1. Mist Over the Valley of Memories
After the recent incident where he absorbed the Remnant Wills, Bé An began to experience strange dreams—fragmented memories that didn't seem to belong to him. Battles of old, betrayals in moonlight, a love that ended in blood… Lăng Tiêu, ever cautious, sensed an unusual shift in the boy's qi and soul. He decided to lead the group westward, toward a nameless ridge recorded in ancient scrolls—an area said to hold lingering spirit energy entwined with memory remnants.
"An is no longer an ordinary child," Lăng Tiêu murmured, his brow furrowed."He may be the key," Diệp Vân Sơ whispered beside him, "but also the blade that cuts us all."
As they stepped deeper into the mountain pass, mist thickened around them. But it was no ordinary fog—shimmering with ethereal hues, it carried whispers that echoed not through the air, but directly within one's mind. Shapes began to flicker—indistinct, fleeting glimpses of other lives and forgotten pasts. A soldier kneeling beside a bloodied flag. A maiden weeping beneath an ancient pine. A child's laughter cut short by a scream.
"This fog… it's made of memories," Lăng Tiêu muttered."We're walking into a place not of this world," Diệp Vân Sơ added, clutching her robes.
Bé An stopped suddenly, his eyes glazed over. He reached out toward the mist, as though drawn by some invisible thread.
"They're calling me..." he said, voice soft like a sleepwalker's.
Lăng Tiêu caught the boy's arm, his own spirit sense already on high alert.
What kind of place is this? A trial… or a trap?
The valley ahead opened wide, veiled in glistening fog, but pulsing with ancient resonance. And though they could not yet see it, something—someone—was waiting on the other side.
Part 2: The Memory Clan – Keepers of Remembrance
The forest deepened, the light waned, and the wind carried an eerie melody through the whispering boughs.
Lăng Tiêu stood at the edge of a secluded glade, his robes fluttering gently in the wind. Before him stretched a village unlike any he had seen. There were no walls, no lanterns, no roads—only soft trails of incense smoke rising from huts built of living vines and ancient stones. Everything here seemed older than time, as though the land itself breathed the weight of forgotten centuries.
"This... is the home of the Memory Clan?" he murmured.
Behind him, Bé An nodded silently. His eyes sparkled with something between fear and awe.
Author's thought:In tales of cultivation, we often speak of strength, realms, and immortal ascension. But what of memory? What of those who choose to carry the pain of the past, not to escape it? The Memory Clan is a quiet rebellion—against forgetting, against the eternal flight from suffering.
From within the village, an elder emerged. Her hair was silver, but her steps light and steady. Upon her forehead glowed a soft sigil shaped like a crescent moon.
"You have brought the child," she said, her voice neither kind nor hostile. "He carries the mark."
Bé An lowered his head, but the elder smiled faintly.
"You need not fear. Among us, memories are sacred. Even the broken ones."
Lăng Tiêu stepped forward. "Who are you people really? Why do you live among Tàn Niệm without being consumed?"
The elder gestured to the largest tree in the glade—an ancient titan with roots that pulsed with faint blue light.
"This is the Tree of Remembering," she said. "It anchors the souls of those who passed unjustly, preserving their final thoughts. We do not suppress the Tàn Niệm. We listen."
"Listen...?"
She turned to Bé An. "Your disciple hears them already, doesn't he?"
The boy looked up, surprised. "I… I thought I was dreaming… The voices…"
"Not dreams," the elder said gently. "They are fragments—what we call Echoes. Each of us in this clan is bound to an Echo. We learn from them. Fight with them. Die with them."
Lăng Tiêu furrowed his brow. "But isn't that dangerous? Letting ancient resentments live through you?"
"Is it any less dangerous to forget them?" she replied, eyes steady. "History repeats because we seal away what we fear. The true path to enlightenment is to carry even the unbearable. Only then can one transcend it."
Author's reflection:What defines a cultivator? Is it only the ability to manipulate spiritual energy—or perhaps, to bear the spiritual weight of countless lifetimes? The Memory Clan offers a different answer: Cultivation is remembrance. It is a dialogue with the echoes of one's own karma.
Suddenly, the wind shifted. A dark pulse trembled through the roots of the Tree of Remembering. The elder grew still.
"Something stirs beneath the U Địa Tàn Thành," she whispered. "An ancient Echo not born of this world."
Lăng Tiêu placed a hand on Bé An's shoulder, shielding him. "If danger is coming, then tell us what to do."
The elder gave a slow nod. "You must enter the Inner Circle. If the child can withstand the Test of Memory, he will awaken the Echo within himself... and perhaps more."
"And if he fails?"
She paused, then said softly: "Then the Tàn Niệm will consume him—and perhaps everything around him."
