Chapter7-The Girl Beneath the Rules
The dust hadn't settled.
It hung in the air like breath held too long— waiting for her answer.
Ling didn't move. Not because she couldn't. But because the voice still echoed inside her, louder than the shattered walls around them.
"Choose now."
But how do you choose between the girl you forgot... and the girl who never forgot you?
The floor was broken. The house was broken. But her memory – that was the real fault line.
She stepped forward, barefoot on splintered wood and whispered the name she hadn't spoken in years.
The wind answered.
Not with words. But with the scent of jasmine.
The scent of jasmine grew stronger.
Ling stepped forward, her bare feet brushing against the broken wood. The house was silent now – not peaceful, but expectant. As if it was waiting for her to speak the name she had buried.
She felt beside the shattered floor, where the offering bowl had rolled into the shadows. Her fingers reached for it but stopped.
There was something else beneath the debris.
A folded piece of cloth. Old. Torn. But unmistakably hers.
She picked it up slowly, and as she unfolded it, the lantern flickered again – not from wind, but from memory.
Inside the cloth was a charm. A small silver bell tied with red thread. The same one she had given the girl before the ritual.
"If you hear this, it means I'm still with you."
But Ling hadn't heard it in years
Until now.
She closed her eyes, and the sound returned – not from the bell, but from the walls. A low hum, like chanting beneath the earth. The ritual wasn't over. It had only paused.
And now, it was calling her back.
The humming grew louder.
Not enough to frighten her... Just enough to remind her that she was no longer alone.
Ling held the silver bell tightly in her palm. The red thread brushed against her skin, warm – as if someone had just worn it. As if someone had just taken off and let it for her to find.
A soft vibration ran through the floorboards.
Then another.
Then a third – like a heartbeat beneath the ruins.
She stepped back, but the shadows followed her movement, stretching toward her like fingers made of smoke. They didn't touch her. They only circled her, as if measuring her, remembering her.
A faint whisper rose from the broken floor.
"Ling..."
Her breath caught.
Not because of fear. But because she knew that voice.
The girl she forgot. The girl she used to be. The girl who never stopped calling her.
The jasmine scent thickened, wrapping around her like a memory she couldn't escape. The lantern flame bent sharply, pointing toward the darkest corner of the room – the place where the floor had split open.
Ling swallowed hard.
She knew what waited beneath.
The ritual wasn't calling her. She was.
The girl who vanished.
The girl who loved her.
The girl who wanted her back.
Ling stepped toward the broken floor, the silver bell still warm in her hand. The red thread brushed her wrist like a pulse – steady, alive, familiar. It shouldn't have been possible. Nothing from the ritual should have survived this long.
But the bell was humming.
Softly. Like a heartbeat calling to another heartbeat.
She knelt at the edge of the split floor. The darkness below wasn't empty – it moved. Slow, like water disturbed by a breath. Ling leaned closer, and the scent of jasmine rose from the depths, wrapping around her like a memory she had tried to bury.
A faint glow flickered beneath the ruins.
Not fire. Not lantern light. Something older.
The chanting returned – clearer now, as if the earth itself was whispering the forgotten steps of the ritual. Ling's chest tightened. She remembered this sound. She remembered the night she ran away from it.
"You promised you wouldn't leave me."
The voice drifted up from the darkness.
Ling's breath shattered.
It wasn't an echo. It wasn't a memory. It wasn't her mind playing tricks.
It was her.
The girl she lost. The girl she failed. The girl who was still waiting beneath the ruins.
Ling reached her hand toward the darkness.
The darkness reached back.
Not violently. Not to pull her under. But to touch her – gently, like a memory brushing against her skin.
Ling's breath trembled. The air around her shifted, warm for a moment, then cold enough to sting. The shadows curled her wrist, not blinding her... guiding her.
The silver bell in her hand vibrated softly.
Ting...
A single, fragile sound.
But it echoed through the ruins like a scream.
Ling staggered back, heart pounding, but the shadow followed – no attacking, not threatening. They moved with purpose, circling her feet, then drifting toward the broken floor as if inviting her to follow.
