It did not take long for the Liu clan to congregate and come to a general consensus: that in order to seal the agreement between themselves and the spirit within the mountain, they would erect an idol.

This idol would not merely be a trinket kept inside a small temple; the design portrayed the idol to be a large altar carved from scented ebony wood and embellished with precious stones. Building altars like this was considered a good omen, an act of reverence that affirmed harmony between mortal hands and the unseen.

After all, they were only temporary settlers in this plane, guests upon a land that had been occupied by celestial beings. Mei Yu was responsible for taking the measurements and accounting for all the inventory used during the arduous process of refining and sculpting, while Jia Lin would provide the workforce needed to carry out the monumental project.

Ning Xue would ensure the general populace remained compliant and lend assistance where required as it would not be out of the question to encounter difficulty later on regarding morale, tithe, or fatigue.

Resource allocation began immediately. Numerous craftsmen were summoned to the main hall and given instruction by Mei Yu personally, while a regiment of healthy laborers was enlisted and assigned to posts by Jia Lin.

Ning Xue stood beside Li Wei with a faint smile.

"Everyone is beginning to work in concert. This can be considered a pleasant development, which I hope continues." Li Wei gave a quiet laugh. "When you bring people together for a common good, the results will always be pleasing."

But though his words were light hearted, his eyes remained fixed on the summit. The clouds there coiled tighter than before, each ring luminous with slow, as if the heavens themselves watched the altar's conception with reserved expectation.

By noon the clang of saws and the rhythm of chisels filled the valley. The scent of resin drifted thick through the air as lumber from the lower groves was shaped into beams. Ebony wood was a rare and precious commodity, grown only in the shaded ravines where the leyline's warmth bled faintly to the surface.

The first felled trunk was carried uphill under chanting breath.

Li Wei walked beside the logging band, his palm occasionally brushing the rough bark. Each slight contact caused a thrum beneath the surface, the echo of the mountain's own pulse.

He felt no obvious resistance, only vigilance. The land was watching its guests build. At the construction ground, Mei Yu moved among the workers, her scrolls unrolled across a stone table.

Rulers and ink-stained strings marked precise geometries that mirrored ethereal diagrams. Every measurement was revised several times, each segment aligned to a star or ley point. "The altar's foundation must rest upon these convergences," she explained, showing Li Wei a sketch.

"Here, here, and here is were the ley current flows like a tri-spiral. If we follow this path, the altar will not disrupt the current but coincide with it." Li Wei nodded. "This symmetry may be what it requires to function properly, not just as a place where memory may dwell without distortion."

Mei Yu's quill hesitated above the parchment. "And if we err?"

"Then the foreseeable future may be rather bleek," he said simply.

Days passed slowly, marked by the echo of labor and the hum of ritual prayer. The foundations began to take shape like the circular dais hewn from grey slate and inlaid with veins of copper that shimmered whenever sunlight struck.

Jia Lin's smiths forged intricate bolts and fittings, every strike timed to a fault not missing a single beat. It was said that at her command the sparks danced higher and burned longer, as if refusing to die before her task was done.

As nightfall ensued, the settlement glowed with the orange haze of forges and oil lamps. From the ridges, the valley resembled a constellation fallen to earth. Yet not all signs were comforting.

Twice, during the second week of construction, tremors rolled through the slopes. Though they were brief but deep, like a sigh escaping from within the mountain's chest. The workers froze each time, eyes darting to the peak.

Li Wei reassured them calmly. "A mountain draws breath like us. It will not affect our work in the long run.." But in private, he felt the unease. The leyline had grown restless, its rhythm faster than before.

When he meditated, he sometimes heard faint murmurs between the pulses, their words a mixture of sorrow and entreaty. On the eighth night he returned alone to the fissure's entrance, torch in hand. The air within shimmered faintly blue, and from its depths came that same soft vibration.

It was the whispering of what he now knew to be remnants of spirits long buried within the mountain's soul. "You have called us," he said quietly into the dark. "You called for a display of our piety. Is something"

The flame flickered, bending inward though no wind stirred. Then came a single phrase, low and resonant, What is built without providence is hollow.

He stood there a long while, the words heavy upon him, until the torch burned low. When he returned to the settlement, dawn was already silvering the sky.

The altar's midsection required the clan's most delicate hands. Ebony beams were joined using pegs of spirit-oak soaked in sanctified oil, a process demanding calm minds and synchronized breath.

