The moon hung low like a pale eye in the void, shrouded by black clouds that loomed over the Forgotten Grove. Lin Yan stood motionless beneath a twisted tree, the air heavy with damp earth and old sorrow. A strange warmth pulsed from within his chest — not from heartbeat, but from the bell that now resided inside him. Each faint thrum echoed like ancient whispers.
He placed his hand over his heart. No wound. No scar. Just a lingering vibration that seemed to seep into his bones.
"I'm alive?" he murmured, but the words rang hollow. Alive... but not the same.
He inhaled slowly, drawing in the cool night air. The world felt altered. Still quiet, yet charged — as if the very ground recognized his return. Yet his cultivation remained sealed. Dormant.
"I died," he whispered again, eyes distant. "They left me to rot… and I died."
Yet he was here.
The bell had done something. Saved him, perhaps. But it hadn't healed him entirely. No, the ache wasn't in the body — it was in the soul. In the betrayal. In the memory of Ruyin's voice whispering, "You were just convenient."
He felt hurt, betrayed, anger and many other emotions that he couldn't describe or even utter.
He turned slowly and wandered through the moonlit grove, his feet guiding him without thought. The place was old, sacred in a way the sect had long forgotten. It smelled of moss and spirit decay — of things buried without name.
His steps halted before a small, unmarked grave. No stone. No offering. Just a sunken mound covered in crawling ivy.
He knelt.
The bell pulsed again.
A strange pull — not toward power, but emotion. Grief. Longing. Pain.
Lin Yan placed his palm against the soil.
Something answered.
A vision tore through his mind.
A girl. Young. Silver hair cascading down her back. Blindfolded. Her hands trembled as blood dripped from her palms. She whispered, "I only wanted someone to see me….just once."
Then, darkness.
Lin Yan recoiled, breath sharp.
"What… was that?" he whispered.
The grave was still.
But the feeling lingered. As if her despair had clung to his soul.
He understood now — the bell didn't simply protect. It called. It responded to sorrow, to injustice, to forgotten brilliance that the world discarded.
"Revive the fallen…" Lin Yan repeated the words he'd heard in the void. "Rewrite fate."
The bell was no weapon.
It was a key.
But how to use it?
His thoughts were interrupted by voices.
He slipped behind a tree just as two disciples passed near the grove's edge.
"…body just vanished," one whispered. "Elder Mo swore the crater was empty."
"Lin Yan? Are you joking? He probably got eaten by flame wolves."
"Still. Weird, right? Who would bother with his corpse?"
Their laughter faded.
Lin Yan exhaled slowly.
Forgotten already.
He shouldn't have been surprised. He was invisible to them even before he died.
He looked down at his palms.
That would never happen again.
No more being stepped on. No more begging for scraps. No more betrayal without consequence.
He would return.
Not as Lin Yan, the nobody.
But as something else.
Something the heavens couldn't see.
Three days passed before he dared step toward the sect again. He had spent that time learning the bell's rhythm, its pull, and its limits. It whispered faintly in his sleep. It showed him flashes of fallen geniuses, betrayed saints, discarded heroes.
All waiting.
He entered from the eastern gate at dawn, robe mended, posture humble.
No one looked at him twice.
An outer disciple blinked and waved lazily. "Back from errands?"
Lin Yan nodded, bowing with practiced servility.
Invisible again.
It was perfect.
He made his way to Elder Mei Yuxia's courtyard — the one place where he wasn't entirely disregarded. Her peach blossom tree had shed most of its flowers. The fallen petals covered the stone steps like a funeral veil.
He knocked gently.
"Enter."
Inside, the elder sat in quiet thought, a half-filled cup of wine in her hand. She didn't even look up.
"You came back."
Lin Yan bowed. "Yes, Elder. You tasked me with sweeping."
"You're early."
"I finished gathering herbs ahead of schedule."
She sipped. "And death didn't slow you down, I see."
His heart stilled.
She looked at him then, eyes tired but sharp. "Oh please, don't look so shocked. I've seen a hundred fake corpses. Yours was just… more convincing."
He said nothing.
She sighed. "I won't ask. Not yet. But if you're truly back…" She raised her cup, "Don't waste it this time."
He nodded.
And for a moment, she looked proud. Just for a moment.
That night, Lin Yan returned to the grave.
This time, he came prepared. Dried incense. Spirit grass. A drop of blood.
He placed the offerings gently before the grave, then closed his eyes and focused on the bell.
It pulsed.
And pulsed again.
Warmth spread. A chime — soft, clear, sorrowful.
The grave trembled.
Golden light flickered.
The ivy peeled back. Soil shifted.
And slowly, a hand emerged.
Flesh reformed. Bone snapped back into place. A soft cry escaped as breath returned to lungs long still.
Lin Yan caught her before she collapsed.
The silver-haired girl opened her blindfolded eyes — not with vision, but with presence.
"You heard me," she whispered, voice raspy.
"I did."
"I..I… don't remember who I was. Only… pain."
"You'll remember in time," Lin Yan said softly. "But you are safe now."
She touched his face with trembling fingers. "Your heart… it sounds like the bell."
He smiled. "Then let it guide you."
He had done it.
Resurrection.
Not a Myth. Not theory. Reality.
But it came at a cost. His body trembled. His vision dimmed. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.
The bell's price was never free.
Still, as he looked at the girl — fragile, alive, reborn — he felt no regret.
"Let the world bury their talents" Lin Yan murmured, voice cold. "I will raise them."
And the Quiet Sky Sect… would never see it coming.