True to Elder Fei's warning, Blackwood Gorge was an unpleasant place. The trees here were ancient and gnarled, their branches interlocking overhead to create a perpetual twilight. A chilling mist clung to the ground, smelling of damp decay and something else, something faintly metallic and unsettling. The ambient Ki was thicker than in the surrounding forest, but it was also… discordant. Jangled. Like an orchestra where every instrument was playing a different, mournful tune.
"Charming," Sun muttered, pulling the lumpy blanket tighter around his shoulders. "Perfect spot for a picnic and a demonic summoning."
He wasn't here for the ambient Ki, though. He was hunting for those "Echoes," the distinct resonant signatures of the Unmaker's Shattered Will. His encounter with the Jade Serpent Sect had been a valuable, if irritating, lesson. His Echo Resonance Ki was potent, yes, but he had so little of it. He needed to cultivate, and fast. And this "haunted" gorge, with its "unusual Ki signature" that had spooked the Crimson Thunder elder, seemed like a promising, if creepy, place to start.
He moved slowly, not relying on sight in the dim light, but extending his senses, trying to feel for those specific vibrations. The "tuning fork" rock from the cavern was gone, left behind in his haste. Now, he had to learn to find the echoes himself, to identify objects or places that naturally resonated with the deep song.
Hours passed. The gorge twisted and turned, its rocky walls closing in, then opening into misty clearings. He found old, rusted weapons half-buried in the leaf litter – remnants of forgotten skirmishes. He found strange, pale fungi that pulsed with a weak, sickly light. But no distinct, useful Echoes.
Just as frustration began to set in again, he felt it. A subtle, rhythmic thrum, clearer and more defined than the chaotic ambient Ki. It was coming from deeper within the gorge, near a cliff face obscured by a particularly thick curtain of mist.
He pushed through, and the source became clear. Embedded in the rock wall, halfway up, was a massive, dark crystal, easily the size of a grown man's torso. It wasn't glowing like the "useless pebble," but it hummed with a powerful, low-frequency vibration that resonated deep in Sun's bones. The Ki around it was warped, as if the crystal was drawing it in and… altering it.
"Bingo," Sun breathed, a grin spreading across his face. "Now that's what I call a tuning fork."
Getting to it was another matter. The cliff face was sheer, slick with moisture. But the promise of a potent Echo Node was too strong to ignore. He began to climb, using his refined Ki to enhance his grip, to sense the minute imperfections in the rock that could serve as handholds and footholds. It was slow, dangerous work. One slip, and it would be a long, messy fall.
Finally, after what felt like an age, he reached the crystal. It pulsed with a raw, primal energy, the Song of Shattered Will strong and clear here. He pressed his palm against its cool, surprisingly smooth surface.
This time, when he began his Echo Resonance Cultivation, the effect was immediate and profound. The crystal acted as a powerful amplifier, its inherent structure perfectly aligned with the specific frequency of the Unmaker's Will that resonated here. The tiny sparks of refined Ki within him seemed to ignite, drawing in and transmuting his remaining unrefined essence at an astonishing rate.
It wasn't just about quantity, though. The quality of the resonance here was different. The "note" this crystal sang was deeper, imbued with echoes of resilience, of enduring against overwhelming odds. As he meditated, images, feelings, flooded his mind – not his own memories, but fragmented impressions carried on the wave of the Shattered Will: mountains being born, forests weathering millennia of storms, the stubborn persistence of life in the face of cosmic annihilation.
He was absorbing not just energy, but a sliver of the indomitable spirit embedded in this world's very foundation. His Ki became denser, imbued with a rugged, unyielding quality. This wasn't the flamboyant power of a god; this was the grim, stubborn strength of survival itself.
Hours bled into days. Sun stayed pressed against the crystal, lost in the depths of his cultivation, subsisting on his meager rations. He was filthy, gaunt, but his eyes, when he occasionally opened them, burned with a new intensity. He was forging himself anew, one resonant echo at a time.