Buried Memories

The third slap stung worse than the first two.

"Useless!" Master Feng's voice echoed through the training courtyard. "Three years of resources wasted on you, and you still can't even form a proper Foundation Cycle!"

Lian Wei kept his eyes downcast, tasting blood where his lip had split. The other disciples watched in silence, some with pity, most with contempt. This public humiliation had become a monthly ritual—a reminder of his place in the Falling Leaf Sect.

"I... I'm trying, Master," he whispered.

"Trying?" Master Feng sneered, his immaculately groomed beard quivering with disdain. "The sect doesn't need 'trying.' It needs results. It needs talent." He gestured toward the other young disciples. "Even the weakest among them has progressed to the third stage of Foundation. You? You're still struggling with the basics."

Lian Wei nodded, accepting the criticism as he always did. What choice did he have? As a servant's son, he should be grateful the sect had allowed him to train at all. Most in his position never got the opportunity to cultivate.

"Back to your duties," Master Feng dismissed him with a wave. "Perhaps you're better suited to cleaning the toilets than pursuing the immortal path."

Scattered laughter followed as Lian Wei bowed and retreated from the training yard. His face burned with shame, but he had long since mastered the art of keeping his expression neutral. Emotion was weakness, Master Feng always said. At least in that lesson, Lian Wei had excelled.

---

Later that evening, Lian Wei scrubbed the stone floors of the archive hall, his hands raw from the harsh soap and cold water. This was his punishment—not just today's humiliation, but his permanent station. Failure in training meant additional chores, and he had failed consistently enough that these tasks had become his primary responsibility.

But the archive hall held a secret comfort. While the other disciples avoided this dusty place, preferring the excitement of training grounds or meditation gardens, Lian Wei found peace among the scrolls and tablets. Here, no one watched him. No one measured his worth by how quickly energy flowed through his meridians.

"Still here, little Wei?" Old Man Zhu's voice crackled from the entrance.

Lian Wei looked up from his work and offered a genuine smile. "Master Archivist," he bowed respectfully.

Unlike the cultivation instructors, Old Man Zhu had never treated him with contempt. Perhaps because the ancient archivist was himself considered something of an oddity—a man who had reached respectable cultivation levels but chosen books over battle.

"Finishing up the eastern section tonight?" The old man shuffled forward, leaning heavily on his gnarled walking stick.

"Yes, Master Archivist. I should be done before the midnight bell."

Old Man Zhu nodded, his rheumy eyes scanning the shelves. "You know, in my many years, I've come to believe that talent isn't everything."

Lian Wei paused in his scrubbing. This wasn't the first time the old man had offered such cryptic encouragement, but tonight, with his face still stinging from Master Feng's slaps, the words seemed especially hollow.

"With respect, Master Archivist, talent seems to be the only thing that matters in the Falling Leaf Sect."

"Perhaps in the Falling Leaf Sect," the old man conceded with a sly smile. "But the world is much larger than our little mountain." He tapped his walking stick against the floor in a peculiar rhythm. "Tell me, boy, what do you see when you look at these scrolls and books?"

Lian Wei glanced around at the thousands of texts lining the walls. In truth, he had secretly read many of them during his late-night cleaning sessions. "Knowledge. History. The accumulated wisdom of generations."

"Yes, yes," Old Man Zhu nodded approvingly. "And what happens to knowledge that isn't used?"

"It... fades away. Gets forgotten."

"Precisely!" The old man's eyes sparkled with unusual intensity. "Most of these fools think cultivation is about brute talent—how quickly you can absorb energy, how powerful your physical body becomes. But they've forgotten what the ancients knew."

Lian Wei set down his scrub brush, fully attentive now. It was rare for the old archivist to speak so passionately.

"And what did the ancients know, Master?"

Old Man Zhu leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That true power lies in what has been forgotten. The techniques we practice today are pale shadows of what once existed." He tapped the side of his nose knowingly. "The Great Fracturing didn't just shatter the unified lands—it shattered knowledge itself."

