The South Repository

…

Night settled over the Falling Leaf Sect like a heavy cloak. Lian Wei worked by lantern light, finishing the last of his evening chores in the main courtyard. The Azure Sky delegation had departed hours ago, leaving behind banquet debris and trampled practice grounds that the gray-robed disciples were expected to restore to pristine condition.

His muscles ached from the day's labor, but his mind remained sharp, focused on the meeting that awaited him. Old Man Zhu had been specific—come to the South Repository after evening duties. What could the elderly archivist possibly want to show him? And why the secrecy?

The last of the other gray-robed disciples trudged toward the servants' quarters, too exhausted to even speak. Lian Wei pretended to follow, then quietly slipped away when they rounded a corner, doubling back toward the archive complex.

The Falling Leaf Sect's archives were housed in four buildings arranged according to cardinal directions. The Main Archive in the center contained the sect's most treasured scrolls and cultivation manuals. The East Repository held historical records, while the West housed philosophical and theoretical texts. The North Repository contained maps and geographical information about the Shattered Realms.

But the South Repository... that was where damaged, incomplete, or deemed "irrelevant" texts were stored. Few disciples or even masters ever visited it.

As Lian Wei approached the small, neglected building, he noticed something odd—there were no guards posted at its entrance. The other repositories always had at least one disciple standing watch, but the South Repository stood unprotected, as if its contents were considered worthless.

The wooden door creaked as he pushed it open. Inside, darkness reigned, broken only by a faint light emanating from deeper within the dusty hall.

"Master Archivist?" Lian Wei called softly, closing the door behind him.

"Back here, boy," came the familiar crackling voice. "Third row, near the end."

Lian Wei followed the sound, making his way between shelves that sagged under the weight of disintegrating scrolls and moth-eaten books. The air smelled of mildew and abandonment.

He found Old Man Zhu seated at a small table, a single oil lamp casting long shadows across his wizened face. Before him lay an open wooden box containing what appeared to be broken fragments of stone tablets.

"You came," the old man said, sounding pleased but not surprised. "Sit."

Lian Wei lowered himself onto the rickety stool opposite the archivist. "What are these?" he asked, eyeing the stone fragments with professional interest that felt both natural and foreign—another echo from his previous life.

"Pieces of our ignorance," Old Man Zhu replied cryptically. He nudged the box toward Lian Wei. "Touch them."

Hesitantly, Lian Wei reached out and picked up one of the fragments. It was surprisingly warm to the touch, as if it had been sitting in sunlight rather than this damp, cold repository. The surface bore partial characters—not the standard script used in the sect's manuals, but something older, more complex.

"Can you read it?" the old man asked, watching him intently.

Lian Wei opened his mouth to say no, but stopped. There was something familiar about these markings. Not from this life, but from...

"Proto-Sinaitic," he muttered, then blinked in confusion. The word had formed on his tongue without conscious thought.

"What was that?" Old Man Zhu leaned forward, eyes suddenly sharp.

"I... I don't know," Lian Wei admitted, staring at the fragment in bewilderment. "It just came to me."

The old archivist's expression shifted from curiosity to satisfaction. "I knew it," he whispered. "You're the one."

"The one what?" Lian Wei asked, suddenly uncomfortable under the old man's intense scrutiny.

Instead of answering, Old Man Zhu reached into his robes and withdrew another stone fragment, larger than those in the box. "Tell me what you see."

This piece was different—darker stone, with clearer markings. As Lian Wei took it, a jolt ran through his fingers, up his arm, and straight to his core. He nearly dropped it in shock.

The characters on the stone seemed to shimmer, rearranging themselves before his eyes into a pattern that somehow made perfect sense.

"It's... a cultivation technique," he said slowly, astonished at his own certainty. "But not like any I've seen in the sect manuals. This shows energy flowing through meridians we don't even use in our Foundation Establishment methods."

Old Man Zhu's eyes widened. "Remarkable. Truly remarkable." He gestured to the stone. "Keep looking. What else do you see?"

Lian Wei concentrated on the fragment, allowing his mind to drift into that strange space where memories from another life seemed to merge with his current knowledge.

"It's incomplete," he continued. "This is just part of a larger technique. It shows how to circulate energy through the lower dantian in a spiral pattern, but it's missing the connection points to the middle dantian."

The words felt foreign in his mouth, yet he knew they were correct. How could he possibly understand this? He had failed at even the most basic cultivation exercises for three years.

"Young Wei," Old Man Zhu said quietly, "do you know what the Great Fracturing truly was?"

The abrupt change of subject startled Lian Wei. "The cataclysm that shattered the unified lands three thousand years ago? Every child knows that story."

"No," the old man shook his head emphatically. "That's the simplified tale we tell children. The truth is far more significant. The Great Fracturing didn't just shatter lands—it shattered knowledge itself."

Lian Wei set down the stone fragment, giving the archivist his full attention. There was something in the old man's voice—a fervor that seemed at odds with his usual calm demeanor.

"Before the Fracturing," Old Man Zhu continued, lowering his voice though they were alone, "cultivation was a unified practice. The ancients understood meridians and energy pathways we have long since forgotten. Their techniques were whole, complete. After the cataclysm, knowledge was scattered like these stone fragments." He gestured to the box between them. "What we practice today in the great sects are mere shadows—incomplete pieces that we've built entire systems around, never realizing what's missing."

"But why?" Lian Wei asked. "Why wouldn't the survivors have preserved the knowledge?"

