Chapter 18: The Name That Was Never Mine

Jiàn Lian staggered.

The field of lotuses shuddered.

Mei Rin stood before him—but she wasn’t Mei Rin.

Her empty eyes bored into him. Cold. Unfeeling.

"If I was never real, then who are you?"

Jiàn Lian’s breath hitched.

The ink on his fingers burned.

Thick, oily, suffocating.

Like it wasn’t just ink.

Like it was something alive.

His stomach twisted. What had he done?

He clenched his fists, forcing his voice steady. "I’m Jiàn Lian."

Mei Rin tilted her head.

"Are you?"

Jiàn Lian’s pulse pounded.

"I remember my life," he said. "I remember everything—"

His voice caught.

Did he?

His hands shook.

Flashes of memories—**his training, his battles, his name—**all suddenly felt…

Thin.

Like ink on rice paper—easily smeared, easily erased.

Jiàn Lian’s chest tightened.

No. No, this was a trick.

"You’re trying to confuse me," he growled. "You’re not real."

Mei Rin’s lips curved.

"Then why are you still here?"

The wind shifted.

The lotuses began to wither.

Petals blackened. Curled inward.

The world flickered.

And suddenly—

Jiàn Lian wasn’t standing in the field anymore.

He was back in the temple.

Back in the past.

The air was heavy with incense. The lanterns flickered with weak, golden light.

And before him—

A man stood at the altar.

Jiàn Lian’s stomach lurched.

It was him.

But not him.

The same black ink stained the man’s hands.

His posture—stiff, unyielding.

The real Jiàn Lian.

The one he had replaced.

Jiàn Lian’s breath came ragged.

"No."

The other Jiàn Lian turned.

His eyes—

They were empty.

Not blank. Not soulless.

Completely void.

Like something had already taken him.

Jiàn Lian stepped back.

The ink on his hands crawled up his arms.

Thicker. Hotter. Burning.

The other Jiàn Lian opened his mouth.

And when he spoke—

His voice was not his own.

"Did you think you could steal a fate without paying the price?"

Jiàn Lian’s lungs seized.

The shadows behind the altar stretched. Twisted.

And then—

Something stepped out.

A shape.

A thing.

No eyes. No mouth. No form that could be understood.

Just void.

A gaping, twisting mass of darkness, pulsing with whispers.

Jiàn Lian’s hands trembled.

The thing moved closer.

It reached out.

And suddenly—

Jiàn Lian remembered.

The thread.

The erased fate.

The truth.

He had never been Jiàn Lian.

He had been a mistake.

Something that should have never existed.

Something that had been created when the real Jiàn Lian was erased.

His entire life—his victories, his memories, his love for Mei Rin—

All of it had been borrowed.

And now, the world was coming to take it back.

The ink on his arms tightened, pulling him down.

The thing in the shadows opened its maw.

A voice—**not sound, but something deeper, something ancient—**spoke.

"Give it back."

Jiàn Lian’s heartbeat thundered.

The real Jiàn Lian—**the one standing before him—**stepped forward.

And then—

He reached into Jiàn Lian’s chest.

Jiàn Lian’s body arched.

Pain. Raw, searing pain.

Like his entire existence was being peeled away.

Memories shattered.

His name vanished.

And in the last moment—

Before the void swallowed him whole—

Jiàn Lian saw Mei Rin.

Standing at the edge of the temple.

Watching.

Her expression empty.

Like she had known all along.

Like she had been waiting.

Jiàn Lian tried to speak—to call her name.

But the ink had already filled his throat.

And then—

He was gone.

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