They didn't sleep.
Not out of fear.
Out of instinct.
The kind that hums behind your ribs when something is hunting — not with teeth, but with recognition.
Kaifeng and Zhui sat in silence near the body. The air was heavy. Still no blood. No marks. No Qi disturbance.
Just the imprint of a man who died from being heard.
"A rogue technique?" Zhui whispered.
Kaifeng nodded once.
"The kind that was never taught. Only passed... before silence became sect law."
Zhui looked toward the hills.
"Is this Pavilion work?"
Kaifeng's voice was low.
"Pre-Pavilion."
Zhui's eyes widened.
"Then this goes back before Qingwu."
"Back before Qingwu dared to name things," Kaifeng said.
"Before 'sect' meant safety. Before silence was something chosen."
The second bell never rang.
But something did.
Kaifeng rose without warning, walking toward the village outskirts. Zhui followed, hand near his belt — though no blade hung from it.
They arrived at a shrine buried beneath vines and unspoken memory.
A single stone plaque sat inside, cracked down the middle.
The characters were old. Half-erased.
But Kaifeng read them aloud.
"Xùyīn Dào — The Path of Sustained Echo."
Zhui stepped back.
"I thought it was a myth."
"It wasn't," Kaifeng said.
"It was just buried."
"Why?"
Kaifeng touched the plaque.
It was warm.
"Because it was never meant to be survived."
Inside the shrine, they found a room sealed with lacquer and wax-thread. A prayer curtain hung low, hiding the far wall.
Kaifeng stepped through.
And stopped.
There were drawings on the wall — hundreds of them. Lines, motions, posture sketches.
All of a single form.
Repeated again and again.
Zhui stared.
"Is this...?"
Kaifeng nodded.
"The unfinished version of the Listening Path."
"Then what is it listening for?"
Kaifeng turned to him.
And said, softly:
"For the one who hears it wrong."
Suddenly, the air cracked.
No wind. No voice.
Just a pressure shift — like breath inhaled by something ancient.
Zhui gasped and fell to one knee, clutching his ears.
"It's moving—"
Kaifeng closed his eyes. Focused.
The silence wasn't just present now. It was alive.
And then he heard it.
Not words. Not language.
Just the repetition of his own name — not spoken, not shouted…
But remembered.
Lián Kaifeng.
Lián Kaifeng.
Lián Kaifeng.
He opened his eyes.
And someone stood at the edge of the chamber.
Ragged robe. Veiled face.
Fingers blackened from too much motion.
Voice like broken bells.
"You wear the blade she gave you."
Kaifeng didn't move.
"Do you know what that makes you?"
"No."
"A promise," the figure said.
"And a threat."
End of Chapter 4