"Some say it was deliberate," the old man whispered, eyes darting toward the door as if fearing eavesdroppers. "That the Fracturing itself was caused by a technique too powerful to exist. That those who survived chose to scatter the knowledge, to ensure such power could never be reassembled."

A chill ran down Lian Wei's spine. The idea resonated with something deep within him—the archaeologist he had once been, who understood how civilizations could fall, how knowledge could be lost to time.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, though part of him already suspected the answer.

Old Man Zhu smiled, the lamplight casting deep shadows in the wrinkles of his face. "Because you, my boy, see things differently. You look at these fragments and understand them in ways no one else can. I've watched you for three years—failing at cultivation exercises but speaking in your sleep about excavations and artifacts from another world entirely."

Lian Wei tensed. "You... heard me talking in my sleep?"

"The servants' quarters are not as private as you might think," the old man said with a dismissive wave. "At first, I thought you were simply dreaming, but then I noticed how you looked at the archive scrolls—not with the reverence of a disciple, but with the critical eye of a scholar."

Lian Wei's heart pounded. He had been so careful to hide his occasional memories, to pretend that he was just like any other disciple. Yet this old man had seen through him.

"What do you want from me?" he asked cautiously.

"Not what I want," Old Man Zhu corrected. "What you need." He pushed the box of fragments toward Lian Wei. "These belonged to a technique called the 'Spiral Meridian Cultivation Method.' It was considered lost after the Great Fracturing. I've spent sixty years collecting these pieces, but I cannot make sense of them." His eyes gleamed with purpose. "You can."

Lian Wei stared at the fragments, feeling both drawn to them and afraid of what they represented. "Even if I could somehow understand these, what good would it do? I can't cultivate. Master Feng has made that abundantly clear."

"Can't cultivate with the techniques they teach," the old man corrected. "But perhaps..." He gestured to the box. "Take them. Study them in private. See if you can piece them together."

"That would be stealing sect property," Lian Wei protested.

Old Man Zhu laughed, a dry sound like autumn leaves rustling. "Property they've deemed worthless and left to rot in this forgotten corner? No one will miss them. Besides," his expression turned serious, "I believe they were meant for you."

Before Lian Wei could respond, a sharp pain lanced through his head. The world tilted sideways as another episode struck him—stronger than any before.

*Professor, look at these markings. I think they're some kind of instruction manual...*

The voice from his other life echoed in his mind, accompanied by flashes of stone tablets spread across a metal table, illuminated by harsh electric lights.

"Wei? Are you alright?" Old Man Zhu's concerned voice seemed to come from very far away.

Lian Wei gripped the edge of the table, fighting to stay present. "I'm fine," he gasped. "Just tired."

As the episode subsided, he noticed something had changed. The stone fragment in front of him—the one he had identified as part of a cultivation technique—was glowing faintly with a blue light that only he seemed able to see.

*Fragment identified. Partial reconstruction possible. Additional components required for full technique restoration.*

The voice wasn't a memory. It was inside his head, mechanical yet somehow alive, speaking directly to his consciousness.

"What..." he whispered, staring at the glowing stone.

*Archaeon Archive activated. Subject compatibility confirmed. Initiating interface protocols.*

Suddenly, Lian Wei's vision filled with translucent blue symbols—diagrams, characters, and flowing lines that overlaid his perception of the room. The stone fragment on the table was highlighted, connected by ghostly lines to an empty space where other pieces should fit.

"Wei?" Old Man Zhu was peering at him with concern. "You've gone pale. What's happening?"

Lian Wei couldn't answer. The Archaeon Archive—the same system that had spoken to him in that void between death and rebirth—was fully awakening inside his mind. Knowledge flooded through him—not complete, but fragmented hints of understanding about cultivation techniques, meridians, energy flows, archaeological methods for preserving and reconstructing ancient knowledge.

When he finally found his voice, it came out as a hoarse whisper: "I... I can see it."

"See what?" The old archivist leaned forward, his eyes intent.

"The connections," Lian Wei said, watching in wonder as the blue light emanating from the stone fragment pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. "Where the pieces should go. What's missing." He looked up at Old Man Zhu with new purpose. "I need to find the rest."

A slow smile spread across the old man's face. "Then our work begins."

Neither of them noticed the shadow that shifted near the repository entrance, nor heard the soft footsteps retreating into the night. Neither knew that their secret meeting had been observed, that the awakening of the Archaeon Archive had not gone undetected.

Destiny had arrived for Lian Wei—along with danger.

---

Jin Cao moved silently through the moonlit grounds of the Falling Leaf Sect, his mind racing with what he had witnessed. He had followed the failure disciple out of spite, hoping to catch him breaking curfew and earn him another beating from Master Feng. What he'd discovered instead was far more interesting.

Old Zhu, the seemingly harmless archivist, was up to something. Something involving ancient cultivation techniques and that worthless servant's son. Jin Cao hadn't been able to hear everything, but he'd seen enough—the strange stone fragments, the old man's fervent explanation, and most curiously, the moment when Lian Wei had gone rigid, staring at something only he could see.

The inner disciple smiled to himself as he approached the reception hall where his father, Elder Jin, was concluding discussions with the sect master. This information might prove valuable. His father had always said that knowledge was power, and power was the only currency that mattered in the cultivation world.

Let the failure play with his stone fragments, Jin Cao thought. Soon enough, he would discover what secret the old archivist and his pet project were hiding—and then he would take it for himself.

After all, that was how the strong survived in this world. By taking what they wanted from the weak.