The jasmine scent thickened.
She knew what it meant.
She wasn't imagining this. She wasn't dreaming. She wasn't losing her mind.
The girl was there.
Beneath the ruins. Beneath the ritual. Beneath the years Ling had spent trying to forget.
A faint glow rose from the crack in the floor – soft, golden, trembling like a candle in a storm. Ling leaned closer, and the glow pulsed once, twice... then shaped itself into something familiar.
A hand.
Small. Delicate. Reaching upward.
Ling's throat tightened.
"You came back," the voice whispered again – clearer this time, trembling with hope and hurt.
Ling's fingers hovered above the glowing hand.
She shouldn't touch it. She knew the rules. She knew what the ritual demanded. She knew what breaking it had cost them both.
But the hand didn't disappear.
It waited.
Just like she had waited all these years.
Ling closed her eyes.
And reached down.
Ling's fingers touched the glowing hand.
The world didn't explode. The ruins didn't collapse again. Instead, everything went silent – so silent she could hear her own heartbeat echoing inside her skull.
The hand tightened around hers.
Warm. Alive. Real.
A tremor ran up her arm, not painful – familiar. Like a memory waking up after years of being buried under guilt and dust.
The glow spread, climbing her wrist, her elbow, her shoulder, until her entire body felt suspended between two worlds. The shadows around her pulled back, bowing almost, as if acknowledging something scared.
Then the voice rose again.
Not a whisper this time. Not a plea. A breath. Right beside her ear.
"Ling... look at me."
Her eyes snapped open.
The glow beneath the floor shifted, rising, shaping itself into a silhouette – small at first, then clearer, sharper, until Ling could see the outline of a girl standing just beneath the broken boards.
Bare foot. Loose hair. A white dress stained with ritual ash.
And eyes.
Eyes Ling had tried to forget. Eyes that had waited too long.
The girl lifted her face toward Ling, and the jasmine scent burst through the room like a storm.
"You left me," she said softly. Not angry. Not accusing. Just... broken.
Ling's throat closed.
"I didn't mean to," she whispered, voice shaking.
"I was scared."
The girl stepped closer, her glow blushing Ling's skin like a memory returning home.
"Then don't run this time."
The floor beneath Ling cracked again – not from danger, but from invitation.
The girl extended her other hand.
"Come back to me."
Ling's fingers tightened around the glowing hand, and the world shifted.
Not violently. Not like the house collapsing. But like a curtain being pulled aside – revealing something she was never meant to forget.
The glow rose higher, outlining the girl's face beneath the broken floorboards. Her features were soft, familiar, painfully beautiful in the dim light. Ling's breath caught as the girl stepped closer, her from shimmering like a reflection on water.
The jasmine scent wrapped around Ling's throat, warm and suffocating all at once.
"You didn't come las time," the girl whispered.
Ling's chest tightened. "I tried," she said, voice cracking. "I swear I tried."
The girl tilted her head, her expression unreadable – not angry, not forgiving, just... wounded. The kind of wound that doesn't bleed but never heals.
"Then why did you run."
Ling opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Because the truth wasn't simple. Because the truth hurt.
The girl stepped fully into the broken room now, her bare feet hovering just above the shattered wood. She wasn't walking—she was drifting, pulled by something older than both of them.
The lantern flame bent toward her, bowing like it recognized her.
Ling swallowed hard. "I was scared of losing you."
The girl's eyes softened—just for a heartbeat.
"You lost me anyway."
The words hit Ling harder than the collapsing house ever could.
The glow around the girl pulsed, brighter, warmer, almost alive. She lifted her hand again – the one not holding Ling's-- and placed it gently over Ling's -- and placed it gently over Ling's heart.
Ling gasped.
A rush of images flooded her mind:
. The ritual circle. The red thread tying their wrists. The bell ringing once. The girl smiling through tears. Ling stepping back. The circle breaking. The girl falling into the dark
Ling staggered, clutching the girl's hand tighter.
