I. Anomaly from the Depths of U City
After escaping the ancient tomb, Lang Xiao, Little An, and Diep Yunshu found temporary refuge at the western edge of U City—a desolate zone of crumbled stone walls and moss-covered pillars. Time itself seemed to have forsaken this place. But now, the air grew unnaturally heavy, saturated with something unseen.
The Mist of Memory, once a spectral hallmark of U City, thickened. Yet this time, it no longer bore the serene hues of blue-gray, but instead began to burn crimson—like fresh blood diffusing through air. Each breath, each step felt like inhaling the rotting memories of thousands of forgotten souls.
At the very moment the sun began to set, a mild tremor rippled through the ground. It was short—like the final exhale of something buried beneath countless strata of stone. From deep below came a low, dragging rumble—not loud, but persistent—like the sighs of restless echoes that never found peace.
Lang Xiao stood still, eyes following the rhythmic pulses rolling out from beneath his feet. Before him, space itself seemed to crack open—a faint rift where even light dared not enter.
Diep Yunshu flipped a page in her ancient tome, murmuring:
"The Ruined Underground Domain… sealing place of Forsaken Echoes, remnants of the Seven Gates of Forgotten Consciousness… If the gates are disturbed, the heavens and earth shall remember what was once meant to be forgotten."
Little An said nothing. She clutched the edge of Lang Xiao's robe, her wide eyes staring into the reddening fog as though watching a sunset set in reverse—igniting the sky with memories yet to be burned.
Far beneath them, one of the Seven Gates quivered faintly—the gate whose name had long been lost, now on the verge of opening once more.
II. The Gate to the Netherworld Cracks Open
The aftermath of Lang Xiao accepting the Silent Sutra of Thought (Vô Tự Niệm Kinh) did not stop at mere personal transformation. The remnant will of Daoist Gu Feng—who once clashed with one of the Seven Gates—had awakened something ancient: Gate Three, within the Seals of the Seven Gates of Forgotten Consciousness, now stirred.
No one knows what truly forms these Seven Gates. Each is believed to be a sealed memory, locking away fragmented souls cut from the cycle of reincarnation—Forsaken Echoes, creatures beyond the notions of good and evil.
As Gate Three cracked open, a deep red energy began seeping out. These were the Blood Echoes—viscous, tainted memory-flows that oozed through dead roots, seeped into ancient stones, and slowly spread through the outer perimeter of U City.
Blood Echoes had no fixed form. Like smoke, blood, or whispered voices without sound, they sought out dead bodies with lingering spiritual essence—or the living with weak thought-force. They pierced through minds, implanting memories not belonging to the host, forcing them to re-enact moments long past—before completely taking over.
In Khuo Ling, an ancient trade town bordering U City, the anomaly began to spread.
Civilians—already half-forgotten by history—suddenly froze in their tracks. Their eyes glazed over like mirrors dulled by time. One man chopped vegetables endlessly. A woman sat sobbing on her doorstep, calling the name of a son who had died a century ago.
Each person, each forgotten moment replayed, like film reels escaping the grip of reality.
Then came the Ancient Forsaken Echoes—souls denied reincarnation, clinging only to fading memories. They began to possess these bodies. Once-human forms now rose with twisted smiles and blood-glazed eyes, becoming Embodied Echoes—half-human, half-phantom shadows of grief.
They were not undead. Nor were they truly alive.
They remembered—but not their memories.
And that made them more dangerous than any creature to ever walk the earth.
Realizing the disturbance, Diep Yunshu quickly raised a basic protective barrier around their shelter. Lang Xiao—still not fully harmonized with his inheritance—felt waves of corrupted thought rising like a tide. Meanwhile, Little An began to hear whispers on the wind—a voice unfamiliar, yet somehow intimate:
"Return to me… your memory has not yet ended."
Lang Xiao could feel it: The Age of Thought was returning—not with light, but with blood.
III. The Slaughter Begins – The Righteous Tremble
By morning, the red mist hung like dried blood in the sky over U City. The chill no longer came from wind, but from the sensation of someone else's memory slithering along the spine—foreign spiritual fragments sniffing out the soul.
At the northern border post, disciples of Skywing Sect—a righteous sect tasked with patrolling the U Region—were investigating the recent tremors from the tomb. Their leader, senior disciple Ta Wu Rong, stood among four inner sect companions from the Ancient Pond Spirit Valley.
None expected that danger would not come from the outside—but from within.
As they approached the outskirts of Khuo Ling, the fourth disciple—Chu Qing, attuned to fluctuations of spiritual energy—suddenly turned and smiled strangely:
"Brother Wu Rong… do you remember the bamboo hill? The one where you pushed me down, thinking no one saw?"
