hairpin, old and stained.

> “Let’s see how long that pride lasts.”

---

[End of Chapter 2]

---

🌙 Highlights:

Yan Rui learns he’s not the first “offering”

The scrolls foreshadow past victims — some used, some killed, some vanished

The Cold Courtyard gives a lonely, beautiful, dangerous mood

Mo Jue begins quietly testing Yan Rui’s resolve

---