3. The Cultivation System of the Memory Clan
As the dusk faded into an eerie stillness, the elder of the Memory Clan guided Lăng Tiêu and Bé An toward a secluded chamber beneath the Tree of Remembering. The air within was heavy—not with moisture, but with memory itself. Each breath tasted of ancient echoes, grief long past, and emotions unspoken.
Author's thought:In traditional cultivation worlds, power comes from drawing upon the heavens, from refining one's Qi, or severing mortal bonds. But what if one's source of strength came from memory—from facing one's deepest regrets and pains? The path of the Memory Clan is not just a cultivation method, but a mirror turned inward.
The elder, known as Matriarch Kỳ Tâm, sat cross-legged on a stone seat and began her explanation.
"Most cultivators follow the path of absorbing spiritual energy—Ngưng Khí, Trúc Cơ, Kim Đan, Nguyên Anh, Hóa Thần... They strengthen their bodies, refine their souls, and ascend toward immortality. But we do not cultivate the heavens. We cultivate memory."
Lăng Tiêu raised a brow. "Cultivating memory? How does that… translate to power?"
Kỳ Tâm nodded slowly. "Our method, called the Đạo Lưu Niệm—the Way of Remembrance—begins with the acceptance of an Echo."
She gestured toward a mural on the wall—scenes of warriors shrouded in mist, each accompanied by translucent figures whispering into their ears.
"An Echo is a remnant of a soul who died with strong emotion—regret, love, vengeance, longing. We do not erase them. We invite them in. The cultivator must willingly bind their spirit with an Echo and bear the burden of its memory."
Bé An's voice trembled. "But… if the memory is painful, wouldn't it consume the host?"
The matriarch's gaze softened. "Exactly. That is the test. Only by walking through the pain, again and again, does the soul of the cultivator grow resilient. At first, the Echo appears in dreams. But later… it speaks during the day. Guides your sword. Even grants you its techniques."
Lăng Tiêu crossed his arms. "So the stronger the Echo, the faster the cultivation?"
Kỳ Tâm replied, "Not faster—deeper. We call our stages not by realm, but by resonance."
She drew the following words into the dust:
Giao Cảm (Resonance): The first stage. The cultivator learns to listen to the Echo in dreams.
Hòa Niệm (Harmonization): Memories blend; emotions resurface; cultivator inherits one technique.
Dẫn Niệm (Guided Thought): The Echo can temporarily manifest during battle.
Dung Niệm (Fusion): The cultivator and Echo become as one—the pain, the love, the past fully accepted.
"Beyond that," she said, lowering her voice, "lies a forbidden level: Hóa Niệm—where the cultivator becomes an Echo themselves, willingly fading from this world to live within memory."
Lăng Tiêu was silent for a long moment. "That is... a terrifying path."
"It is. But it is also the most human," Kỳ Tâm said quietly. "We do not seek to defy death. We seek to understand it."
Author's reflection:Perhaps this path is not for all. Perhaps it is madness to embrace suffering as one's guide. Yet… is it not also a form of courage? To accept every mistake, every loss, every love… and still walk forward with it all on your back? In the end, the cultivator of remembrance is not trying to become a god—they are trying to remain human, deeply and completely.
Outside, the wind began to stir again. Bé An looked up, his small hand clenched.
"Can I... choose my Echo?"
Kỳ Tâm shook her head. "No. It chooses you."
4. Dialogue Between Lưu Tịch and Lăng TiêuDeep within the forest of fading memories, a pivotal exchange unfolds...
The moonlight filtered gently through the thick canopy, casting dappled patterns across the moss-covered stones. A soft wind rustled the leaves as Lăng Tiêu sat in silence by a narrow stream, the sound of water murmuring in harmony with his restless thoughts. His robes were torn, his body battered—but his eyes remained resolute, locked in quiet contemplation.
Behind him, a presence approached.
The footsteps were light—calculated. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Lưu Tịch, the enigmatic elder of the Lưu Niệm Clan, stepped into the moonlight. Younger than most elders, yet possessing an aura of ancient stillness, Lưu Tịch had been observing Lăng Tiêu for days without a word.
Until now.
Lưu Tịch: "You've been sitting here for hours. Most who encounter the Tàn Niệm lose their will to stand. Yet you still breathe calmly."
Lăng Tiêu:(quietly) "Calmness is the only thing I have left when everything else is chaos."
Lưu Tịch: "You don't fear the remnants. You seek them."
Lăng Tiêu: "Because fear makes you run. And running only delays the confrontation."
Lưu Tịch remained silent for a moment, his expression unreadable.
Lưu Tịch: "You're not one of us. Why choose our path?"
Lăng Tiêu: "Because your path chooses pain, not ignorance. It confronts memory, not illusion. That's the path I need."
