“This Demon Spirit Land,” Wang Lin mused, his voice barely above a whisper, “is rumored to be the remains of an Immortal Emperor’s abode. Could all that we see be a construct of his design?” He fell silent, gazing around the platform, then abandoned the fruitless speculation. Instead, he sought solace and understanding within his own being.

The Cycle of Life and Death was already etched deep within his soul before he even set foot in this place. Now, he surrendered his mind to its embrace, imagining his left hand as the cradle of birth, his right the chill of mortality, with the unyielding River of Ages flowing between them.

Though lost in contemplation, Wang Lin did not relinquish his vigilance entirely. A sliver of his awareness remained tethered to the world around him, a watchful guardian against any treachery from Yao Xixue. He knew her to be cunning, and he would not underestimate her.

Wang Lin’s schemes were layered and subtle, and he knew that Yao Xixue would suspect his caution. This was not yet the time to strike.

As he delved deeper into his meditation, the faint image of the Scroll of Life and Death began to coalesce within him. With each breath, with each flicker of understanding, he drifted further into a state of profound emptiness, and the world around him sharpened into crystalline clarity within his mind.

Then, a subtle shift. He sensed a mysterious power descending from the heavens, coalescing upon the platform.

Unseen, unheard, this power gathered, swirling around Yao Xixue, an ethereal vortex about her form.

Wang Lin’s attention snapped back, focusing upon this strange energy. He watched as the power, like a serpent charmed, swiftly converged upon the space between Yao Xixue’s brows.

In that instant, a golden light blazed forth from her third eye, holding for three breaths before fading into nothingness. Yao Xixue opened her eyes.

Within their depths, golden runes flickered, composed of three distinct strokes. Though intricate, their pattern was discernable.

The runes imbued Yao Xixue’s gaze with an alien power. When her eyes met Wang Lin’s, a jolt of raw energy coursed through him, like lightning through his soul, like the crash of thunder in his ears. For a fleeting moment, he felt the same crushing power he had once felt in the presence of Tuosen! In that instant, it seemed that Yao Xixue was no longer the Nascent Soul cultivator he knew, but had transformed into an unreachable Immortal Sovereign.

The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave crashing against the shores of his mind. Even Tian Yunzi had never stirred such a reaction within him.

Wang Lin’s spirit reeled, but his Dao heart held firm. He recognized the illusion. The terrifying aura did not emanate from Yao Xixue herself, but from the golden runes burning within her eyes!

He drew a deep breath, forcefully quelling the turmoil within him. He remembered that her eyes had been clear moments before. The runes, and the power they wielded, must be connected to the silent descent of that mysterious force.

Yao Xixue held his gaze for only a moment before closing her eyes once more, resuming her meditation.

Wang Lin plunged back into the depths of the Cycle of Life and Death. Memories flashed before his eyes. He grasped the essence of mortality and birth, unrolled the Scroll of Life and Death, and etched its power deeper into his soul. All these moments flowed through his mind.

He knew not how much time had passed when the mysterious power reappeared upon the platform!

Yao Xixue’s eyes snapped open, the golden light within them sharp and piercing. She stared into the void, her expression impassive.

The power materialized in an instant, swirling around Wang Lin, a silent tempest.

At that moment, Wang Lin’s mind entered a realm both strange and bewildering, a dream-like place where countless figures flickered and danced before his eyes.

He could not discern them, yet he felt as though he understood them all.

This conflicting sensation was profoundly unsettling.

A whisper, neither male nor female, drifted to his ears, a murmur that seemed to tell of ancient secrets. When he strained to listen, the sound dissolved into silence.

This sensation lingered, stretching into an eternity where time lost all meaning.

The whispers grew louder, the figures before him slowly coalescing into recognizable forms.

Just as clarity threatened to dawn, the visions shattered, dissolving into nothingness like illusions in a mirror. In that fleeting moment, Wang Lin seized his chance, focusing his will, and channeling the last vestige of his Slaughter Life Imprint in between his brows, and forced it to… form ears.

“I am Qing Shuang,” a voice echoed within his mind, clear and distinct, before fading into the void along with everything else.

Wang Lin had timed his action perfectly. Had he activated the Life Imprint sooner, he would have heard nothing. Only in the instant of dissolution, when truth hung suspended between revelation and oblivion, could he pierce the veil.

He had chosen to listen, not to see, for sound, he believed, conveyed more unadulterated truth than sight, which was too easily swayed by preconceptions.

As the vision vanished, Wang Lin awoke from his trance, his eyes snapping open. Golden light blazed within their depths.

