Hours turned into days, and days blurred seamlessly into weeks.

On Harmony Heaven Peak, time moved differently—marked not by sunrise and sunset, but by the ebb and flow of spiritual resonance that pulsed through the mountain's heart. For most disciples, the first few weeks were an uphill battle of adaptation—learning to breathe, meditate, and think under the unrelenting pressure of the mountain's qi.

But for Tian Lei, the mountain's rhythm had already become a part of his own heartbeat.

He spent his mornings absorbing Elder Huyan's lectures in the Grand Formation Plaza, where vast arrays unfolded in the sky like living diagrams. The afternoons were reserved for private comprehension—hours upon hours of silent refinement within his chamber, where he disassembled every rune, every node, every theoretical structure the sect provided.

By the end of the first month, his walls were etched with hundreds of runic sketches, each suspended midair in soft blue light—like constellations orbiting a silent moon.

He wasn't just studying formations.He was listening to them.

One quiet night, while most disciples were resting, Tian Lei sat in his chamber surrounded by drifting jade slips. His eyes were half-lidded, his breathing steady. Threads of light coiled around his fingers as he practiced forming the Heaven's Meridian Array—a classic Tier II structure designed to refine qi circulation.

It was then that the floor beneath him trembled—faintly, but with purpose.

His eyes opened immediately. The runes carved beneath his platform glowed faint gold, forming a circular pattern that hadn't been visible before.

Tian Lei frowned. "Again…"

He extended his spiritual sense—and felt something stir beneath the chamber, deep within the stone foundation. A pulse, rhythmic and deliberate, resonating with the same subtle pattern he'd felt that first day.

But this time, it wasn't just a whisper. It was a call.

He stood, activating his defensive seals. "Show me what you are," he muttered, pressing his palm against the formation lines.

The golden glow brightened instantly. Energy surged through the room, flickering the lights as if reality itself was momentarily uncertain. Then, with a soft hum, an image appeared in the air above the floor—a projection of the mountain's structure, made of pure energy.

At its base glowed thirteen circles, though only seven shone brightly. The rest were dark, sealed, their light long extinguished.

Tian Lei's pulse quickened. "Thirteen halls…" he whispered. "So the old record wasn't just myth."

One of the dim circles flickered faintly—as if sensing him.

And then came the voice.

"You heard my echo once," it said, ancient and melodic. "Now, you stand above my resting seal. The mountain remembers the hand that shaped it."

Tian Lei's jaw tightened. "You again. The so-called Keeper of the Thirteenth Hall?"

A soft laugh, weary and fading, drifted through the air. "Keeper… yes. Once, that was my name. But names dissolve with time. What remains is purpose. And you, inheritor, have begun to awaken it."

The projection shifted—the glowing map zoomed inward, revealing a spiraling chamber buried deep beneath the Third Hall. Within it lay a massive circular rune, fractured into three segments. Only one segment glowed faintly—the same hue as the jade pendant Tian Lei carried.

"The First Seal," the voice intoned, "guards the Core of Harmonious Echoes. It listens to the resonance of Heaven's Laws. When the three seals awaken in unison, the Thirteenth Hall shall rise once more."

Tian Lei's eyes flickered with calculation. "And you expect me to unseal it?"

"I expect nothing," the ancient presence replied softly. "The seals awaken only for one who walks the path of Symphonic Balance. But beware, young one… to break them before your soul is tempered is to invite ruin. Harmony demands equilibrium. Disturb it, and you will shatter."

The light dimmed, the projection fading like mist.

Tian Lei stood in silence for a long moment. Then he reached into his robes and pulled out the jade pendant—the third piece the elder had mentioned before disappearing.

It glowed faintly in response to the vanishing projection, as if confirming the connection.

He smirked. "Symphonic Balance… Three seals… A forgotten hall beneath a mountain that breathes." He closed his hand around the pendant. "Looks like I won't be bored for the next five years."

The following morning, the mountain came alive once more with the sound of bells. Elder Huyan stood before the disciples, his aura sharp as lightning.

"Today," he announced, "marks the beginning of your true cultivation. You've studied, observed, and theorized. But now—you will act."

With a flick of his sleeve, countless formation plates descended from the air, each etched with unique, incomplete runic arrays.

"Your task," Huyan said, "is to complete these fragments. Every missing rune corresponds to a principle you must understand, not copy. I want comprehension, not mimicry."

The disciples nodded, some excited, others anxious.

Tian Lei accepted his plate quietly, scanning the runes. His gaze lingered on a particular segment—a tri-spiral pattern that pulsed faintly gold. His lips curved ever so slightly.

It was the same structure he'd seen beneath his chamber.

As the morning light crept across the peak, the disciples began their work. Spiritual energy flared, quills of light danced through the air, and countless runes were born in that moment of creative struggle.

But Tian Lei worked differently. His movements were slow, deliberate. Each rune he drew shimmered, adjusted, and sang—not merely carved by hand, but woven into harmony with the flow of the surrounding qi.

When he finished, the plate did not just glow—it resonated. A soft hum, deep and pure, echoed across the plaza.

Every disciple turned toward him, their expressions caught between awe and disbelief. Even Elder Huyan raised an eyebrow, a hint of intrigue glinting in his eyes.

"The Tri-Rune Spiral…" the elder murmured. "You completed it?"

Tian Lei stood, bowing slightly. "It completed itself, Elder. I merely followed its rhythm."

For a long moment, silence reigned. Then Elder Huyan laughed quietly, his tone both approving and wary. "Following the heavens' rhythm, are you? Good, after all we formation masters learned our art from the naturally formed formations present in world."

But beneath his amusement, Tian Lei sensed something else—a flicker of recognition.

As if the elder, too, had once heard the song beneath the mountain.

And deep below them, far beyond mortal sight, the First Seal pulsed once—its ancient melody softly stirring, waiting for the right note to be played.

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