The early morning mist blanketed the sect in white silk.
Disciples moved like shadows through the fog, their footsteps muffled, their breaths small clouds. It was the first morning in weeks that didn't begin with screaming, explosions, or weather-based divine trauma.
Jin Nian was suspicious.
He sat cross-legged beneath the old bell tower with a steaming cup of sweet tea, glaring at the tranquility like it had personally insulted him.
"Something's wrong," he muttered.
Bai Duyi walked by with a stack of scrolls. "You say that every time things are calm."
"That's because I'm always right."
The bell above them hadn't rung in years. Not since the sect was rebuilt from a half-collapsed shed and a single goat. And yet, the air around it shimmered faintly.
A wind blew.
The bell swayed.
And then it rang.
---
The sound wasn't loud. It wasn't even fully formed—more like a hum of metal remembering what it used to be.
But every disciple stopped.
The fog thinned.
The air turned heavy.
Wu Ling ran toward the tower. Zhang Mubo tripped over his own talismans getting there. Even Lan Xue paused mid-meditation, her head tilting as if she'd heard an old voice calling her name.
Jin Nian stood up.
"The bell is part of the Guardian system," Wu Ling whispered. "It activates when... someone ancient stirs."
"Something's coming," Jin Nian muttered. "Or something's waking."
Zhang Mubo pulled a dusty tome from his sleeve. "It's the Bone Memory Bell! It responds to remnants buried beneath the sect. Graves that don't belong to any living record."
"Forgotten graves," Jin Nian whispered.
The ground beneath the bell pulsed once. Then again.
A hand burst from the soil.
---
It wasn't a corpse. Not exactly.
A skeletal arm, wrapped in chains of red spirit silk, reached toward the sky.
The disciples froze. Lan Xue stepped forward instinctively, water swirling around her feet.
Jin Nian raised his palm. "Wait."
The air vibrated.
Then a voice, dry as dust but ringing like bronze, echoed:
"Return... the debt... owed..."
Wu Ling's eyes widened. "A Guardian echo… but not attached to any disciple."
Zhang Mubo flipped pages furiously. "This... this could be one of the 'Debt-Bound Guardians.' They weren't unfinished souls—they were trapped here. Cursed. Waiting for someone to carry their grudge."
The skeleton moved. Slowly. Deliberately.
Jin Nian stepped into the circle.
"I am Sect Master Jin Nian. This is sacred ground. State your name, or be silenced."
The skeleton's empty sockets glowed faintly.
"Name... forgotten. But oath remains."
With a flick of its finger, the chains around its bones glowed.
A vision blasted across the minds of everyone present.
---
A battlefield.
The sect—long before it was called anything—burned with green flame. Men and women fought beasts not of this world, and standing at their head was a swordsman with hair like molten silver. He laughed as he bled, swinging a bell-shaped blade.
He struck down a thousand demons—and then his allies betrayed him.
Bound. Buried. Forgotten.
His name was erased. But his weapon remained.
---
The vision ended. The skeleton was kneeling now.
Jin Nian approached, heart pounding.
"You were betrayed. Your bones chained to this land. And your name—lost."
The skeleton's head rose. "I seek... redemption. Or ruin. Through... disciple."
Jin Nian turned to the others. "He needs an anchor."
Zhang Mubo looked uncertain. "But his memories are fragmented. He might possess the disciple completely if the bond is too deep."
Wu Ling crossed her arms. "Then we need someone with clarity. Someone emotionally stable."
Everyone looked at Lan Xue.
She blinked. "...No."
Jin Nian sighed. "Then I guess it's me."
---
The bond was temporary. Enough to stabilize the Guardian. Enough to listen.
The chains melted into Jin Nian's arms like ink.
His back arched. His breath left him. He saw pieces—not whole visions, but fragments:
A child holding a bell sword.
A brother lost to corruption.
A war that never made the scrolls.
He gasped and fell to his knees.
The skeleton collapsed beside him, sighing.
Not in pain.
But relief.
---
They buried the remains properly this time. Beneath the bell tower. With offerings. With respect.
And as the last stone was placed, the bell rang again—this time, clear. Whole.
Lan Xue touched the stone, her eyes misting. "He was like me," she said. "He tried to protect something. And failed."
"But now he can rest," Wu Ling said.
Jin Nian looked up at the bell.
"Maybe one day," he whispered, "someone will dig me up and do the same."
Zhang Mubo gave him a look. "You say that like you don't plan to live forever."
"I plan to nap forever."
---
That night, the bell rang once more.
And somewhere in the spirit realm, a name reappeared on an ancient roll:
Wei Zhong – Bell of Ten Thousand Vows.
And beneath it: Disciple: Pending.
---
Reader Question:
If you were bound to a place by betrayal, what would your last wish be—for revenge, or for remembrance?