The mist that clung to the outer cliffs of the Tianxu Mountains had thickened, almost unnaturally so.
It drifted like memory incarnate—dense, slow, heavy with weight that did not belong to the air. To most, it was just weather. But to Feng Yinlei, it was a sign.
He sat once more beneath the withered tree, his breath steady, his eyes closed.
Within him, the third seal had fully unfurled—not cracked, not torn—but opened like an ancient scroll, revealing fragments of a legacy he had no name for. And now, the fourth seal waited—its presence like the soft echo of thunder beneath deep earth, patient but unyielding.
Across from him, Su Yan stood quietly, her gaze fixed on him not with pity, nor curiosity—but something more complex. Respect, perhaps. Or fear. Or a reluctant wonder.
"You haven't spoken since dawn," she said finally, her voice nearly lost in the whispering fog.
Yinlei opened his eyes. Silver traced faint lines along the bark of the tree behind him, pulsing in rhythm with his breath.
"I'm listening," he said.
Su Yan tilted her head. "To what?"
"To the roots."
She blinked. "The tree's?"
"No," Yinlei murmured, rising to his feet. "To mine."
He placed his palm against the base of the tree, where the earth had begun to shift, ever so slightly, over the past nights. The roots were growing deeper, not visibly—but spiritually. A presence stirred beneath them, old and vast.
And it was listening back.
In the heart of the Zhenlei Sect, a new announcement rippled through the ranks: the Grand Ascension Trials were to begin early.
Normally held every three years, the Trials allowed outer disciples to attempt advancement—earning entry to the inner courts if their talent proved worthy. It was a crucible of thunder techniques, combat displays, and spiritual refinement.
This year, the schedule changed.
And rumors flew.
"Elder Zhuanxu requested it. They say he's looking for something."
"No—someone. Did you hear? A disciple stabilized another's meridians without a scroll!"
"They're trying to draw him out…"
Feng Yinlei heard the whispers but paid them no mind.
He had already begun to prepare—not to win, not to prove anything—but because something within him had changed. Each breath drew in more than air; each step through the mist brought him closer to something unseen.
And more importantly… he had begun to remember again.
That night, the vision returned.
But this time, it did not begin in a dream. It began with a hum in his bones.
He stood in a vast cavern, formed not of stone, but of silence. The walls pulsed with the memories of those who had passed through it—silent cultivators, wanderers, forgotten names. Their echoes walked beside him.
Then he saw it.
A tree—not withered, not ancient, but vibrant, its branches golden and bare. Floating above it, seals—countless, interwoven—spinning slowly.
A voice rose, layered in meaning.
"The Dao you walk is not forged—it is remembered. But memory requires sacrifice."
Suddenly, the cavern trembled.
One of the seals cracked.
Pain surged through his chest—not physical, but emotional. It was as if a thousand lifetimes pressed into him at once—each whispering, each remembering.
Yinlei fell to his knees.
But he did not cry out.
Instead, he whispered back.
"I remember."
And in that moment, the fourth seal trembled.
He awoke to find Su Yan shaking his shoulders.
"You were burning," she said, breathless. "Your skin—it glowed. Silver veins—"
He looked down.
His arms bore traces of it now. Not tattoos. Not wounds.
Marks of remembrance.
Days passed in haze and clarity, balance and pain.
Yinlei no longer cleaned the sect's courtyards—he was not dismissed, but simply… ignored. Even Wu Shuren had stopped mocking him. They didn't know what he had become.
More accurately—they feared what they didn't understand.
Only Su Yan remained.
She trained during the day, and by night, returned to the tree. Sometimes they spoke. Sometimes they sat in silence. And occasionally, she asked questions he didn't have answers for.
"Do you still want to become strong?" she asked one evening, as moonlight spilled across the cliffs.
"No," he said simply. "I want to become… clear."
"Clear?"
He nodded. "Like water that remembers the shape of the stone. Like silence that remembers every sound."
She frowned. "That's not strength."
He looked at her. "Isn't it?"
The Grand Ascension Trials arrived.
Yinlei was not on the roster.
But as outer disciples gathered, and the platform glowed with spiritual inscriptions, one elder called for volunteers.
"Any who wish to challenge the path may step forward now," Elder Zhuanxu declared.
None moved.
Until one shadow passed through the mist.
Gasps followed him.
Feng Yinlei stepped onto the platform, robes plain, eyes calm.
He did not bow.
Elder Zhuanxu narrowed his eyes. "You were not selected."
"I remember," Yinlei said.
A murmur rippled through the watching crowd.
Elder Zhuanxu hesitated, then gestured. "Very well. Face the test. The Thunder Stones will reveal your worth."
The test was simple: one must strike the Thunder Stone with qi—those whose qi aligned with thunder would cause it to sing or flash.
One by one, disciples stepped forward.
Some created sparks.
Others made the stone pulse faintly.
Then came Yinlei.
He placed his palm against it.
No lightning flared.
No sound emerged.
For a moment, it seemed nothing had happened.
Then—
The stone wept.
A hairline fracture appeared across its surface, glowing not with light, but with silver memory.
The elders stood.
That had never happened.
Elder Zhuanxu stepped forward. "What… are you?"
Feng Yinlei met his gaze.
"I'm what the sect forgot."
Then he turned and walked away.
That night, the fourth seal broke.
But not in agony.
In surrender.
A memory rose to the surface—his father's voice again.
"The world will forget your name, son. But not your silence."
And with that, the seal shattered into light.
Silver qi flowed through his meridians—not violently, but smoothly, like ink returning to a forgotten page.
He felt everything.
The mountain breathing.
The mist dreaming.
Su Yan arriving—before she even stepped close.
He opened his eyes.
She stood there, mouth slightly parted.
"You're glowing."
He smiled faintly. "No. I'm remembering."
The mist parted.
And somewhere deep beneath the withered tree, a buried chamber stirred.
A root had cracked stone.
An old formation flickered to life.
And the silent Dao beneath the mountain whispered once more:
"The one who remembers… returns."