Chapter 7: The Mystery of the Forbidden Ground

Three months had passed since Zhao Yang's successful completion of the Resonance of Dual Natures ritual. Spring had arrived at Xuanqing Mountain, bringing with it pink cherry blossoms that drifted like snow across the jade pavilions and crystal ponds. With the warmer weather came new dimensions to Zhao Yang's training, as Murong Qingxue pushed him toward increasingly advanced techniques that leveraged his unique dual cultivation core.

Today, she had set him a seemingly simple task: maintain perfect meditation while balanced atop a thin bamboo pole anchored in the center of the Mist Lake. Such exercises were routine for junior disciples, but Murong Qingxue had added a devastating complication—he must simultaneously channel yin energy through his left meridians and yang energy through his right, creating a complete circulation that never allowed the opposing forces to touch.

"Control slipping on the upper back junction," Murong Qingxue observed from where she stood at the lake's edge, her keen spiritual senses detecting the microscopic flaw in his energy management. "Adjust or face collapse."

Sweat beaded on Zhao Yang's forehead as he made the subtle correction, realigning the flow through the troublesome meridian junction without disrupting the overall pattern. At fifteen, his control had improved dramatically, but the demanding exercise pushed even his enhanced capabilities to their limits.

"Time," Murong Qingxue finally called, just as Zhao Yang felt his reserves approaching dangerous depletion. "You may descend."

With a grateful exhalation, he released the complex energy circulation and leapt from the pole, landing lightly on the lake's surface. Using the water-walking technique taught by Fourth Sister Bai Bingxue, he made his way back to shore, each step leaving only the slightest ripple on the mirror-like water.

"Your endurance has improved," his master noted, which from her was high praise indeed. "But your separation barrier between yin and yang still lacks sufficient stability for the higher-level techniques in the Clarity Scriptures."

Zhao Yang bowed, accepting the criticism without defensiveness. "I'll work on strengthening the barrier, Master. Perhaps Eighth Sister's geometric visualization method might help structure the energy boundaries more precisely?"

A flicker of approval crossed Murong Qingxue's face. "A thoughtful approach. Yes, consult with Shen Qingcheng. Her theoretical understanding of energy patterns is unparalleled."

As they walked back toward the main complex of Xuanqing Palace, Zhao Yang sensed a subtle shift in his master's manner—a slight tension that suggested she had more on her mind than just his training progress.

"Is something troubling you, Master?" he ventured, after they had walked in silence for several minutes.

Murong Qingxue gave him a measuring look. "Your perception has sharpened," she observed. "Yes, there is a matter we must discuss." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "The Elders have received reports of unusual energy fluctuations from the Forbidden Archives."

Zhao Yang's steps faltered. The Forbidden Archives was a section of Xuanqing Palace that even senior disciples rarely entered—a vast complex of sealed chambers said to contain dangerous artifacts and forbidden knowledge from cultivation's earliest eras.

"What kind of fluctuations?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Resonance patterns," Murong Qingxue replied. "Similar to those generated during your dual-nature ritual, but occurring spontaneously. It is... unprecedented."

The implications hung in the air between them. If artifacts in the Forbidden Archives were resonating with Zhao Yang's unique energy signature, it suggested connections to his mysterious origins that even his master might not have anticipated.

"The Elders believe you should be permitted to enter the Restricted Section," Murong Qingxue continued, using the formal title that designated the Archives' most closely guarded area. "To determine what might be causing these resonances."

Zhao Yang's pulse quickened. Access to the Restricted Section was a privilege granted to perhaps a dozen cultivators in Xuanqing Palace's entire history. "When?" he asked, trying to keep his eagerness from his voice.

"Tonight," his master replied. "When the moon reaches zenith. The boundary wardings are thinnest then."

With that settled, they continued toward the training grounds, where Zhao Yang was scheduled to practice formation techniques with Eighth Sister Shen Qingcheng. Yet his mind remained fixed on the night's coming exploration, wondering what secrets might await him in the Forbidden Archives.

---

As twilight deepened into full night, Zhao Yang prepared himself according to his master's instructions. He wore white robes woven with protective runes, carried no weapons or tools save his jade pendant, and completed a three-hour purification meditation to ensure his energy wouldn't trigger defensive measures within the Archives.

The Nine Sisters had reacted with varying degrees of surprise and concern when informed of the planned expedition. Lin Shuoyue, ever proper, had simply nodded in acceptance of the Elders' decision. Su Mengyan had teased him about "finally learning where the real treasures are hidden." Ye Qingzhu had provided protective herbal sachets designed to ward off spiritual contamination.