"I didn't mean to let go," she whispered.
The girl leaned closer, her forehead almost touching Ling's.
"Then don't let go now."
The floor beneath them trembled – not collapsing but opening.
A path. A descent. A return.
The girl's glow spread across the ruins, illuminating a staircase spiraling downward into the earth.
"Come with me," she said softly. "Finish what we started."
Ling looked into her eyes --- the eyes she had run from, the eyes she had dreamed of, the eyes that had waited in the dark.
And she stepped forward.
Ling stepped onto the first stone stair.
The glow from the girl's hand didn't fade – it followed her, wrapping around her wrist like a promise she had broken once and was terrified to break again. The jasmine scent thickened as they descended, clinging to her skin, her breath, her heartbeat.
The staircase spiralled downward, carved into the earth long before either of them were born. Symbols lined the walls – circles, threads, bells, eyes – each one pulsing faintly as Ling passed them. She didn't remember carving them.
But her body did.
The girl drifted ahead of her, feet never touching the steps. Her white dress brushed the air like mist, glowing softly in the darkness. She didn't look back, but Ling felt her presence like a hand on her spine, guiding deeper.
A cold shiver ran through Ling's chest.
This place wasn't new. It was forgotten.
Hallway down, the girl finally stopped.
She turned slowly, her face half- lit by the glow, half- lost in shadow. Her eyes held the same softness Ling remembered – and the same hurt she had tried to forget.
"Do you know why the ritual broke?" the girl asked quietly.
Ling swallowed. Her throat felt tight, raw.
"I stepped out of the circle," she whispered.
The girl shook her head.
"No. You stepped away from me."
The words hit harder than any collapsing house.
Ling's breath trembled. "I was scared."
"So was I."
The girl lifted her hand, touching Ling's cheek with a warmth that didn't belong to the living or dead. Ling leaned into it without thinking – the way she used to, before everything shattered.
"But you didn't come back," the girl whispered.
Ling's eyes burned. " I'm here now."
The girl's expression softened ---painfully, beautifully.
"Then don't run when you see what's below."
She stepped aside.
And the staircase opened into a vast chamber – glowing, breathing, alive – the heart of the ritual they never finished.
Ling stepped into the chamber.
It wasn't made of stone. It was made of memory.
The walls pulsed with soft light – not from lanterns, but from the symbols carved into them. Circles. Threads. Bells. Names. Each one glowed faintly, as if remembering who had carved them and why.
The air was thick with jasmine and ash.
At the centre of the chamber stood a ritual circle – broken, incomplete, waiting. The red thread still lay across the floor, frayed at the ends, as if someone had tried to tie it back together and failed.
Ling's breath caught.
She remembered this place. She remembered the night she ran. She remembered the girl standing in the circle, smiling through tears, holding out her hand.
"Don't break it," she had said.
But Ling had stepped back.
Now, the girl stood beside her again – not angry, not vengeful. Just... waiting.
"This is where you left me," she whispered.
Ling nodded throat tight. "I didn't know what would happen."
"You did."
The girl stepped into the circle. The symbols on the walls flared brighter. The thread lifted from the floor, floating in the air like it remembered its purpose.
"Tie it again," the girl said softly. "If you still want me."
Ling's hand trembled.
She stepped forward.
The thread drifted toward her fingers, warm and pulsing like a heartbeat. She took one end. The girl took the other.
They tied it together.
Not with fear. Not with guilt. But with memory.
The circle glowed.
The chamber pulsed.
And the ritual began again.
The chamber breathed.
Not like a room. Like something alive.
Ling felt the air shift around her, warm one moment, cold the next, as if the walls themselves were remembering the night she broke the ritual. The red thread tightened around her wrist, glowing faintly, pulling her gently toward the centre of the circle.
The girl stood inside it, her glow softening, her expression unreadable.
Not angry. Not forgiving. Just... waiting.
The circle beneath their feet pulsed once – a heartbeat. Then again stronger.
Ling's chest tightened.
The girl lifted her hand, palm open, inviting Ling step inside.