His voice was warped, low and trembling, and his eyes were covered in red mist, pupils rippling like fire burning on water.
Before anyone could react, Chu Qing stabbed a dagger straight into the neck of the junior sister beside him. Blood sprayed—reeking of resentment and twisted thought.
He was no longer Chu Qing—but a Living Vessel of a Forsaken Echo, controlled by a memory foreign to his own body.
What followed was hell.
Those possessed knew no sides—friend or foe, righteous or evil.
They re-enacted past behaviors, even uttered secrets that only the dead should know.
The Skywing Sect—proud bastion of virtue—fell into chaos, betrayed by brothers now puppets of ancient ghosts.
Not far away, Lang Xiao, Diep Yunshu, and Little An sensed the chaos.
The trio rushed to the scene, finding three out of five disciples already possessed. The fourth, heavily injured, stared blankly as if forced to relive memories that weren't his.
Diep Yunshu cast a stabilizing array, locking the maddened thoughts in place. Lang Xiao drew his sword, while his other hand activated the Silent Sutra, syncing with the incoming thought-waves like wolves circling prey.
Battle broke out—between reality and memory. The Embodied Echoes fought with no logic, no restraint. They were not afraid to die, not afraid to be wounded—only determined to recreate the memories of the souls they carried.
The turning point came from Little An.
As one Embodied Echo lunged forward—a hunched old woman, eyes sorrowful, repeating over and over:
"My child… where is he… give him back…"
Little An did not flinch. She stood her ground, opened her mind, and whispered in a voice only the dead could hear:
"Your child is gone… but your memory remains. Let me carry it… for you."
A soft light, like mist at dawn, shone from her forehead. It dissolved the blood-mist coiling around the old woman. The Echo paused… then dissipated, like wind melting into fog.
Lang Xiao and Diep Yunshu stood stunned.
Not just because of the miracle—but because something within Little An had awakened. A resonance beyond normal sense. She wasn't just human—she was a bridge between memory and the present.
The first battle ended—in blood and sorrow.
But this was merely the beginning. The great wave of Forsaken Thought was only just beginning to rise.
IV. Omen of Catastrophe
As night fell over U City, darkness no longer meant the absence of light—but the suffocation of memory—soaked in curses never spoken aloud.
In the deepest crevice of the underground realm, where the living were never meant to tread, a primordial fissure began to open. No sound, no wind—only threads of blackened thought slithered out like trembling souls.
Then, etched in blood older than time, an inscription emerged:
"The Fourth Gate – The Gate of Annihilated Thought – is about to awaken."
Far away, in the Desolate Soul Wastes, Ma Yi stood atop a crumbling stone spire, body wrapped in fragments of memories not his own.
He opened his eyes.
A single, delicate ripple reached his spirit—like a hair falling on still water.
Ma Yi smiled faintly.
"Those children… have touched fate once more. Good… Let them go deeper. Let them see that their choices… are flames that will consume them."
His gaze turned toward U City—but passed beyond time—piercing toward a memory locked for tens of thousands of years.
At that same moment, in the Holy Land of Lingtai, the righteous factions held an emergency White Spirit Conclave.
Nine great sects—Skywing Sect, Temple of the Moon, Gate of Eternal Life, and others—gathered around a stone table of sacred jade. Behind them, the Heavenly Web of Silent Thought trembled faintly.
An elder struck the table, voice heavy like a funeral bell:
"U Domain is no longer fully sealed. Blood has spilled. Thought has risen. We must seal it again—before the Fourth Gate opens."
But not all agreed.
A silver-haired Daoist sneered:
"We sealed it thrice—and each time it failed. Perhaps… let Thought awaken. Let it choose its successor—as fate always intended."
Debate erupted.
The righteous path, once the keeper of balance, fractured in a single night.
Meanwhile, in a quiet hut at the edge of U City, Lang Xiao lay sleeping, sweat chilling his brow.
A dream… or a memory not of this life?
He stood before a great black gate, surrounded by weeping voices and cries of thousands of souls. The gate bore four spiral rings—three already unlocked. The fourth cracked slowly, and from it spilled condensed thought, thick as blood.
He tried to look away—but his right hand raised on its own.
From the wrist down, his arm began turning black. Crimson lines pulsed beneath his skin—like veins from an ancient life.
Then a voice echoed from within his bones:
"Your memories are not complete… but I have waited for you… a long time."
Lang Xiao jolted awake.
Moonlight streamed through the slats, casting a shadow of his arm on the wall—a black shape… no longer human.