Chapter 4:
"All things lost return in time — not to the place they left, but to the one who remembers."
The air in the hidden chamber was still, thick with the scent of damp wood and faint incense. Lu Mao sat cross-legged on the worn floor, his eyes closed, yet he felt the world around him more clearly than anyone awake. Each breath drew in strands of qi, thin and twisting like smoke in the morning sun, weaving them through his limbs and chest. The Primordial Qi Tempering Mantra pulsed quietly in his blood, guiding every thought, every movement, even when his body remained still.
He could feel the warmth gather at his dantian, slow and patient, like a seed preparing to break open. His mind reached outward, sensing the faint hums of the world beyond the walls, the distant stirrings of the city, the first faint notes of morning bells echoing through Azure Sky City.
Then it happened.
The air shifted. The hum beneath his skin rose and stretched, and the walls, the floor, the very air seemed to dissolve. Lu Mao's consciousness was pulled inward, not falling, not flying, but folding into itself, drawn down into the infinite expanse of his inner world.
He had been here before, countless times, yet every visit was new. His inner world stretched vast and alien—a plane of swirling darkness lit by a colossal golden-black vein at its center. It pulsed with life, thick as a mountain, and yet more fluid than any river. Around it orbited ninety-nine vaults, each sealed tight, each etched with runes that shifted faintly as if alive.
Lu Mao's fingers itched to reach out, to touch one of them, to feel the weight behind the seal. Every vault radiated an almost unbearable calm, as though the world itself waited in quiet patience for him to understand it. He had counted them hundreds of times. Ninety-nine. Always ninety-nine. Never one more, never one less.
The vein itself throbbed like a heartbeat, and Lu Mao felt a pull from deep within it—a beckoning he could not resist. It was a presence older than his father, older than the tales of the Immortal Emperor, older than the memory of the heavens themselves.
He reached forward, trembling, brushing his palm against the surface of a vault. The runes shimmered, whispering in a language he could not yet understand, a vibration that tickled his mind and sent shivers through his blood. For a moment, he felt something stir behind the seal, a power both terrifying and familiar.
And then the pulse broke.
The inner world quivered violently, and Lu Mao was flung back, tumbling through the void, his vision fracturing into shards of gold and black before he was pulled abruptly into the real world. He gasped, knees trembling, chest heaving. The candles in the room flickered violently, casting strange shadows across the walls. The familiar air of the chamber smelled sharper now, filled with the faint coppery tang of energy left behind by his cultivation.
He wiped sweat from his brow, drawing ragged breaths. Even after years of practice, even after countless sessions, the vein, the vaults, the pull within him always left him feeling small—yet strangely alive.
A faint rustle behind him drew his attention. The doorway slid open slowly, revealing a familiar figure standing in the half-light. Jin Wu. His father.
Lu Mao's heart clenched at the sight, though he did not rise. Jin Wu's face, partially hidden by his hood, bore the faint traces of years and smoke and uncountable journeys. His eyes, though, remained sharp, steady, and strangely gentle.
"You felt it again, didn't you?" Jin Wu's voice was calm, almost too calm, but Lu Mao could hear the undercurrent—the hint of pride and worry intertwined.
Lu Mao nodded, still trying to steady his breath. "The vaults… they moved this time."
Jin Wu's gaze softened slightly. He stepped fully into the chamber, hands folded behind his back. "It means you're ready," he said, quiet as a whisper. "Not for everything… but for what comes next."
Lu Mao swallowed, his pulse quickening. "Father… the entrance trial?"
Jin Wu's eyes flicked briefly to the floor, then back up at him. "Yes. You know why it matters." His voice held weight, deeper than words alone could carry. "The Golden Sparrow Guild is not just a collection of thieves and shadows. It's… the thread that connects everything beneath these skies. The people, the secrets, the crimes, the power—they all flow through it. And through it, you will see the world as it truly is."
Lu Mao's hands clenched into fists at his knees. "I understand, Father… I've trained, I've waited. I won't fail."
Jin Wu's lips curved faintly, a shadow of a smile. "I know you won't." He paused, and for a long moment, there was silence between them. A silence that carried years—forty, sixty, perhaps more—that Lu Mao could feel pressing down like a storm waiting to break.
Finally, Jin Wu sighed. Hesitantly, almost unwillingly, he spoke: "Son…"
The word hit Lu Mao like a blow, reverberating through him in a way it never had before. He had always called him Father. Always. That simple, certain title had been the only anchor in a life where Jin Wu appeared and vanished like smoke. But now… Son. A single word, hesitant, human.