Bai Bingxue had taught him an emergency cooling technique in case of "overheated artifacts"—whatever those might be. Hua Lige had seemed genuinely worried, making him promise to "run, not walk" if anything seemed wrong. Liu Ruyan had slipped him a tiny vial of universal antidote, just in case.

Qin Shuoyue had drilled him in the precise steps to take if trapped by security formations, while Shen Qingcheng had provided a detailed lecture on recognizing different types of dangerous artifacts by their energy signatures. And Yan Ruoxue, unable to contain her excitement despite her concern, had made him swear to tell her everything afterward.

"Ready?" Murong Qingxue asked, materializing silently beside him as he waited at the appointed meeting place—a small pavilion overlooking the western cliffs of Xuanqing Mountain.

Zhao Yang bowed. "Yes, Master."

She studied him for a moment, then reached out and adjusted the collar of his robe, a surprisingly maternal gesture from one usually so formal. "Stay close to me at all times," she instructed. "Touch nothing without permission. Speak only when necessary, and then quietly. The Archives contain... awareness... that responds to sound vibrations."

With these ominous instructions, she led him along a path he had never noticed before—a narrow stone walkway that wound down into a ravine between two mountains. As they descended, mist rose around them, thick enough to obscure visibility beyond a few feet.

"The mist is a boundary ward," Murong Qingxue explained, seeing his questioning look. "It confuses spatial perception and disrupts cultivation techniques that might be used to force entry."

After walking for what seemed much longer than the physical distance should have required, they reached a massive door set directly into the mountain face. Unlike the ornate entrances to most significant locations within Xuanqing Palace, this door was austere to the point of invisibility—its surface the exact color and texture of the surrounding stone, differentiated only by the perfect geometric line of its edges.

Murong Qingxue placed her palm against the center of the door and channeled a specific energy pattern—not speaking any incantation, but Zhao Yang sensed the complexity of the unlocking technique through his heightened perceptions.

Silently, the door receded into the mountain, revealing a cavernous space beyond that seemed to stretch impossibly far given the mountain's external dimensions.

"Welcome to the Forbidden Archives," Murong Qingxue said, her voice hushed. "Few living eyes have seen what you are about to witness."

They stepped through the threshold into a vast chamber illuminated by crystals that emitted soft golden light. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled not with books but with objects: artifacts of every conceivable size and description, each resting on its own pedestal and surrounded by containment formations of varying complexity.

"These are merely the benign curiosities," Murong Qingxue explained as they walked down the central aisle. "Ancient tools, ceremonial objects, relics of cultivation sects long extinct. The truly dangerous items are kept deeper within."

Zhao Yang tried to maintain the proper decorum, but his eyes darted from artifact to artifact, absorbing the incredible variety. A brush that painted in midair without touching paper. A chess set whose pieces moved of their own accord when no one was watching. A mirror that showed not the viewer's reflection but their spiritual core, represented as a glowing orb of individualized color and pattern.

As they proceeded deeper into the Archives, the lighting changed from gold to silver, and the security formations around the artifacts grew more elaborate. Here were weapons that hummed with barely contained power, talismans inscribed with scripts no living cultivator could read, and vessels that contained... something... that moved and shifted within, visible only as distortions in the air above their sealed openings.

"The resonance was detected in the innermost chamber," Murong Qingxue said, stopping before a circular door of dark metal etched with warning symbols so ancient that even she needed to consult a translation key suspended beside the entrance.

After carefully configuring a complex unlocking pattern, she pushed the heavy door open, revealing a smaller chamber beyond—one that, unlike the rest of the Archives, appeared to have been recently disturbed. Dust patterns on the floor showed footprints, and several artifacts had been moved from their original positions, now arranged in the center of the room around a stone pedestal.

"Elders Bai and Yu were here earlier, attempting to isolate the source of the resonance," Murong Qingxue explained, noting Zhao Yang's observation of the disruption. "Without success."

She gestured for him to remain near the door while she inspected the central arrangement. Zhao Yang obeyed, but as he stood waiting, he felt a curious sensation—a slight but insistent pull drawing his attention to the far corner of the room, where shadows lay thickest.

Without conscious decision, he found himself taking a step in that direction, then another. His jade pendant grew warm against his chest, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

"Zhao Yang," Murong Qingxue called sharply, noticing his unauthorized movement. "Return to position."

"There's something there," he replied, his voice distant to his own ears. "In the corner. It's... calling to me."

Murong Qingxue was instantly at his side, her hand on his arm. "Resist the pull," she commanded. "Many artifacts here use psychic lures to attract handlers. It is how they feed."

But Zhao Yang shook his head. "This is different. It's not... hungry. It feels like..." He struggled to articulate the sensation. "Like recognition. Like finding something I didn't know was lost."

