Path of the Forgotten.

The sky above Dawnweaver Peak remained cloudless.

Morning light washed gently over stone walls and quiet courtyards, as though the sect itself had forgotten what had transpired days ago but shadows whispered where sunlight did not reach. And in one quiet chamber carved deep beneath the disciples' quarters, Lin Feng stirred.

His breath was slow. Too slow. Each inhale sounded like a mountain pulling air through a narrow pass. His bandages had been replaced with smooth, jade-infused gauze. Someone had cared for him. Someone quiet.

He blinked.

The ceiling above was unfamiliar — polished blackstone, etched faintly with preservation runes. Not healing wards… not protection spells… just silence. His body ached like a forgotten battlefield. Every joint pulsed with echoing weight. But deeper — behind the bones, within the blood — something was stirring.

> "…Why am I still alive?" he murmured, voice dry and cracked. There was no answer but on the table beside his bed lay a folded note. No name. No seal.

He reached for it — and paused. His fingers no longer trembled. His bones no longer felt brittle.

He unfolded the note.

> "Get stronger. The second attempt won't hesitate."— A friend

His breath caught. He turned the paper over. Blank but a faint scent lingered on the edge — white tea and frost… Lan Xueyin.

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Elsewhere – A Balcony Above the Valley

Lan Xueyin stood unmoving, arms folded behind her back, eyes half-closed. Beneath her, the sect bustled as if nothing had happened. But her mind was elsewhere — not on the arena, not on Wei Zicheng, not even on the assassin who never returned.

But on Lin Feng's eyes… the moment they had flickered open that night.

> "He didn't see me. But something else did." Her fingers clenched.

> "No fluctuation of qi… no spiritual response… and yet I couldn't move my feet." She had not intervened. Not because she wouldn't — but because the moment had refused her.

> "It's not qi. It's not bloodline. It's not… from this era." Her pupils narrowed.

> "He doesn't even know what he is."

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Near the Moon-Cleft Ridge – Han Yu Appears

The stars faded gently into dawnlight and on a lonely ridge — facing the sect from afar — Han Yu sat cross-legged, robes fluttering, eyes reflecting constellations not seen in mortal skies. He had watched everything. He had known more than he should.

> "So… it's begun again." The markings on his wrists shimmered faintly — ink-like constellations, pulsing in rhythm with Lin Feng's heartbeat miles away.

> "Last time, I arrived too late. This time…" He stood.

> "I'll see if he's still worthy."

---

Later – Lin Feng Walks Again. Three days after the duel, Lin Feng stepped into the outer courtyard. Just as a name that now carried weight.

The Disciples whispered.

Some bowed slightly, others fled the path ahead of him out of recognition. As if, somehow… their instincts understood before their minds did. He didn't look at them and his gaze drifted toward the distant ridge.

> Someone's waiting for me, he didn't know who but he could feel it. Like gravity pulling at the edge of his soul.

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