Lưu Tịch raised an eyebrow slightly. "You think you understand our ways? The Lưu Niệm are not cultivators in the conventional sense. We don't ascend through heavenly energy alone. We ascend through memory, through embracing the past, through integrating what others try so hard to forget."
Lăng Tiêu: "Then it is the path I was meant to walk."
Lưu Tịch's gaze sharpened.
Lưu Tịch: "Be careful what you claim to desire. The Tàn Niệm can consume your sense of self. You could wake up one day and not know if you are you, or someone else's lingering grief."
Lăng Tiêu:(meeting his eyes) "If my sense of self is that fragile, then I deserve to lose it. But I won't. I've already walked through hell. Now I just need to understand what it all meant."
A long pause followed. The stream continued to flow quietly between them.
Lưu Tịch: "The council won't accept you easily. The path of the Lưu Niệm is sacred. To walk it, you must be chosen by the Tàn Niệm themselves. If you fail—"
Lăng Tiêu: "Then I fail. But I'll still walk."
The corner of Lưu Tịch's mouth twitched—a gesture that might almost have been a smile, if not so fleeting.
Lưu Tịch: "Follow me. At dawn, we reach the Vọng Niệm Altar. There, you will face your first test."
Lăng Tiêu: "What should I expect?"
Lưu Tịch: "Nothing. And everything. The altar doesn't test your strength—it reveals what you've buried."
Lăng Tiêu: "I've buried enough to make a mountain."
Lưu Tịch:(coolly) "Then pray that mountain doesn't collapse on you."
Without another word, Lưu Tịch turned and disappeared into the trees, his silhouette blending into the shadows.
Lăng Tiêu remained by the stream a moment longer, watching the reflection of the moon ripple across the water. His fingers brushed the surface, disturbing the image.
He stood.
Tomorrow would not just test his cultivation. It would test whether his heart—scarred and stubborn—was worthy of remembrance.
5. Signs of Peril
The air over the valley shifted.
At first, it was subtle—leaves no longer swayed with the breeze as they should. Birds, once chirping from dawn to dusk, now fell into an eerie silence. Even the waters in the river that ran near the Lưu Niệm clan's hidden dwelling moved sluggishly, as though reluctant to flow.
Lăng Tiêu was the first to sense the disturbance.
While meditating beneath the Whispering Tree, his spiritual senses flared, alerting him to a presence—no, a pressure—lurking beyond the mountains. Not a direct threat, but a tremor in the weave of the world, like someone strumming the strings of a great celestial instrument just out of tune.
He opened his eyes. The sky looked the same, but the Qi in the air felt... wrong.
Soon, the elders convened.
Inside the stone pavilion carved with memory runes, Lưu Tịch addressed the gathering.
Lưu Tịch: "The winds carry whispers from U Địa Tàn Thành. The seal restraining it has cracked."
A murmur rippled through the clan. Even the most stoic among them flinched.
Elder Muôn: "The seal was meant to last a thousand years. It's only been four hundred... unless—"
Lăng Tiêu:(stepping forward) "Unless someone is forcing it open."
Lưu Tịch nodded grimly.
Lưu Tịch: "A dark force—likely from Âm Tàng Giáo—is probing the boundaries of the Tàn Thành. Once the remnants of that forbidden place flood out, the balance between realms will break."
Elder Hàm Thanh: "And the Tàn Niệm will become unstable. They could spread beyond our control."
Lăng Tiêu clenched his fists. He remembered what he had seen once in a vision—the earth cracking, skies darkening, screams echoing in a valley choked with dark mist. Was that a glimpse of what was to come?
Outside the pavilion, Bé An stood silently beside a crystal lotus pool. He seemed unaware of the meeting, yet the water beneath his feet rippled in response to his quiet unease. The boy's eyes reflected not fear, but a strange acceptance.
Lăng Tiêu (thinking):The world seems to turn its gaze to this child. And yet, he bears it without protest... Why? What lies dormant within him?
Suddenly, a messenger bird burst into the chamber, its talons clutching a scroll burned around the edges.
Lưu Tịch unfurled it and read silently. His face darkened.
Lưu Tịch: "Villages near the Eastern Ridge are reporting night terrors... people vanishing, memories erased."
Elder Muôn: "It has begun."
Lăng Tiêu: "Then we have no choice. If we wait, it won't be just memories that disappear—it will be people."
Lưu Tịch: "Then go. Find the source of the breach. But be warned: what you face may not have a form. It may be regret. Hatred. Fear... shaped by those who came before."
Lăng Tiêu bowed. "Understood."
As the moon rose high above the valley, casting its cold light across the land, a distant wail echoed through the mountains.
It was not the cry of a beast.It was the cry of a forgotten soul, clawing its way back into the world.
The signs of peril were no longer just signs.They had become reality.