His master's grip tightened on his arm, but after studying his face intently, she nodded once. "I will accompany you. But touch nothing."

Together, they approached the shadowed corner. As they drew closer, Zhao Yang could make out a small object draped in black cloth, placed on a shelf otherwise empty except for a faded identification tablet.

The jade pendant against his chest grew hotter, now almost uncomfortable. Without thinking, he reached toward the cloth-covered object.

"Zhao Yang!" Murong Qingxue's warning came too late.

As his fingers brushed the black cloth, it disintegrated into dust, revealing what lay beneath: a small portrait painting, no larger than his hand, rendered with extraordinary skill on ancient silk. The subject was a woman of breathtaking beauty, her features bearing striking resemblance to someone Zhao Yang knew but couldn't immediately place.

More shocking than the portrait itself was what happened when he looked upon it. The pendant at his chest flared with blinding light, and the painting responded in kind, glowing with the same jade-green radiance. Energy surged between the two objects, forming a visible connection like a thread of liquid light.

"No!" Murong Qingxue moved with preternatural speed, placing herself between Zhao Yang and the portrait, breaking the energy connection. "Step back. Now."

But it was too late. The contact, brief though it had been, had triggered something within both the portrait and Zhao Yang's consciousness. Images flooded his mind—fragments of memory not his own, emotions too complex to process, and at the center of it all, a face that shifted between the woman in the portrait and another he knew all too well.

"Master," he gasped, as his knees buckled under the psychic onslaught. "The woman in the painting... she looks like..."

Before he could complete the sentence, Murong Qingxue made a swift gesture, touching specific points on his forehead and throat. The flood of foreign memories ceased immediately, though the emotional resonance lingered—a profound sense of loss and longing that felt uncomfortably familiar.

"You should not have seen this," his master said, her voice uncharacteristically tight with emotion. "Not yet. Not like this."

Through the fog of confusion, Zhao Yang focused on the identification tablet beside the now-exposed portrait. Though written in archaic script, he could make out a name and date: "Consort Yu, Final Dynasty of the First Age. Preserved by Founder Murong upon the Sundering."

"Consort Yu?" he echoed, the name stirring no recognition. "Who was she? And why did my pendant react to her portrait?"

Murong Qingxue carefully recovered the portrait with a new cloth produced from her sleeve, her movements precise yet somehow betraying inner turmoil. "That is a conversation for another time," she said, her tone making it clear the matter was closed for now. "We should leave. The resonance effect is stronger than anticipated and could damage your newly stabilized cultivation core."

She guided him firmly toward the exit, but as they reached the circular doorway, Zhao Yang found his feet rooted to the spot. Something pulled at his consciousness—not from the portrait this time, but from within his own mind, as if the brief connection had unlocked a memory of his own that had been long suppressed.

"Master," he said, his voice steady despite the confusion swirling within, "I've seen her before. The woman in the portrait. Not just seen her..." He pressed his hand to his temple, trying to capture the elusive memory. "I've known her."

Murong Qingxue went very still. "That is impossible," she said carefully. "Consort Yu lived at the end of the First Age of Cultivation. Over ten thousand years ago."

"Nevertheless," Zhao Yang insisted, the certainty growing stronger even as the specific memory remained tantalizingly out of reach. "When I saw her face, I felt... recognition. Deep recognition, like remembering someone from early childhood."

Something shifted in Murong Qingxue's expression—a momentary crack in her perfect composure, revealing complex emotions beneath. For a heartbeat, she seemed about to share some profound truth. Then, with visible effort, she reassembled her serene mask.

"The Resonance ritual has heightened your sensitivity to spiritual impressions," she said, her explanation rational yet somehow ringing false to Zhao Yang's ears. "The portrait contains residual consciousness fragments from a powerful cultivator. Your pendant's reaction created a temporary psychic link that allowed those fragments to influence your perception. What you felt was her recognition, not yours."

It was a plausible explanation, consistent with known cultivation phenomena. Yet Zhao Yang couldn't shake the certainty that something more significant had occurred—that a truth central to his existence had brushed against his consciousness, only to be pushed back into shadow.

"Come," Murong Qingxue said, more gently now. "We have learned what we came to discover. The resonance is indeed connected to your unique energy pattern, though its exact significance requires further study."

As they exited the inner chamber, Zhao Yang cast one last glance over his shoulder at the shrouded portrait. Though he could no longer see the woman's face, the impression lingered—of profound familiarity, of connection across an impossible gulf of time, and beneath it all, a sorrow so deep it seemed woven into the very fabric of reality.