It lasted six breaths before fading, revealing golden runes, this time composed of six intricate strokes.

Yao Xixue’s face hardened. That Wang Lin had gained a six-stroke golden rune was something she had not forseen. Inside, she let out a cold snort.

The instant Wang Lin’s eyes met hers, he realized that the crushing aura of superiority was gone. He felt a new sense of detachment, a feeling he could not quite describe, like gazing down from a great height.

Wang Lin’s gaze clearly unsettled her. She looked away, her voice sharp. “Now that you have earned the Golden Rune, you are worthy to tread the Dragon Road. Let us go.” She stepped forward, planting her foot upon the Dragon’s back, and moved swiftly onward.
Even she, the Lady Yao, remained unaware of the subtle dimming within her gilded eyes. The golden sigil there, upon meeting the gaze of Wang Lin, seemed to lose its luster, as a firefly pales before the radiant moon. Though both shed light, their comparison offered only shadow.

Wang Lin raised a hand before his face. Upon his palm, as his gaze fell, a distinct rune was projected, faint but undeniable.

“What sorcery is this golden rune?” Wang Lin pondered, his mind a churning sea. He stepped forward, onto the Dragon’s Spine Path, and slowly began his traverse.

Beneath this spine lay an endless abyss of starlight, a gulf of unfathomable depth. To fall would be to face an unknown fate, yet the mere suggestion within one’s soul was enough to chill the blood.

The Dragon’s Spine swayed gently from side to side. A mortal standing here would be driven to madness with fear, but to cultivators, this sway was as inconsequential as a breeze.

The two moved with great speed, one before the other, along the path, ever onward into the distance.

The path appeared endless. For three days they journeyed, without a moment’s respite, yet still it stretched before them.

Yao Xixue bore her weariness with a serene face. She had trod this path many times and knew this was but a third of their passage.

Days hence, a vast platform materialized before them, and upon this platform stood a sentinel!

A stone effigy, thrice the height of a man, stood at the platform’s center. Its form was humanoid, yet its ears and arms were grotesquely large.

Upon the Dragon’s Spine, Yao Xixue halted. Turning to Wang Lin, who stood a short distance behind, she spoke:

“Here lies the first seal! You and I shall break them in turn. I shall undo the first; the second falls to you!”

“Agreed,” Wang Lin replied, his voice calm and even.

Yao Xixue wasted no further words. She leaped forth, moving as swift as lightning onto the platform. As she landed, a golden light erupted from her eyes, carrying with it the gilded rune. The sigil’s power washed over the stone sentinel.

The statue shuddered, and a cloud of white mist rose from its form. Then, with a chilling suddenness, its eyes snapped open, revealing a merciless light. It lifted a foot and took a step, and the entire platform trembled with a deafening boom.

A palpable aura of death and malice emanated from the statue with each earth-shaking stride.

Yao Xixue, still airborne, faced the golem with practiced ease. She reached into her storage bag and retrieved a jade talisman, its color a deep crimson. It was unlike any ordinary ward.

“Seal!” she commanded, and with the utterance of the word, she hurled the talisman forward. In mid-air, it shattered with a “bang,” releasing a torrent of blood-red light that enveloped the stone sentinel.

Beneath the bloody shroud, the statue appeared draped in a crimson robe, imprisoned within a powerful enchantment. It struggled, yet could not breach the seal.

Yao Xixue, lithe and graceful, landed softly upon the platform. Glancing back at Wang Lin, she turned and walked toward the platform’s edge. There, another Dragon’s Spine Path beckoned.

Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed. The statue’s power was akin to that of a nascent soul cultivator, even though it lacked their agility. Yet its every step held tremendous force, and were it to unleash its true power, it would be a formidable foe.

But Yao Xixue had imprisoned it with such effortless grace. This display gave Wang Lin a newfound understanding of the woman.

“That crimson talisman… surely it was crafted by her father, the Blood Ancestor. Such power could come from no other,” Wang Lin mused inwardly. His face betrayed nothing of his thoughts. He leaped onto the platform, and as he passed the blood-robed sentinel, he caught a glimpse of a golden flash within the statue’s depths.

Wang Lin showed no outward reaction, and continued towards the Dragon’s Spine Path on the other side of the platform. As he stepped onto the path once more, he cast a casual glance backward. In that instant, the Brand of Life upon his brow focused its essence into his eyes. He saw through the bloody shroud, revealing a single, stark rune upon the statue!

It was but a single stroke, yet its meaning was clear.