Xuan stood tall, shadows clinging to his robes like hungry hands. His eyes blazed — not just with anger, but with heartbreak, betrayal, and something dangerously close to jealousy.

> "You think he's yours just because you crawled back from hell with claws?" he snapped, voice low and shaking.

Mo Jue didn't flinch. No crown. No silk robes. No mask of calm.

Only his golden eyes glowing like molten metal and the shimmer of scales creeping along his jawline.

> "I gave him a choice," Mo Jue said quietly.

"You tried to take it."

Xuan's hands twitched — magic forming under his fingertips like heat rising from coals.

> "And you call me the monster?" he growled.

"I should have buried you centuries ago… when you were still something mortal."

Yan Rui stepped between them, heart racing.

> "Stop. Both of you—!"

But the ground beneath his feet quivered, a low tremor pulsing outward.

In the next breath — they moved.

---

⚔️ Battle of Power and Memory

Xuan raised his arm sharply, releasing a flurry of red talismans — sharp like knives, each inscribed with ancient curses.

Mo Jue ducked and spun, scales glinting under moonlight, his claws slicing them mid-air before they reached Yan Rui.

> "Líng zhōu suǒ mù—!" Xuan chanted, a talisman burning to flame in his palm.

> "Bǎi shé zhī xīn, guì yú yīn!" Mo Jue countered, and a spectral serpent coiled from his chest — long, white, wreathed in mist, its eyes glowing as it lunged at Xuan's attack.

The serpent collided with flame mid-air.

An explosion of wind and energy threw open the pavilion doors, cracking pillars and shattering lantern glass like raindrops.

Yan Rui stumbled back, shouting, "Mo Jue! Xuan! STOP!"

But neither heard him anymore.

Magic surged — raw, ancient, unchecked.

Suddenly, a stray spell, half-formed and spiraling, struck Yan Rui.

A burst of crimson light slammed into his shoulder.

He flew backwards, crashing into the marble base of a garden lantern with a sickening crack.

His cry was sharp. Blood spattered the ground.

---

🩸 Everything Stopped

Time stilled.

The spectral serpent vanished. Mo Jue's claws retracted. Xuan froze.

Mo Jue was the first to move.

He ran — no grace, no pretense — just panic in motion.

He dropped to his knees beside Yan Rui, pulling him into his arms. His hands trembled as they pressed against the bleeding wound, now soaking through silk.

> "No—no, no, no—" Mo Jue whispered, voice raw. "Not again."

His golden eyes were wide, wild. He wasn't the serpent god now.

He was just a man who was afraid.

Xuan's voice broke. "I didn't mean to—Rui, I didn't—"

Yan Rui's lashes fluttered, breath shallow.

Blood pooled beneath him.

> "Stay with me," Mo Jue whispered fiercely. "Don't leave me again."

And then, for the first time in over a century, the two men who once fought to kill now knelt side by side to save.

---

🧿 The Healing Ritual

Mo Jue bit his palm — dark blood trickling.

He pressed it to the wound.

Xuan drew a glowing sigil mid-air, his finger glowing with golden ink drawn from his own blood.

They began to chant together — voices overlapping, filled with old pain and desperate hope:

> "Wǒ yǐ xuè wéi yǔ, jiù tā xīn shēng…"

"Zhōng yuán líng xǐ, fǎn huí zhī shēn…"

The skies shifted above them.

Light spiraled around Yan Rui's body, silver threads twisting with gold. His blood slowed. The skin along his shoulder shimmered, glowing faintly. The wound sealed — not with magic alone, but with memory and longing.

And then — he gasped.

Breath returned.

Eyes opened.

Alive.

---

Mo Jue let out a soft, broken noise and pulled him tightly into his chest. His arms trembled around Yan Rui.

> "You fool," he whispered shakily, voice thick.

"Don't ever step between monsters again."

Xuan turned away, shoulders stiff, voice soft.

> "I didn't want to hurt him," he said. "But I… I couldn't bear to lose him. Not again."

Yan Rui looked up at them both, pain flickering behind his eyes — but something steady too.

> "Then stop fighting over me," he murmured.

"I'm not a weapon. I'm not a memory. I'm me. I want to live — not belong."

Silence.

Only the wind whispered through the broken pavilion, as if it, too, had heard the truth.

Three hearts beat — bruised, changed — beneath the weight of one moment.

---

End of Chapter 14