The ink had barely dried on the note when Fang Xi folded it into his sleeve and burned the ashes with a strand of Qi. The mark on his wrist pulsed faintly as if reacting to the name "Yun Zhao."
He sat alone in the quiet of his room, candlelight dancing against the stone walls. His thoughts were sharp. Focused. Dangerous.
"Yun Zhao still lives."
Impossible. Yun Zhao, the founder of the Echo Cult, was said to have died over a century ago. Betrayed by his disciples. Hunted down by five righteous sects and erased from history.
But if that was true… why had the rune responded?
🕯 Whispered Traces
Fang Xi didn't sleep. At dawn, he left his quarters, slipping past the outer courtyard and making his way to the forgotten archives—a sealed wing of the Ironwood Library, open only to Inner Disciples and above.
He wasn't authorized.
But he had memorized the route from a previous patrol duty.
A bit of silence talisman ink, a disguised sigil swipe, and he slipped inside like a ghost.
The archive air was dry and smelled of ink and mildew. Ancient scrolls. Crumbling bamboo slips.
He searched until the ninth shelf.
There it was—Scroll of Forbidden Formations, Volume VII.
And on the final page, half-burned:
"The Eye-Rune of Yun Zhao: a mark of memory and death. Forbidden. Reactive to bloodline or reincarnate essence. Destroyed upon host's death… unless anchored by soul fragments."
Fang Xi touched the scroll.
The rune on his wrist flared—once.
🌙 A Hidden Vision
That night, in meditation, the rune pulsed again.
Then, without warning, the walls melted.
He stood in a dreamscape—a field of ash beneath a starless sky.
Ahead stood a figure in ragged robes. Hair white. Face obscured.
"So," the man rasped. "You bear the final thread."
Fang Xi didn't kneel. "Yun Zhao."
The figure laughed.
"No. Just a piece. I am memory. Echo. Nothing more. But you…"
The man stepped closer, eyes glowing like dying suns.
"…you can finish what I could not."
"I don't serve anyone."
"Not yet," the Echo whispered, vanishing.
"But when you awaken the second mark… you will remember why you must."
Fang Xi gasped and awoke—sweat cold on his back.
His rune had changed.
Now it bore a second line, curved like a fang.
The second gate… opened.
📜 Meanwhile: Shifting Webs
Back in the sect's upper halls, Elder Qian paced quietly.
"Two servants dead. No trace of poison origin. And that boy—Fang Xi—always in the corner of the eye."
He turned to Elder Hua. "He's dangerous."
She didn't disagree.
"He's exactly what we need."
⛰ Jiang Ping's Return
That afternoon, Jiang Ping returned from an outer sect mission, carrying bruises and a grin.
"Senior Brother! Guess what? I beat up three idiots from Falling Rock Sect trying to steal herbs. Got a bonus! I'm going to use it for a cheap pill and—"
Fang Xi placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You did well. But never speak of it openly again."
Jiang Ping blinked. "Why?"
Fang Xi smiled.
"Because from now on, your enemies might have ears… and knives."
🌀 Echo's Effect
Later that night, alone again, Fang Xi activated the rune deliberately.
For the first time, a sensation passed through his bones.
A skill? No. Not quite.
More like… an instinct.
Memory Snare – When blood touches the mark, Fang Xi can see the last memory of the dying victim for a few seconds.
A soul-fragment technique.
Not power yet… but knowledge. Always knowledge first.