The token was a symphony of purple, yet within its depths, a thread of gold danced, weaving a tapestry of amethyst and aurum. To the touch, it possessed a most curious texture, neither wood nor metal, yet bearing hints of both.

The cosmos was vast, its secrets untold, and Wang Lin did not dwell on the token’s composition. Instead, he focused on its surface, where fragments of forgotten runes lay scattered. After a moment of contemplation, he cast his spirit within, only to find his face etched with an odd wonder.

…A Storage…

The token harbored a unique space, veiled in violet mists, yet undeniably a vessel for holding objects. Within its ethereal confines lay a single treasure: a sword, not of the celestial realm, but one of the Twelve Swords of the Zodiac.

A flicker of understanding crossed Wang Lin’s mind. This blade must have belonged to the Da Luo Sword Sect disciple, trapped within the mists, whose sacrificial token he now held. By some unknown means, the sword had been absorbed into the token’s inner sanctum.

With a thought, the sword materialized from the token, plunging into the earth beside him.

Wang Lin meticulously probed the token’s inner space, then withdrew his spirit, his gaze fixed upon the object with a contemplative air.

“Save for its peculiar composition, it holds no remarkable qualities,” he mused. “Were I not witness to its creation from the mists, I would scarcely believe this object was coveted by the likes of Tian Yunzi, Ling Tianhou, and the Blood Ancestor!”

This token, he knew, was key to unlocking the dwelling. Only by activating all four illusory claws could one open the gate to the final sanctuary. Yao Xixue had claimed that Tian Yunzi and the others were ignorant of this fourth illusory abode… but the Blood Ancestor, it seemed, possessed this knowledge.

“Chen Long and the Greedy Wolf know that I possess the token. However, Chen Long did not see its entirety. Were I him, I would surely believe the Greedy Wolf to have seized it.”

A strange light flickered in Wang Lin’s eyes. He cast another glance at the token before unhesitatingly swallowing it, enveloping it within his nascent soul, where it was concealed by the shroud of lightning, rendering it undetectable.

Drawing a deep breath, Wang Lin retracted his luminescence, his gaze falling upon the inky void beyond the fissure, his face etched with bitterness.

“Even with the token in hand, what good is it, trapped here with no escape? Teleportation is futile, as even the cunning Greedy Wolf dared not attempt it, suggesting a hidden peril. I wonder, though, if I can access my own dwelling from within this place.” Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed, and with a flick of his wrist, a crystal appeared in his hand.

After a long silence, Wang Lin sighed, retracting the crystal, a wry smile gracing his lips. “It cannot be opened!”

He pondered for a moment, surveying his surroundings. The fissure was small, barely a few dozen feet across, revealing all its secrets at a glance. Presently, he rose and approached the fissure’s edge. The constant pull of the void was palpable, threatening to draw him in.

Wang Lin retreated, his eyes flashing with thought.

“How fare the mosquito beasts? And what of Zhou Yi, after his battle with the Greedy Wolf? Even if he prevailed, he likely knows not of my predicament. Even his keen sword sense could not penetrate so deep.”

He lifted his gaze to the rocky ceiling above, and with a fluid motion, attempted to burrow within. But as his body touched the stone, he recoiled, pausing in deep thought. Wang Lin landed, summoning his Soul Banner. From its depths, he drew forth a single soul and cast it into the rock, watching intently.

The soul, as thin as a wisp of smoke, entered the stone, but instantly, a shriek pierced Wang Lin’s mind. Within the rock, the soul was torn asunder, rent into countless fragments and violently sucked downward.

“…A death trap!” Wang Lin’s bitterness deepened.

He sighed, settling to the ground, his face clouded. After a moment, Wang Lin summoned from his storage pouch three precious swords, a severed arm, and a head.

The three swords were all Zodiac Swords; combined with the one he’d found within the token, these were the Serpent, Horse, Rooster, and Dog Swords.

Of the Twelve Zodiac Swords, Wang Lin now possessed seven!

The Three Talents Sword Formation emerged from Wang Lin’s storage pouch, landing beside him. With a gesture, he summoned the seven swords, which encircled him. He expelled a stream of nascent soul essence, enveloping the blades.

Within the essence, a bolt of lightning crackled, far stronger than before, touching the swords and instantly tracing them with currents of pure energy. The seven blades became linked by threads of electricity, forming a strange and powerful sword array.

“Seven swords can form the Seven Stars Sword Formation! And with my lightning interlaced, its power is thrice enhanced!” Wang Lin retracted his gaze, channeling his soul essence to refine the swords. He then turned his attention to the severed arm and head.

Both contained the trapped nascent souls of their former owners, and within them, Ling Tianhou’s sword intent still lingered.

Wang Lin was no stranger to refining and extracting energy. With two streams of his nascent soul essence, he drew forth Ling Tianhou’s sword intent and devoured it. In the past, consuming Ling Tianhou’s sword intent had caused a twinge of pain within his nascent soul, requiring a period of careful nurturing to recover.

But now… upon swallowing both streams of sword intent, his nascent soul felt not discomfort, but a sensation of profound comfort!

