The skies above Cloudrest Peak hung in a solemn shade of gray, clouds weaving like ancient spirits through the peaks. Wind howled across the mountain ledges, whispering forgotten tales into the ears of those who dared to listen. On the ridge overlooking the ruins of Jingshen Temple, Lian Wei stood still, robes fluttering against the biting cold, his eyes lost in the spiraling mists that curled around broken stone pillars and crumbling walls below.
The temple was a ghost—silent, yet not still. Time had not merely passed over it; it had carved itself into every crack, every vine-choked wall, every shattered roof tile. But more than time, it was something else—something buried, something waiting.
"Are you sure this is the place?" Elder Zhao's voice broke the stillness as he approached behind Lian Wei, his spiritual pressure subdued yet steady.
Lian Wei nodded slowly. "The tomb mentioned in the Yinxin Tablet lies beneath this site. But this isn't just a resting place. It's a seal."
He crouched, brushing a hand over the moss-covered stone underfoot. His fingers traced faint etchings—ancient characters in an old tongue, barely visible unless one knew what to look for. The script spoke of 'The Root of Calamity' and 'The Dreamless One.'
Zhao's brow furrowed. "A seal? You mean something was imprisoned here?"
"Or someone," Lian Wei whispered.
With careful movements, he retrieved his excavation tools—blending archaeological technique with spiritual finesse. He formed a delicate seal with his fingers, channeling a small stream of Qi into the stone. The moss recoiled as if alive, revealing a circular symbol beneath—a lotus with a serpent coiled through its petals.
The air thickened.
Then, from the heart of the symbol, a tremor pulsed.
Dust and debris lifted slightly from the ground, suspended unnaturally before falling again like ash. Elder Zhao stepped back, hand on the hilt of his blade. "Lian Wei..."
But Lian Wei didn't move. His breath had caught in his throat. The symbol on the stone was not just familiar—it was identical to one he'd uncovered in his past life, in a completely different continent. The Lotus-Serpent Seal belonged to a pre-Celestial civilization long thought mythical, known only as the Xianmu—'The Sleepers of Eternity.'
This wasn't just an archaeological site. It was a nexus—one that defied the boundaries of history and cultivation alike.
A soft groan echoed beneath the stone.
Zhao drew his blade, its spiritual edge singing as it hummed in the air. "Something's waking."
"No," Lian Wei replied, his voice distant, eyes narrowing. "Something is remembering."
He pressed his palm flat against the seal, channeling a precise, ancient frequency of Qi—taught to him by his master archaeologist mentor before his reincarnation. A vibration resonated through the earth, and then, like ink bleeding through parchment, the outline of a stairwell revealed itself—spiraling down into the dark.
Lian Wei exhaled. "This... this is what the tomb protects. We're going in."
The descent was slow, torchlight barely holding back the shadows. The stairs wound impossibly deep, far beyond the foundations of the temple ruins. Along the walls, murals emerged—faded depictions of towering beings, half-human and half-beast, descending from the heavens on pillars of obsidian flame.
Then came the chamber.
Circular, vast, and buried in silence.
In the center stood a sarcophagus carved from a translucent blue crystal, its surface marked with flowing characters that shimmered faintly even in the dim light. Around it were stone tablets—each etched with a warning.
"Do not wake the Dreamless.""Do not forget the debt owed.""The price of remembrance is calamity."
Elder Zhao stared at them in disbelief. "What kind of burial is this? These aren't inscriptions of mourning. These are warnings."
"And yet," Lian Wei murmured, stepping forward, "the memory is calling to me."
He reached for the tablet closest to the sarcophagus. The moment his fingers brushed it, visions assaulted him—flashes of cities burning under violet skies, beings wrapped in gold and shadow descending from the stars, and a voice, ancient and endless, whispering:
"Archaeologist. Heir of memory. You were not meant to return."
The vision vanished. Lian Wei staggered back, gasping.
Elder Zhao caught him. "What did you see?"
Lian Wei's eyes gleamed with understanding—and fear. "The Dreamless One... isn't dead. He's waiting. And this tomb isn't just a prison. It's a pact."
Zhao's face darkened. "A pact with what?"
Lian Wei turned toward him slowly. "With time itself."
As the torches flickered, the sarcophagus pulsed once, faintly—like a heartbeat echoing through crystal.
They were no longer alone.