Jia Lin supervised the structure's rise with relentless focus. Her voice carried over the hammering: commands clipped, precise, never harsh.

"Shift your stance. Align your breath before the next strike!"

Each worker responded instinctively. The pattern of their labor became a kind of chant, a ritual in motion.

From a distance, Ning Xue watched with the priests of her hall, scattering powdered incense along the perimeters. "The spirits of the grove will not be offended," she said to Li Wei. "They sense that each cut was made with purpose, not greed."

"Diligence is a sharp blade," Li Wei replied. "It can carve harmony or division."

That evening, as twilight settled, a strange phenomenon occurred. The half-built altar began to emit faint tones—soft, harmonic vibrations rising from the wood itself. The sound resembled the singing bowls used in meditation, though deeper, almost mournful.

The workers halted in awe. Mei Yu recorded the resonance frequency on her scroll, brow furrowed. "It sings," she whispered. "But why sorrow?"

Li Wei listened intently. The notes formed a pattern he recognized, it was the same message. It echoed the phrase from the fissure. What is built without providence is hollow.

"The mountain teaches balance," he said at last. "Perhaps it demands that we honor what was lost before we raise what is new."

On the next morning, Ning Xue proposed a ceremony of remembrance. "If we are to build an altar of piety," she told the clan, "then let its first offering be grief itself."

At dusk, the people gathered upon the slate foundation. Each brought a token of loss—a stone from a collapsed home, a fragment of weapon broken in defense, a torn prayer ribbon from ancestors. The items were placed in a shallow pit at the center, and Ning Xue kindled a slow, blue flame.

The smoke rose, curling downward before dispersing, a sign that the mountain accepted their mourning. Li Wei stood beside her, his face calm yet inwardly stirred. He felt the leyline's pulse soften, its cadence aligning once more with his breath.

When the flame dimmed, the air smelled of sandalwood and rain. A faint warmth rippled beneath their feet, and the ebony beams around them gleamed with a sheen not wrought by oil or polish but by blessing.

"The altar breathes," Mei Yu murmured, astonished.

"No," Li Wei corrected softly. "It remembers."

By the third month, the altar neared completion. The dais stood twelve men high, its edges carved with scripts that Mei Yu deciphered only partially—ancient sigils of unity and restraint. At the summit rested a basin of polished stone meant to hold sacred water drawn from the mountain's heart.

As the final carvings were made, Li Wei felt drawn to the peak. Alone he climbed the winding stair that now encircled the altar. The air thinned; silence grew immense.

When he reached the top, he placed his hand upon the central basin. The stone was cold at first, then warmed beneath his touch, until the surface rippled like water though it held no liquid. Within the rippling depth appeared a reflection—not of his face, but of countless faces overlapping: warriors, priests, wanderers. Generations who had once sought the mountain's favor.

Their voices spoke as one:

Do you build to be remembered, or to remember?

Li Wei closed his eyes. "To remember," he answered.

The reflections faded, replaced by the faint outline of that same kneeling figure from his earlier vision robed in light, hands resting upon the bleeding stone. But this time the figure lifted its head. Its eyes were voids filled with dawn.

Then remember well.

A shock of qi surged through him, enough to make the basin flare with pale fire. Down below, the workers cried out as the entire altar blazed for an instant like a lantern of heaven. Yet no harm came—only a strange peace, as though the mountain itself exhaled.

That night, a gentle rain fell. It was the first in many days. It carried the scent of dew and fresh soil. The drops hissed softly as they touched the altar's surface, sinking without leaving mark, absorbed as offerings.

Under the eaves, Mei Yu approached Li Wei. "It seems the mountain has accepted our work."

"Acceptance is not the same as completion," he said. "But the path opens." Jia Lin joined them, her arms still dusted with soot. "The people sleep easier tonight. Even the children say the wind hums instead of moans."

Ning Xue smiled faintly. "Harmony is fragile, but tonight it breathes."

Li Wei looked toward the summit where clouds parted to reveal the faint shimmer of stars. "The mountain teaches patience. What it asks next will test us more deeply than craft or faith."

"What do you mean?" Mei Yu asked.

He turned from the sky to the valley below, where the altars' reflection shimmered in the rainwater pools like an open eye. "The altar is not an end," he said. "It is a door to the outside world."

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