Inspecting himself and finding no anomalies, Wang Lin chuckled wryly. “Can this even be called a nascent soul anymore?” He again reached into his storage pouch, pulling out a sphere etched with countless seals.

The sphere swelled as it landed, growing to half a dozen feet in diameter, its surface shimmering with arcane light. With a hand seal and a pointed finger, Wang Lin activated the sphere.

It split open like a blossoming flower, revealing a handsome man within.

This was none other than the Crimson-Eyed Du Jian. His eyes were closed, his face pale and bloodless. As the seals were broken, he opened his eyes, staring blankly at Wang Lin. After a long moment, his empty pupils slowly regained their light.

But with a brief inspection, he realized that his nascent soul was sealed. He was, for all intents and purposes, a mortal man.
“Senior Apprentice Du,” Wang Lin intoned, his voice as placid as a still lake, “the secret of Shi Lan… now, you may speak.”

Bitterness twisted Du Jian’s face. He gazed at Wang Lin, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in his eyes. After a long moment of tortured silence, he rasped, “Even if I speak, I fear death will still claim me.”

Wang Lin’s gaze swept over Du Jian, a flicker of lightning, almost imperceptible, danced within his pupils. It struck Du Jian, sending a tremor through his very soul. The man staggered back, pointing a trembling finger. “You… your eyes…”

Wang Lin cut him off, his voice laced with steel, “Senior Apprentice Du, my patience wanes.”

But Du Jian seemed deaf to his words, his eyes wide with terror. He was still reeling from the glimpse he’d caught in Wang Lin’s gaze. In his life, Du Jian had encountered many cultivators, even those of immense power and skill.

He had seen cultivators with lightning crackling in their eyes, signs of their cultivated inner power. But this was always a manufactured lightning, born from their own magic, a pale imitation of the raw power that cleaved the heavens.

The lightning that flashed within Wang Lin’s eyes, however fleeting, had transported him in that instant. He felt as if he stood beneath the vast dome of the sky, staring up as lightning shattered the darkness, a puny mortal facing the unbridled fury of the storm.

Wang Lin’s brow furrowed. He abandoned any pretense of parley. With a gesture, his hand shot out, seizing Du Jian in a vise-like grip. He dragged the struggling man towards the gaping maw of the dimensional rift. As they neared the edge, Du Jian felt the immense pull, a force that threatened to rip his very spirit from his flesh. He cried out in horror.

“Speak!” Wang Lin commanded, the single word a blade of ice.

Du Jian’s face bleached white as the chill touch of death enveloped him. Wang Lin, his expression unreadable, held the man suspended over the abyss, inching him closer still.

In that instant, Du Jian felt the force from the rift magnify tenfold. His nascent soul, the very core of his being, was being ripped from its mortal shell. It writhed and strained, but was powerless against the relentless pull.

“I will speak! I will speak!” Du Jian screamed, his body trembling violently.

Wang Lin released his grip, casting Du Jian aside like a discarded doll. His cold gaze remained fixed upon him.

Du Jian stumbled, his spirit slowly returning to his body. Fear, raw and primal, shone in his eyes. “I will tell you everything I know. But you must swear, you must promise, that you will not kill me!”

Wang Lin’s voice was devoid of emotion. “I can spare your life. You… you may yet serve a purpose.”

Du Jian drew a ragged breath, casting a haunted glance at Wang Lin. “You must swear upon your Dao!”

Wang Lin’s brow darkened. He fixed Du Jian with a glacial stare, and slowly raised his hand, as if to hurl him into the ravenous maw of the rift.

Du Jian flinched, his voice rising in desperation. “I saw the Master devour Sun Yun!”

Wang Lin’s eyes flared, his gaze burning into Du Jian’s soul, but he remained silent.

“I did not see it with my own eyes. It was… it was gleaned from the memory of a spirit beast. After entering the Heavenly Fate Sect, my cultivation allowed me to absorb spiritual energy from certain beasts. In the back mountains, I stumbled upon a mountain spirit, its life force almost spent. As I drained its energy, I inadvertently drew forth fragments of its memories.”

“Within those memories, long ago, was an image: our Master consuming Sun Yun, whole!”

Wang Lin’s heart pounded in his chest.

“According to the mountain spirit, Sun Yun and the Master engaged in a fierce battle. But in the end, the Master used some secret art, swallowing him whole, before departing.” Du Jian blurted out. It was a secret he had guarded jealously for years, ever since witnessing it through the memories of the spirit. The image had shaken him to his core, filling him with a mixture of awe and terror towards Tian Yunzi. It was the first time he had ever dared to speak of it.

“What was the Master’s expression?” Wang Lin demanded.

“He seemed… regretful. Yes, I think it was regret.” Du Jian paused, searching his memory. Then, as if struck by a revelation, he added, “But the Master appeared strange in the spirit’s memory, and the master always dress like a fairy with white robe. But in memory, The Master was wearing gray clothes that I have never seen!”

Wang Lin’s eyes blazed with a sudden, intense light. He leaned forward, each word a carefully placed stone, “Are you certain? Gray clothes, you say?”

Du Jian nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, it was gray.”