---

The journey back through the Archives and up the misty path to Xuanqing Palace proper passed in thoughtful silence. Zhao Yang's mind churned with questions he sensed would not be answered, at least not tonight. His master walked beside him, her usual graceful poise intact, yet he perceived subtle signs of disturbance in her energy field—ripples of concern, uncertainty, perhaps even fear.

When they reached the main palace grounds, Murong Qingxue finally spoke. "What happened tonight must remain between us for now. Not even your senior sisters should be told of the portrait or your reaction to it."

"Not even Elder Bai and Elder Yu, who were investigating the resonance?" Zhao Yang asked.

"I will report to them myself," Murong Qingxue replied. "In appropriate detail."

The careful phrasing told Zhao Yang that even the Elders would not be given the full truth of what had transpired. This realization only deepened his conviction that tonight's discovery held significance beyond what his master was willing to reveal.

At the junction where their paths would diverge—she to the Mistress's residence atop the highest peak, he to the disciples' quarters on the middle terrace—Murong Qingxue paused, studying him with an intensity that seemed to peer directly into his soul.

"Zhao Yang," she said, using his name rather than the usual 'disciple' or 'unruly one,' a rarity that emphasized the gravity of her words. "There are truths about your nature and purpose that must unfold according to their proper time. What you glimpsed tonight is but one fragment of a pattern too vast to comprehend from a single vantage point."

She placed her hand briefly on his shoulder—another unusual gesture that underscored the exceptional nature of the moment. "I ask for your trust. And your patience. When the time is right, all will be revealed."

With those cryptic words, she departed, leaving Zhao Yang standing alone under the vast canopy of stars, his jade pendant now cool against his skin but somehow feeling heavier than before.

Instead of returning directly to his quarters, he found himself drawn to a secluded meditation pavilion that offered a panoramic view of the valley below Xuanqing Mountain. There, he settled into lotus position, closed his eyes, and turned his attention inward, searching the landscape of his consciousness for any trace of the memories or impressions triggered by the portrait.

He found nothing concrete—the memory block his master had implemented held firm—yet the emotional resonance remained: that profound sense of recognition, of connection, and beneath it, an ancient sorrow that seemed to echo across lives.

"Who was she?" he whispered to the night air. "And what is she to me?"

The stars offered no answer, but as Zhao Yang opened his eyes, he noticed a figure standing in the shadows at the pavilion's edge—not his master returned, but Lin Shuoyue, his First Senior Sister, her perfect features composed in their usual serene expression.

"You should be resting," she observed, stepping into the moonlight. "The energy expenditure from tonight's exploration would tax even an experienced cultivator."

"How did you know I went to the Archives?" Zhao Yang asked. The expedition had been kept secret from most disciples.

Lin Shuoyue's lips curved in the faintest suggestion of a smile. "Very little occurs in Xuanqing Palace without my knowledge. It is part of my responsibility as First Disciple."

She moved to sit across from him, her movements so graceful they seemed to continue even after she had become still. "You found something," she stated rather than asked. "Something that disturbed you."

It wasn't a question, so Zhao Yang didn't feel he was breaking his promise to Murong Qingxue by not denying it. "I found... questions," he replied carefully. "More questions than answers."

Lin Shuoyue nodded, as if this confirmed something she already suspected. "The Archives have that effect. They contain the accumulated mysteries of thousands of years of cultivation history. No single visit could begin to unravel them all."

Her gaze, typically cool and assessing, held an unusual warmth tonight. "Whatever you discovered, Junior Brother, remember that you are not alone in facing it. Your nine senior sisters stand with you, each in her own way."

The simple statement of solidarity, especially coming from the typically reserved Lin Shuoyue, touched Zhao Yang deeply. "Thank you, Senior Sister."

"Now rest," she said, rising as gracefully as she had sat. "Tomorrow's training will not wait for tonight's mysteries to be solved."

After she departed, Zhao Yang remained in the pavilion a while longer, watching the mist rise from the valley below like spirits ascending toward heaven. The portrait's impact had shaken him profoundly, yet Lin Shuoyue's quiet support had provided unexpected comfort.

Whatever secrets lay buried in his past or prophesied in his future, he would not face them alone. That certainty, at least, was something solid to hold onto amid the swirling questions raised by the night's discovery.

As he finally made his way back to his quarters, the first hint of dawn lightening the eastern sky, one thought crystallized with absolute clarity: the woman in the portrait, Consort Yu from ten thousand years past, held some crucial key to understanding his present and future.

And somehow, instinctively, he knew that his master—Murong Qingxue, the ageless, inscrutable Mistress of Xuanqing Palace—was the only one who could unlock that mystery when she deemed the time right.