It pressed in — like breath held too long.

Yan Rui lay sleeping on the bed, his shoulder wrapped in silk bandages soaked in herbs and incantation. The wound had closed, but Mo Jue knew the pain lingered. Even in rest, Yan Rui's brow furrowed, lips slightly parted as though dreaming something heavy.

Mo Jue sat by his side.

He hadn't moved in hours.

He couldn't.

His golden eyes flicked across every inch of Yan Rui's face — the flutter of lashes, the sheen of sweat at his temple, the way his fingers curled slightly against the sheets.

> He almost died. Again. And I almost… lost him before I ever had him.

A strange heat pooled in Mo Jue's gut. At first, he thought it was anger. Or guilt.

But then—

The scales started spreading again.

Faint, iridescent silver crawling from his collarbone to his throat, down his chest, curling along his forearms.

> Not now, he thought, teeth gritted.

But his body disobeyed.

The heat burned deeper — not pain, but want.

A pull in his blood. An ache under his skin. His serpent half reacting to the closeness, to Yan Rui's scent, his breath, the touch they'd shared.

Mo Jue looked away.

Then looked back.

And leaned in — closer, until he could feel the warmth of Yan Rui's breath against his lips.

> Just one kiss… he wouldn't even wake—

But his hand trembled mid-air.

He stopped.

"No," he whispered aloud. "Not like this. Not without his permission."

He pulled away so fast he nearly knocked the chair over.

His fists clenched.

He left the room — ran, breath shaking, eyes glowing in the dark like molten sun.

---

He stumbled into the side hall, breath short, eyes wild.

His body was too hot.

The taste of Yan Rui's presence still lingered on his tongue — the shape of him curled beneath silk, his breath slow and trusting, completely unaware of the storm unraveling inches away.

Mo Jue slammed the door shut behind him and pressed his back against it.

Scales burst across his skin, crawling down his chest, wrapping his thighs. The serpent within him stirred — not with hunger for blood, but something far more dangerous:

Need.

It wasn't just lust. It was memory. It was centuries of watching — wanting — and never once daring to touch what he feared he'd destroy.

His fingers dug into his own d*ck as he tried to ground himself.

But then came the flash of Yan Rui's lips parted in sleep. The sound of his heartbeat when Mo Jue had cradled his bleeding body. The way he had gasped — that breathless little sound when their kiss almost happened...

His knees buckled.

He fell to the floor, sitting back against the wall, breathing ragged.

His hand trembled as it lowered.

He fastenened the hands for more heat

Fingers brushing against heat that had been aching since he stepped away from the bed.

> I need to stop. I should stop. I can't—

But his body moved on instinct.

A breath. A hiss through clenched teeth.

Every stroke of pressure built more fire behind his eyes.

He leaned his head back, eyes squeezed shut, fangs slightly bared.

Images flooded his mind: Yan Rui beneath him, flushed and trembling. Yan Rui's fingers tugging his robe. Yan Rui whispering his name — like a prayer. Like a curse.

The friction wasn't enough.

He is missing something under his heat..

The ache was everywhere.

He bit down on his own knuckle, hard, to stop the sound that nearly escaped.

His hips bucked once.

And then—

A burst of heat rushed through him.

His scales shimmered like firelight across his abdomen, glowing, shifting, and fading slowly as the tension melted into exhaustion.

He lay there, sweat-slicked and breathing hard, hand limp at his side.

> I'm losing control, he thought.

> Not just of my body. But of my heart.

And that… terrified him more than the serpent ever had.

🌙 Yan Rui Wakes

Sometime later, Yan Rui stirred.

The room was colder now.

The lantern had gone out.

> "...Mo Jue?" he called softly, voice hoarse.

No answer.

He sat up slowly, his shoulder stiff but bearable. The blankets were warm, but the space beside him was empty — long cold.

He got up, grabbing a robe from the edge of the bed.

The silence of the palace unnerved him. Even the wind seemed to move carefully.

He checked the balcony.

The garden.

The inner hall.

Still no sign of Mo Jue.

Then he noticed — a faint shimmer of light behind a curtain.

It was coming from a room he'd never entered before.

---

🔮 The Room of Shadows and Silk

Yan Rui pushed the curtain aside.

A draft of warm, perfumed air greeted him — mixed with something older. Sandalwood and venom.

The room beyond was unlike anything he'd seen.

Dozens — no, hundreds — of silken shawls hung from the ceiling like ghostly ribbons. They danced on unseen currents, whispering against each other, alive with memory.

Some were embroidered. Some stained. All of them old.

At the center of the room was a basin of silver water, glowing faintly, reflecting not his face — but scenes.

A flicker of a boy laughing in the rain.

A man holding a scroll.

A blade.

A crown.

Mo Jue stood in the far corner, half in shadow, shirtless, his body still marked with scales. His back was turned — as though ashamed.

> "You weren't supposed to see this," he said quietly.

Yan Rui stepped in, gaze traveling over the strange cloths swaying like living spirits.

> "What is this place?"

Mo Jue didn't answer at first.

But then—

> "These are the memories I can't keep in my mind," he said. "Each shawl is a moment I tried to forget. A life I lost. A vow I couldn't keep."

Yan Rui looked around — awe mingled with grief. "They're beautiful."

Mo Jue turned then — golden eyes dark with something deeper.

> "You're in some of them."

Yan Rui blinked. "What?"

Mo Jue stepped forward, holding one shawl between his fingers. It shimmered — showing a vision of Yan Rui, dressed in ceremonial white, bound in chains.

> "You've lived more lives than you remember," Mo Jue said softly. "Each one ended… in blood. Because you chose me."

> "I brought you back this time to change that. But every night I watch you sleep, I feel it again — the curse trying to start over."

Yan Rui's voice was barely audible. "Then why not push me away?"

Mo Jue's lips curved — bitter, soft.

> "Because even gods… can't help but want what they shouldn't touch."

---

End of Chapter 15