This wasn't the first time Lian Wei had heard mention of the Great Fracturing—the cataclysmic event three thousand years ago that had supposedly ended a golden age of cultivation. Every child knew the basic story, but details were scarce in official histories.

"You seem different from other youths," Old Man Zhu continued, studying Lian Wei carefully. "You have... old eyes. As if you've seen more than your sixteen years should allow."

Lian Wei tensed. Sometimes he forgot to hide it—that sense of displacement, of memories that didn't belong to a servant's son. Flashes of another life, another world entirely, where he had spent decades studying ancient civilizations and their artifacts. Where he had been Professor Lian Wei, respected archaeologist, not a failed cultivation disciple.

"I don't know what you mean, Master," he deflected carefully.

The old man chuckled. "No matter. Listen carefully, boy. Tomorrow night, after your duties, come to the South Repository. There's an old text I want you to see—one that might suit your... particular perspective."

Before Lian Wei could respond, the archivist was already shuffling away, his walking stick tapping an irregular rhythm on the stone floor.

Lian Wei watched him go, puzzled by the cryptic invitation but secretly hopeful. In his three years at the Falling Leaf Sect, this was the first time anyone had suggested he might have something special about him—even if it was just a "particular perspective."

He returned to his scrubbing with renewed vigor, his mind racing. Despite Master Feng's cruelty and his own failures at cultivation, something about Old Man Zhu's words resonated with a deeper part of him. The part that sometimes dreamed of dusty excavation sites and careful brushwork revealing ancient pottery. The part that couldn't possibly exist in this world of spiritual energy and immortal ambitions.

Yet it did exist. Those memories—so vivid, so detailed—couldn't simply be imagination. Somehow, Lian Wei knew he had lived another life before this one. A life dedicated to uncovering the past, to piecing together fragments of lost civilizations.

Perhaps that's why he felt so drawn to the sect's archives. Perhaps that's why, despite his inability to advance in cultivation, he never considered giving up entirely.

---

The midnight bell tolled as Lian Wei finished cleaning the last corner of the archive hall. His back ached from hours of labor, but his mind remained alert, turning over Old Man Zhu's invitation. The South Repository was rarely used—a smaller building that housed damaged or incomplete texts deemed of little value.

As he gathered his cleaning supplies, a sudden wave of dizziness struck him. He stumbled, catching himself against a bookshelf as the world tilted alarmingly. This had happened before—these episodes where reality seemed to fracture momentarily, where whispers of another existence bleed through.

*Professor Lian, you should see this artifact we've uncovered in the lower chamber...*

The voice was so clear, as if someone stood beside him. A young woman's voice—an assistant? A student? From that other life?

The episode passed as quickly as it had come, leaving Lian Wei breathing heavily against the bookshelf. One scroll had been dislodged by his sudden movement and lay open on the floor. Instinctively, he reached to retrieve it, his eyes catching the faded diagram at its center—a cultivation technique for strengthening the lower dantian.

As he studied it, something felt wrong. The meridian pathways depicted didn't match what Master Feng had taught. This scroll showed energy flowing in a spiral pattern, while the sect's Foundation technique used a more straightforward approach.

"That's inefficient," he murmured to himself, surprised by his own certainty. "The energy would dissipate at the third junction point..."

He froze, shocked by his own words. How could he possibly know that? He was a cultivation failure, yet he had just spotted a flaw in an established technique with absolute confidence.

With trembling hands, he carefully rolled the scroll and returned it to its place, suddenly eager to leave the archive hall. These contradictions—memories of another life, inexplicable knowledge of cultivation theory despite his practical failures—were becoming harder to ignore.

Tomorrow night he would meet Old Man Zhu in the South Repository. Perhaps then he might find some answers.

As Lian Wei slipped out into the cool night air, he didn't notice the shadow that detached itself from the darkness behind a pillar. He didn't see the figure that watched him go, eyes narrowed with calculating interest.

He didn't know that his life was about to change forever.

