The sky over Yunxia Sect remained calm, but within its vast mountains, tension coiled like a serpent beneath smooth waters.
Lin Feng sat in solitude atop the Blackstone Peak, his robe fluttering in the wind, his eyes closed. To the casual observer, he appeared meditative. In truth, his mind was a storm. He had uncovered something — not a memory, but a sensation — a flickering ember of who he once was.
"Why does that name… Tianxu… burn like fire in my chest?"
A low hum vibrated from the jade pendant around his neck. It had been dormant for years, yet now pulsed with warmth. Lin Feng opened his eyes. His pupils briefly gleamed gold.
"You're waking up, aren't you?" he whispered to no one in particular.
Suddenly, the clouds split open — a streak of silver tore across the sky.
Boom!
A disciple crashed into the ground before him, bloodied, armor torn.
"Senior Brother…! The elder hall... it's under attack!"
Before Lin Feng could reply, the air twisted behind him — a flicker of black flame burst into existence, and a figure stepped out. Hooded, masked, reeking of cursed qi.
"You again," Lin Feng muttered, voice flat.
"Emperor's remnant," the assassin hissed, "You should have died centuries ago."
Lin Feng stood. His voice was calm, but cold enough to freeze bone.
"You first."
With a single step, he vanished.
The battle that followed was swift — too swift for the young disciples watching from afar. They saw only afterimages: sparks, shouts, shockwaves tearing apart the bamboo groves.
Lin Feng reappeared beside the masked man, two fingers raised. He pressed them lightly against the man's chest.
Boom.
The assassin's body twisted unnaturally before being flung into the sky like a broken doll.
"You sent one of those again," Lin Feng muttered, disappointed. "He didn't even last a minute."
A sharp cough came from the wounded disciple behind him. "Senior Brother… What was that technique…? No one… in the sect uses that form…"
Lin Feng turned.
He wanted to lie.
He couldn't.
"...I don't know," he said. "It just came naturally."
The wind howled through the trees. A few leaves danced around him. And deep inside, he felt it — something unlocking, something old. Not a memory, but a presence. Watching. Waiting.
---
Elsewhere in the Inner Realm of Yunxia Sect, Elder Mo paced before the sacred relic chamber. His white beard quivered with unease. His palm held a scroll, newly delivered — ink still fresh, but it burned as though written in fire.
It contained only two words: "He returns."
His eyes narrowed. "So… the prophecy begins."
---
Meanwhile, far beneath the sect, buried under centuries of forgotten stone and ash, a golden coffin trembled.
Inside it, a skeletal hand twitched.
---
Back atop the Blackstone Peak, Lin Feng knelt beside the injured disciple, healing him with a simple technique. But his hands shook. Not from fatigue, but from fear.
Because in the moment before the assassin died… he had whispered something.
Something only Lin Feng could have heard:
"Xianwu is waiting."
The name struck like thunder.
He knew that name.
He didn't know how.
He didn't know why.
But he did.
And his heart — the one that had stopped once, long ago — began to beat faster.
---
End of Chapter 32.