Chapter 2
The Melody of Memory -Years Later
Scene 1: The Rooftop and the Wind
Morning light spilled across the emerald ridges of the southern peaks, chasing away the last of the dawn mist.
In the valley below, the sleepy village of Baizhu, nestled between towering pines and terraced fields, began to stir.
Smoke curled lazily from clay chimneys, roosters crowed, and temple bells echoed faintly through the hills.
High above, darting through the trees, a figure moved like a shadow—graceful, fast, untamed.
Lin Ye leapt effortlessly from branch to branch, his movements light and unhurried—the kind shaped by youth and freedom.
His dark hair was tied in a loose topknot with a red thread, half of it falling over one shoulder.
His robes were plain and patched, yet he moved with the elegance of a dancer in the wind.
A crooked bamboo flute hung at his belt, bouncing with each leap.
He laughed softly as a fox darted through the undergrowth below.
"You're slow today," he called down with a teasing grin, crouching on a moss-covered branch.
"Even for a spirit beast."
The fox blinked up at him, its fur shimmering with a faint blue glow—then vanished like mist.
Below, an older man with a stern brow and graying sideburns stepped into the courtyard.
"Lin Ye!" His voice rang out clear.
"Time to prepare for the sect trials. Don't be late again this year."
It was Lin Qingshan—his uncle.
His back remained straight despite years spent far from the heart of the cultivation world.
His tone, as always, was firm, though an undercurrent of concern threaded beneath it.
Lin Ye hung upside down from the branch, grinning wide.
"I wasn't late last year. I just arrived… after it ended."
He dropped to the ground with catlike grace, landing softly in the tall grass.
"Besides, they should be grateful. I spared them all from defeat."
His uncle gave him a look—half warning, half weary relief.
"If you spent half as much time training as you do chasing foxes and teasing spirits—"
"I was testing their reflexes," Lin Ye interrupted, raising his brows with mock innocence.
"That's cultivation training too, isn't it?"
He stretched lazily and brushed off his sleeves.
"Don't worry, Uncle Qingshan. This year, I'll actually show up."
Qingshan gave a short grunt.
"Let's hope that showing up includes more than just your shadow this time."
Still, a flicker of something—pride, or maybe worry—passed behind his eyes before he turned back toward the house.
But as Lin Ye turned his gaze to the distant ridges—where clouds gathered like silent watchers—his playful tone faded.
Something stirred beyond the mountains.
Something older than the trials, and far more compelling.
Part 2: The Melody of Memory
That evening, the stars blinked through the clear mountain sky.
Lanterns glowed faintly in the village below, but Lin Ye sat apart—alone on the rooftop of their modest home.
He rested his flute lightly in his lap.
His legs were folded loosely.
A cool wind stirred his hair.
Then, with a slow breath, he raised the flute.
The melody that followed was strange—half-wild, half-mournful.
The notes danced and spiraled, echoing through the trees like whispers of forgotten tales.
Villagers below paused their work.
Children looked toward the roof, listening with wide eyes.
Even the spirit fox curled on a nearby ledge, ears twitching.
Lin Ye played with eyes closed, but his mind was elsewhere—lost in a memory that made his chest tighten.
He was five again.
Smoke. Screams.
His mother's bloodstained robes.
The talisman pressed to his heart, warm and steady despite the cold night air.
"Listen to the wind…"
A sharp breath broke the tune.
His hands trembled.
He opened his eyes.
From his sleeve, he pulled the old talisman—still faintly warm against his skin, even after all these years.
The symbol etched in gold still shimmered under moonlight.
He looked at it long.
"Someday," he whispered,
"I'll find out who took everything from us."
As he spoke, a single purple lotus petal drifted on the breeze, catching the moonlight.
He reached for it—but it danced just out of reach, carried off by the wind.