---

Dawn broke with the pounding of drums. Lian Wei awoke instantly, years of harsh sect discipline having trained him to transition from sleep to alertness in seconds. His small room in the servants' quarters was barely large enough for his sleeping mat and a single wooden chest containing his few possessions.

He dressed quickly in his gray disciple robes—the color marking him as belonging to the lowest tier of the Falling Leaf Sect. The elite inner disciples wore green, while the middle-ranked wore a pale yellow. Only servants wore grayer garments than his.

As he fastened his belt, last night's interaction with Old Man Zhu came rushing back. The archivist's cryptic invitation, the strange episode in the archive hall, the cultivation diagram that had somehow seemed flawed to his untrained eyes...

"Wei! You're late for morning formation!" The harsh voice of the quarters supervisor cut through his thoughts.

"Coming, Supervisor Chen!" he called, hastily tying back his hair.

The morning routine was unchanging: formations in the main courtyard, recitation of sect rules, assignment of daily tasks, and for those with actual cultivation talent, training sessions with their respective masters.

Lian Wei took his place at the very back of the gray-robed disciples, head lowered appropriately. Master Feng stood at the front, resplendent in his flowing white robes trimmed with green leaf patterns, surveying his charges with critical eyes.

"Today we honor the arrival of distinguished guests," Master Feng announced. "The Azure Sky Sect has sent representatives to discuss matters of importance with our Sect Master. You will all conduct yourselves with absolute propriety. Any embarrassment to the Falling Leaf Sect will be severely punished."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the disciples. The Azure Sky Sect was one of the most powerful in the region, known for its unparalleled flying techniques and political influence. Visits between sects often meant competitions, exchanges of knowledge, or even recruitment of promising disciples.

Lian Wei felt nothing but dread. Visits from powerful sects inevitably led to more scrutiny, more opportunities for him to be compared to actual talented disciples and found wanting.

"Disciple groups one through four will perform the Autumn Leaf Dance for our guests at midday," Master Feng continued. "Groups five through eight will attend to the preparation of the welcoming banquet."

Lian Wei belonged to group nine—the miscellaneous group of failures and servant-born disciples who were typically assigned the most menial tasks during important events.

"Group nine," Master Feng's gaze hardened as it swept over Lian Wei and the others, "will ensure the outer courtyards are immaculate. Not a single fallen leaf, not one speck of dust. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Master Feng," they responded in unison.

As the formation disbanded, Lian Wei headed toward the tool shed to collect rakes and brooms. At least yard work would keep him far from the visiting Azure Sky sect members. Far from their judging eyes and the inevitable comparisons.

"Hey, Wei," called Liu Mei, another gray-robed disciple as she fell into step beside him. Like him, she was servant-born, but unlike him, she had shown modest talent in cultivation. Not enough to advance beyond the outer disciple ranks, but enough to avoid the constant humiliation he endured.

"Morning, Mei," he greeted with a small smile. They weren't quite friends—the sect discouraged such relationships among low-ranked disciples—but they shared a certain camaraderie as outsiders.

"Heard Master Feng made an example of you again yesterday," she said, keeping her voice low. "You okay?"

He touched his cheek reflexively. The redness had faded, but a slight tenderness remained where he'd been struck. "Nothing new."

Liu Mei frowned. "You know, my grandmother says talent isn't everything. She cultivated to the sixth level of Foundation despite starting late in life."

"Your grandmother wasn't in the Falling Leaf Sect," Lian Wei pointed out. "Here, if you don't show results quickly, you're as good as invisible."

"Still..." She seemed about to say more but hesitated as they reached the tool shed. "Just... don't give up, okay? There's something about you, Wei. You're different."

That was the second time in less than a day someone had suggested he was "different." First Old Man Zhu, now Liu Mei. If only different meant talented.

"Thanks, Mei," he said, not knowing what else to respond. He grabbed a bamboo rake and headed toward the eastern courtyard, his assigned area for the day.

As he worked, methodically clearing fallen leaves and debris, his mind wandered back to the fragments of memories that didn't belong in this world. In that other life, he had spent decades piecing together the history of lost civilizations from broken pottery and crumbling tablets. He had been respected, accomplished—the opposite of who he was now.