Ling hesitated at the edge of circle. Her breath trembled. Her fingers shook.
The girl's voice softened.
"If you step in... you'll see everything you tried to forget,"
Ling swallowed hard. "I'm not running this time."
The girl's eyes warmed – a flicker of hope, fragile and bright.
"Then come."
Ling stepped into the circle.
The moment her foot touched the glowing line, the chamber erupted with light. Symbols on the walls flared, threads lifted into the air like living veins, and the bell tied to the girl's wrist rang once – a sound so soft, yet so sharp it cut through Ling's heart.
The ground beneath them shifted.
Not breaking. Opening.
A swirl of light rose around them, wrapping their bodies in warmth and memory. Ling gasped as the word blurred – the chamber dissolving, the symbols melting, the air thickening with jasmine until she could barely breathe.
Then everything went silent.
And Ling found herself standing in a place she knew too well.
A courtyard. Moonlight. Quiet. The night of the ritual.
The girl stood beside her—not glowing now, not ghostly. Just a girl. Alive. Breathing. Look at Ling with the same eyes she had loved before everything shattered.
"This is where it began," she whispered.
Ling's heart cracked open.
Because she remembered. All of it.
The courtyard was exactly as Ling remembered it.
The cracked stone tiles. The lantern swaying gently in the night breeze. The faint scent of jasmine drifting from fear. She was watching from the truth.
The girl stood a few steps ahead, her back turned, her white dress fluttering softly. She wasn't glowing now. She wasn't spirit. She wasn't a memory.
She was a real. Alive. The way she had been before everything shattered.
Ling's chest tightened.
The girl turned slowly, her eyes warm and bright – the same eyes that had once made Ling feel safe and terrified at the same time.
"Do you remember what you said to me that night?" she asked.
Ling swallowed. Her voice felt trapped in the throat.
"I said... I wouldn't leave you."
The girl stepped closer, her footsteps silent on the stone.
"And then you did."
Ling flinched. Not because of the words – but because of the softness in them. The hurt she had caused. The hurt she had carried.
The girl reached out, brushing Ling's hand with her fingertips. The touch was warm, real, alive – not the cold glow of the ruins.
"I wasn't angry," she whispered. "I was scared too."
Ling's breath trembled. "Then why didn't you call me back?"
The girl smiled – a small, sad smile that held years of silence.
"I did. You just didn't hear me."
The lantern flickered. The air thickened. The courtyard shimmered, as if the memory itself was struggling to hold its shape.
The girl took Ling's hand fully now, fingers interlocking with hers.
"This the moment you ran," she said softly. "But this time... stay."
Ling felt her heart crack open.
The ritual circle appeared around them – not glowing, not broken—just waiting.
The girl stepped inside it.
"If you stay now... everything changes."
Ling took a breath.
And stepped forward.
The moment Ling stepped into the circle, the air shifted.
Not violently. Not like the collapse of the house. But like a breath held for years finally being released.
The lantern above them flickered, its flame stretching toward the ritual lines drawn on the ground. The red thread around their wrists tightened, glowing softly, as if recognizing that the bond it once held had returned.
The girl watched Ling with an expression that was almost too fragile to look at – hope mixed with fear, love mixed with memory.
"This is where everything changed," she whispered.
Ling nodded, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. "I know."
The girl stepped closer, their hands brushing. The warmth of her skin felt real – painfully real – as if the memory itself had flesh and breath
"Do you remember why we did the ritual?" the girl asked.
Ling hesitated. She remembered pieces – the fear of losing her, the promise they made, the night that felt too big for two young hearts.
"I remember wanting to stay with you," Ling said softly. "No matter what."
The girl's eyes softened.
"Then why did you step back?"
Ling's breath caught. The truth rose in her chest like a wound reopening.
"Because I felt it," she whispered. "The moment the ritual started... I felt something pulling away from me. Not toward me."
The girl's expression flickered – surprise, then sadness.
"You thought I was leaving you."
Ling nodded, tears burning her eyes. "I panicked. I thought the ritual would take you somewhere I couldn't follow."
