The hidden valley had become Li Wei's sanctuary, but Elder Bai was not one to let complacency take root. One morning, as mist clung to the cliffs like ghostly fingers, the elder pointed toward a jagged ridge in the distance. "Today, you face the Whispering Cliffs," he said, his voice grave. "The winds there carry echoes of the past. If you listen closely, they will test your spirit as much as your strength."
Li Wei tightened the strap of his worn leather satchel and nodded. Xiao Mei, ever-curious, appeared beside him with a grin. "Don't worry, Li Wei! If you get lost, I'll follow your screams."
The climb was treacherous, the rocks slick with dew. As Li Wei ascended, the wind began to howl—but these were no ordinary gusts. Whispers slithered into his ears, fragmented and haunting:
"A soul bound by shadows…"
"…the phoenix rises anew…"
The voices were cryptic, their origins unclear. Xiao Mei, climbing behind him, frowned. "Do you hear that? It sounds like… poetry? Or a funeral chant?"
Li Wei clenched his jaw. The words resonated with something deep within him, but he shoved the feeling aside. "Just the wind playing tricks," he muttered.
At the summit, they found a narrow crevice leading into a cavern. Inside, the walls shimmered with ancient runes glowing faintly blue. Xiao Mei traced her fingers over the symbols, her playful demeanor fading. "These markings… they're older than the village. They speak of a 'Shadow Soul' and a cycle of rebirth. But it's vague—like a prophecy no one finished."
Li Wei said nothing. His eyes locked onto a corroded sword half-buried in the rubble. Its hilt was engraved with a phoenix, though time had worn away its details. When he touched it, a faint surge of energy prickled his fingertips—familiar, yet distant.
Xiao Mei whistled. "Looks like someone left a relic here. Probably cursed. You should take it—it matches your charming personality."
That night, Elder Bai examined the sword, his brow furrowed. "This blade is ancient, older than the Fallen Leaf Clan. The phoenix sigil… I've seen it in scrolls, but its meaning is lost." He turned to Li Wei. "Why did you bring this back?"
Li Wei shrugged, feigning indifference. "Xiao Mei thought it'd be funny to see me carry a rusty sword."
The elder's gaze lingered. "You've shown remarkable progress in your training—unnatural, even. As if you were… relearning rather than learning."
Li Wei's pulse quickened, but he forced a laugh. "Maybe I'm just talented, Elder."
Xiao Mei snorted. "Or maybe you're secretly a centuries-old grandpa in a teenager's body. That'd explain your terrible jokes."
As Li Wei practiced forms with the relic the next day, the blade felt lighter in his grip, as though it recognized him. For a fleeting moment, his movements mirrored those of a seasoned warrior—fluid, precise, deadly. Xiao Mei paused her mockery, her eyes narrowing. "Since when do you know how to sword-fight?"
Li Wei faltered, nearly dropping the blade. "I… don't. Must've seen it in a village play."
"Right," Xiao Mei drawled. "And I'm the Empress of Murim."
The Whispering Cliffs had stirred whispers of the past, but Li Wei buried them deep. To Xiao Mei and Elder Bai, he was still just a determined orphan with uncanny reflexes. Yet far beyond the valley, scouts of the Black Cloud Clan sharpened their blades, drawn not by legends, but by rumors of a relic's rediscovery—and the ordinary boy who carried it.