Why would those memories come to him? Why could he remember excavating ancient tombs in a world without cultivation, yet fail at the most basic energy circulation in this one?

"Out of the way, trash!" A sharp voice interrupted his thoughts.

Lian Wei looked up to see Jin Cao, one of the green-robed inner disciples, striding toward him with his usual entourage. The son of an elder, Jin Cao had been born with exceptional talent and never let anyone forget it.

Lian Wei immediately stepped aside, keeping his eyes lowered. Experience had taught him that engaging with Jin Cao only ever ended one way—painfully.

"I said move, not stand there like a statue!" Jin Cao snarled, deliberately bumping Lian Wei's shoulder as he passed, sending him stumbling backward.

Lian Wei caught himself but lost his grip on the rake. It clattered to the stone pathway—a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the sudden silence.

Jin Cao stopped, turning slowly with a predatory smile. "Look at that. The failure can't even hold onto a simple tool." His companions snickered on cue.

"I apologize, Senior Brother," Lian Wei said automatically, bending to retrieve the rake.

A boot came down on the handle just as his fingers were about to close around it. "I heard Master Feng finally acknowledged your true worth yesterday," Jin Cao said, grinding his heel against the bamboo. "Toilet cleaning, wasn't it? A fitting career for someone with your... talents."

More laughter. Lian Wei remained crouched, hand still extended toward the rake, waiting for the humiliation to end. This was just another day, another reminder of his place. If he showed no reaction, they would eventually get bored and move on.

"What's this? The famous Jin Cao, harassing servants instead of preparing for the Azure Sky visitors?" a new voice called out. "How impressive."

Lian Wei glanced up to see Liu Mei standing with her arms crossed, her expression fearless despite the obvious danger of confronting an inner disciple.

Jin Cao's face darkened. "Mind your business, girl, unless you want to join your friend in latrine duty."

"Actually," Liu Mei continued as if she hadn't heard the threat, "I heard Master Shen was looking for you. Something about your performance in yesterday's technique demonstration being 'disappointingly sloppy.'" She smiled sweetly. "His words, not mine."

A flash of uncertainty crossed Jin Cao's face. Master Shen was not known for his patience, and being late when summoned was a serious offense, even for an elder's son.

"This isn't over," he growled, lifting his foot from the rake and gesturing for his followers to continue on.

Once they were gone, Liu Mei hurried over. "Are you alright?"

Lian Wei picked up the rake, checking it for damage. "You shouldn't have done that. He'll make you pay for it later."

"Let him try," she said with more bravado than was wise. "Besides, it was worth it to see the look on his face when I mentioned Master Shen."

"Was that true? About Master Shen looking for him?"

Liu Mei's grin turned mischievous. "Who knows? But Jin Cao will spend the next hour looking for Master Shen just to be sure."

Despite himself, Lian Wei laughed. It felt good—a rare moment of lightness in the grinding routine of sect life.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

"What are almost-friends for?" She glanced toward the main courtyard, where preparations for the Azure Sky delegation were underway. "I should get back to my assignment before someone notices I'm gone."

As she turned to leave, Lian Wei felt a sudden impulse. "Mei, do you ever... remember things that couldn't have happened to you?"

She paused, giving him a curious look. "What do you mean?"

"Never mind," he backpedaled quickly. "It's nothing."

"Wei, you're strange sometimes," she said, but her tone was affectionate rather than mocking. "Maybe that's why I like you. You're not like the others."

With that, she was gone, leaving Lian Wei to his raking and his thoughts. Different. Strange. Old eyes, as Old Man Zhu had put it. Perhaps there was something to these assessments. Perhaps his failure at cultivation wasn't the whole story.

For the first time in years, a small ember of hope flickered in his chest. Tonight, in the South Repository, perhaps he'd find more than just an old text. Perhaps he'd find answers.

Little did he know, he would find something far more valuable—and far more dangerous—than mere answers. He would find destiny.