Lu Mao's throat tightened, but he did not speak. He could see the weight of years, of absence, of hidden worry in his father's eyes.
"I have to give you something," Jin Wu said, producing two small objects from inside his cloak. One he held carefully in his palm, the other pinched between his fingers. "Something… from your mother."
The first was a round orb, small enough to hold in one hand, carved from dark, dense wood. Veins coiled around it in intricate spirals, each twisting line seeming almost alive. "This… I cannot fully understand," Jin Wu admitted, turning the orb in his hand as if it held its own gravity. "It's a treasure older than you, older than the guild. When I first found it… I found you in it. It recognized me. When you were carried out, it became this." He tapped the wooden surface lightly. "It appears to be ordinary, but it is not. Someday, perhaps… you will understand its truth."
The second item was delicate—a crimson hair clip, Chinese in style, studded with tiny jewels that glimmered faintly even in the dim light. Lu Mao's fingers itched as he saw it. He recognized it immediately, though he would never admit it. He had clutched it long ago as a baby, pressed against his chest when Jin Wu first found him. For years, it had been nothing more than a memory buried in his subconscious.
Now, held in his father's hand, it carried weight. Memories he could not name flickered behind his eyes—the warmth of a mother he never truly remembered, the comfort of being held, the faint echo of voices long gone.
Lu Mao's chest tightened. He reached out and took both treasures, holding them against himself as if holding onto life itself. His fingers brushed the smooth wooden orb and the cold, jewel-studded pin, and for a brief moment, a tear ran down his cheek. Not for loss he could name, not for sorrow he could explain—but for memory itself, for a past he had never truly lived but somehow felt deep in his blood.
Jin Wu watched silently, waiting, letting him have this moment.
After a long pause, he straightened and spoke again. "You will need them… perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but one day they will matter. The world you step into is dangerous, and you must carry both caution and courage."
Lu Mao nodded, words failing him. The room was heavy with unsaid things, the quiet weight of their shared history, the inevitability of his father's next disappearance.
"You… may not see me for a while," Jin Wu admitted finally, voice barely audible. "The guild, the guild's paths… they move in ways even I cannot control. But I will watch you, from afar if necessary."
Lu Mao's heart ached. He had always known this—his father was a shadow, a fleeting figure, appearing only long enough to teach, to guide, to ensure he was still breathing. But something in the way Jin Wu spoke now hinted at a longer absence than usual. He swallowed the lump in his throat, gripping the orb and the clip tighter.
"I will be ready," he said quietly, more to himself than to Jin Wu. "I'll… make you proud."
Jin Wu's hooded eyes softened. He raised a hand, brushing it over Lu Mao's head in a rare gesture of intimacy. "I already am," he said. Then, almost imperceptibly, he turned and vanished into the morning light, blending into the mist of the city as though he had never been there.
Lu Mao remained kneeling, clutching the two treasures. His chest heaved, tears slipping freely now, hot against the cool morning air. He thought of nothing and everything—the trials, the guild, the shard of the Eternal Dao, the Nightmares that would soon stir, and the legends of the Immortal Emperor. And yet, beneath it all, he held these small, human relics close to his heart, a tether to love, to family, to something real in a world of shadows and storms.
The day awaited outside. Somewhere beyond the city gates, the Golden Sparrow Guild prepared its entrance trial. Somewhere above, the heavens still threatened to split with the Divine Thunder Convergence. Somewhere hidden in the abyss, the Nightmares stirred.
But for now, Lu Mao simply breathed.
He placed the orb gently into his palm, letting it rest there, warm against his skin. The crimson hair clip was pressed to his chest, over the heart that had felt so many absences. And he remembered, faintly, unknowingly, a memory that was not fully his own—a mother's glance, a father's shadow, a world waiting for him to rise.
He rose slowly, the weight of destiny settling on his shoulders. The city outside smelled of rain, iron, and smoke. The streets were waking. Every shadow could hide a friend, an enemy, or a monster beyond imagining. But Lu Mao felt ready.
The orb and the clip were in his hands, and for the first time, he understood that even lost things could return—not to their place, but to the one who remembered.
And he would remember.
Stepping out into the dawn, into the streets alive with possibility and danger, Lu Mao's eyes were sharp, his heart steady, and his resolve unyielding. This was only the beginning.
The path to the Golden Sparrow Guild, to the Shard of Eternal Dao, to immortality itself, awaited.
And so did the shadows.