The girl stepped closer, her hand lifting to Ling's cheek.
"It wasn't taking me away," she said. "It was binding me to you."
Ling froze.
The courtyard trembled – just slightly – as if the memory itself reacted to the truth finally spoken.
The girl confused, voice trembling.
"I wasn't disappearing, Ling. I was becoming yours."
Ling's breath shattered.
The ritual circle beneath them glowed brighter, the symbols pulsing like a heartbeat. The red thread tightened around their wrists, pulling them closer.
The girl leaned in, her forehead touching Ling's.
"You didn't lose me that night," she whispered. "You let go before the ritual finished."
Ling closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"I'm not letting go this time."
The girl's fingers intertwined with hers.
"Then stay. No matter what you see next."
The courtyard dissolved.
The memory shattered.
And Ling was pulled into the moment she had never allowed herself to face – the moment the girl vanished.
The world snapped.
Not like a glass breaking – like a thread being yanked so hard it burned.
Ling stumbled forward as the courtyard dissolved around her, the moonlight tearing into streaks of white, the lantern's glow stretching into a scream of light. The jasmine scent twisted into smoke. The ground vanished beneath her feet.
And then --
Silence.
Ling stood in darkness.
Not empty in darkness. Not dead darkness. A darkness that watched.
A faint glow appeared ahead of her – small, trembling like a candle fighting to stay live. Ling stepped toward it, her breath shallow, her heart pounding against her ribs.
The glow grew.
And she saw her.
The girl.
Not glowing. Not drifting. Not alive.
She was kneeling on the ground, her hands pressed against the broken ritual circle, her shoulder shaking with silent sobs. Her hair fell over her face, hiding her expression, but Ling didn't need to see it.
She remembered this moment.
This was the exact second the ritual broke.
Ling's throat tightened.
She watched her younger self – terrified, confused – step backward out of the circle. The red thread snapped. The symbols dimmed. The bell rang once, sharp and final.
The girl lifted her head.
Her eyes were wide with fear – not of the ritual, but of losing Ling.
"Don't--" she whispered.
But Ling had already stepped back.
The memory Ling watched herself run.
The real Ling felt her knees weaken.
The girl in memory reached out, fingers trembling, trying to grab the thread, trying to hold the circle together, trying to hold them together.
But the ritual didn't forgive hesitation.
The ground beneath the girl cracked open—a thin line of light slicing through the darkness. The wind roared, pulling her toward the rift. She tried to stand, tried to reach Ling, tried to speak--
But the light swallowed her.
Her scream never came out. Her hand never reached the edge. Her body dissolved into the glow.
And she was gone.
Ling collapsed to her knees.
The darkness around her pulsed once – like a heartbeat.
Then the girl's voice echoed through the void.
Not angry. Not broken. Just unbearably soft.
"Now you Know why I waited."
Ling lifted her head.
The girl stood before her again – glowing faintly, eyes shimmering with something deeper than sorrow.
"You didn't lose me," she whispered. "You left me here."
Ling's breath shattered.
"I'm here now," she whispered. "I'm not leaving again."
The girl stepped closer, her glow warming the darkness.
"Then take me back."
The ritual circle reformed beneath their feet.
The light rose.
And the choice Ling had run from her whole life stood in front of her—alive, waiting, trembling.
The ritual circle glowed brighter, rising around Ling and the girl like a ring of living girl years ago now trembled at the edges, pulling back as if afraid of what was coming.
The girl stepped closer, her glow softening into something warm, almost human.
"If you take my hand now," she whispered, "the past won't hold us anymore."
Ling's heart pounded. Her fingers shook. But she didn't step back this time.
She reached out.
Their hands touched.
The light surged upward, wrapping around them in a spiral of warmth and memory. Ling felt the ground shift beneath her feet—not breaking, not collapsing but accepting her choice.
The girl's voice echoed softly through the rising glow.
"This time... don't let go."
Ling tightened her grip.
"I won't."
The chamber dissolved into white light.