The mirror water rippled again.

Yan Rui saw himself — but not the person in this palace.

Not the offering.

Not the lover.

Not the victim.

But the man he had been… in another world.

Standing beneath stage lights. Fake blood on his face. Cameras flashing. And loneliness thicker than fame.

Mo Jue’s voice pulled him back.

> “That man in the reflection,” he said softly, “he isn’t just a memory.”

> “That’s you — moments before the world let you go.”

---

Yan Rui's fingers trembled near the basin.

“I remember this scene,” he whispered. “It was my last film. The one they called cursed.”

Mo Jue nodded slowly.

> “Because it was.”

> “You were supposed to die in that world.”

> “But something — or someone — refused to let you go.”

---

The mirror shifted again.

Now, Yan Rui saw himself lying in a hospital bed — tubes in his arms, monitors blinking red. He was unconscious. Pale. Breathing shallowly.

Doctors stood outside, shaking their heads.

Fans lit candles online. News tickers scrolled headlines of an accident — “ACTOR YAN RUI IN CRITICAL CONDITION.”

And then… the light above his bed flickered.

Just once.

A shadow appeared at the corner of the frame — tall, coiled in smoke, with eyes like gold fire.

Mo Jue.

> “You came for me?” Yan Rui whispered.

Mo Jue’s expression flickered.

> “I didn’t mean to,” he said. “But you called out. In your dying breath. Not to your family. Not to your world. To me.”

---

The mirror grew brighter.

Flashes of a storm. A temple between timelines.

Yan Rui’s soul, drifting, torn between the veil of death and something ancient that remembered his name.

And at the heart of it all… a contract.

A vow.

A deal written in flame.

Yan Rui reached out. Signed with his own blood. Unconscious. Dreaming. Willing.

And then—

The mirror cracked.

---

Yan Rui gasped and fell back.

Sweat clung to his spine. His pulse thundered in his ears.

Mo Jue knelt beside him, silent.

> “You pulled me here,” Yan Rui said. “But only because I asked. Because I—”

> “Because you couldn’t die with regrets,” Mo Jue murmured. “And because I was the only one who listened.”

---

Silence wrapped around them like silk.

The flames in the room dimmed, flickering between this world and something older — something almost tender.

> “So I’m not here because of fate,” Yan Rui said quietly.

> “No,” Mo Jue replied. “You’re here because you chose to live. And I chose to answer.”

> “But why here?” Yan Rui asked. “Why not… a normal life? Why this palace, this body, this memory?”

Mo Jue looked away, voice almost broken.

> “Because the only door I knew… led to me.”

---

That night, Yan Rui sat alone by the balcony, staring at the stars — no longer sure which sky they belonged to.

He didn’t remember choosing Mo Jue.

He didn’t remember loving him in another life.

But he remembered feeling seen, finally, when he opened his eyes in this strange world.

And now…

He wasn’t sure if that feeling was love.

Or a trap he’d willingly walked into.

---

End of Chapter 11