Shiao Zhen and Cheng Fusheng moved swiftly through the estate, their footsteps echoing through the dim corridors of the ancient mansion. Every room they passed felt frozen in time, as if the house itself had been abandoned for decades, yet still alive with the whispers of long-dead ancestors. The chilling air pressed in around them, thick with secrets—secrets that Shiao Zhen had only just begun to unravel. And now, with Shiao Lin's return, those secrets seemed to be clawing their way to the surface with a force that Shiao Zhen couldn't escape.
As they ascended the stairs to the upper floors, Shiao Zhen's mind was in turmoil. He couldn't shake the image of his cousin, Shiao Lin, standing in front of him in the grand hall, so sure of himself, so consumed by his belief that he was the one meant to inherit the power of the Bronze Dragon. The more Shiao Zhen thought about it, the clearer it became: Shiao Lin was not just after wealth or status—he wanted to unlock something far more dangerous, something that could threaten the entire world.
"I never thought it would come to this," Shiao Zhen muttered, his voice strained as they reached the top of the stairs.
Cheng Fusheng's expression remained stoic, but his eyes flickered with a hint of concern. "None of us did. But now we know the stakes. The Bronze Dragon isn't just a family heirloom—it's the key to something far greater."
Shiao Zhen stopped in his tracks, turning to face his companion. "I don't know if I can stop him, Cheng. Shiao Lin's obsession with power—it's like he's not even the same person anymore. He's consumed by it."
Cheng's gaze softened for a moment. "You're not alone in this. We'll stop him, together."
The words were meant to reassure, but they felt hollow to Shiao Zhen. He had spent so many years trying to distance himself from his family's dark past, but now it seemed inevitable. The blood of his ancestors—their ambition, their greed, their thirst for power—ran through his veins, and no matter how hard he tried to escape it, he was drawn back into the same struggle.
They continued down the long hallway, past portraits of stern-faced ancestors whose gazes seemed to follow them with silent judgment. Shiao Zhen's family had once been powerful, wealthy, revered. But those days were long gone. Now, it seemed they were chasing ghosts—both literal and metaphorical.
"We need to find where Shiao Lin's gone," Cheng said, breaking the silence. "He's likely hidden something—perhaps a map, or a journal—something that tells us where to go next."
Shiao Zhen nodded, though he felt a gnawing sense of dread. "I know the family archives are on the third floor, in the west wing. I'll bet that's where he's gone. He always had an obsession with the old texts."
The two men moved quickly toward the west wing, a part of the house that had been sealed off for years due to its deteriorating state. The walls were lined with dusty bookshelves, ancient scrolls, and crumbling manuscripts. The air smelled of old paper, mildew, and the lingering scent of incense from the past.
"I've never seen this many books in one place," Cheng remarked, running his fingers along the spines of the faded tomes. "The Shiao family's history is extensive."
"Too extensive," Shiao Zhen said, his voice darkening. "It's a history of lies, of betrayal, and of a curse that never let go. My father spent his whole life trying to escape it, but in the end, he couldn't. And now it's my turn to face it."
They reached the central desk, where a large, intricately carved chest sat. Shiao Zhen had always known that this chest held some of the most important records of the family, but it had always been locked. His father had kept the key hidden away, as though protecting the chest from prying eyes. But now, it was clear that Shiao Lin had already found it.
"Look," Cheng said, pointing to the faint scratches on the surface of the chest. "Someone's been here recently."
Shiao Zhen's heart pounded in his chest. He knelt down and, with trembling hands, opened the chest. Inside, instead of the old scrolls and family records he had expected, there was a single, weathered journal. Its cover was engraved with strange symbols—symbols he recognized from the Bronze Dragon.
"This is it," Shiao Zhen breathed. "This is what Shiao Lin has been after."
He opened the journal, the pages yellowed with age but still legible. The writing inside was in an elegant, flowing script, and as he read through the first few pages, his blood ran cold. It was a detailed account of his family's involvement with the Bronze Dragon, written by one of his distant ancestors, a figure Shiao Zhen had only heard about in whispered family legends. The ancestor, a scholar and priest, had been entrusted with the knowledge of the Bronze Dragon and its hidden power.
The journal spoke of a series of symbols and codes that led to the heart of the family's secrets. It described an ancient ritual, one that could be performed to unlock the full potential of the Bronze Dragon, and it warned of the consequences should it fall into the wrong hands.
Shiao Zhen's hand shook as he turned the pages. The ritual described here was terrifying—an invocation of powers so ancient that they seemed beyond human comprehension. The power could grant control over the elements, manipulate life and death, and bring the dead back to life. But there was a price to be paid: a sacrifice.
"The Bronze Dragon isn't just a key—it's a weapon," Shiao Zhen muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "And Shiao Lin intends to use it."
Cheng Fusheng stepped closer, scanning the pages over Shiao Zhen's shoulder. "This is madness," he said, his tone grim. "If Shiao Lin succeeds, he could change the entire course of history. The power described here... it's too dangerous."
Shiao Zhen closed the journal with a snap, his mind racing. "We have to stop him, Cheng. We can't let him perform this ritual. If he does, there's no telling what might happen."
"We'll find him," Cheng said firmly. "But we need to act fast. If he's already begun, it may be too late to stop him."
Shiao Zhen stood up, his resolve hardening. "No. It's not too late. We can still find a way to stop him. We have the journal—this is the key to understanding what he's trying to do."
They moved quickly through the mansion, their pace quickening as they reached the staircase that led to the lower levels. Shiao Zhen's mind was filled with the images of the Bronze Dragon, of Shiao Lin's cold smile, and of the ancient power that lay buried beneath centuries of family secrets. The knowledge from the journal would be their guide, but time was running out.
"We need to go to the temple," Shiao Zhen said, his voice firm. "The old family temple. It's the last place Shiao Lin could be. That's where the final part of the ritual is hidden. My father always spoke of it in hushed tones."
"The temple?" Cheng repeated. "Do you think Shiao Lin knows about it?"
"He must," Shiao Zhen said, his expression darkening. "If he's done his research, he's already figured it out. The temple is where everything started, and it's where it will end."
With no time to waste, the two men hurried down the corridor, toward the exit. Shiao Zhen's heart was racing, not just with the fear of what they might find, but with the understanding that this was no longer about reclaiming the past—it was about survival.
As they exited the mansion, the night air greeted them with an unnatural stillness. The path to the temple was long, winding through the dense forest surrounding the estate. The moonlight barely pierced through the canopy above, casting long shadows on the ground. Every step they took felt like a step closer to a destiny they could not escape.
"This is it," Shiao Zhen said, his voice low but determined. "Whatever happens next, we must stop Shiao Lin from completing the ritual. He can't be allowed to control the Bronze Dragon."
Cheng Fusheng nodded. "We'll make sure of it."
And so, with the weight of history bearing down on them, they set off toward the family temple, unaware that their greatest trial awaited them at its ancient doors.