Wang Lin’s eyes snapped open, a startling clarity within their depths. Though pain lingered, he possessed a newfound understanding, as if he had pierced the veil of earthly illusion. As he had once realized long ago, that which had scattered to the winds should be allowed to remain so.

He raised his right hand, and upon his palm danced a wisp of ethereal mist. This mist was the solidified essence of the verdant smoke that had invaded his being. His very soul resonated with the power of an ancient thunder dragon, a celestial force of nature. To shake its foundation, the myriad illusions of the Demonic Path were insufficient. Gazing at the swirling vapor, Wang Lin paused, then crushed it. “Your cultivation may have been forcibly elevated, but your understanding of essence lags far behind. The mortals have a saying, ‘pulling up seedlings to help them grow,’ and that perfectly describes your plight!”

At the instant of the mist’s destruction, a stifled cry echoed from the void. Then, the form of Liu Mei materialized in the distance, her face ashen. She glared at Wang Lin, her eyes burning with hatred, and hissed, “No surprise it’s you, Wang Lin! You possess a heart of true ruthlessness!”

“Ruthless is not I, but you!” Wang Lin’s gaze held no attempt to conceal his murderous intent. “I sought only the Dao, yet you violated my purity with a soul tainted by vile desires. How do you explain that transgression?!” Liu Mei’s voice cracked, discarding its earlier placid tone. The hatred in her eyes intensified. Wang Lin frowned, as this was a memory he wished to bury. His eyes grew cold as he spoke calmly, “You struck first. Furthermore, the infusion of that soul was a mere accident.”

“An accident…” Liu Mei began to laugh, the sound growing louder and more unhinged until it transformed into a torrent of venom. She could maintain the facade of the myriad illusions of the Demonic Path with anyone, save for the man before her. “You call it an accident, then I shall give you one in return!” A complex swirl of anguish flickered within the hatred in Liu Mei’s eyes as she reached toward her storage pouch.

Wang Lin’s brow furrowed. Behind him, the Immortal Guard puppet materialized and strode swiftly towards Liu Mei.

Liu Mei’s right hand emerged from the pouch, which had been opened. A plume of black mist spewed forth, carrying with it a wave of overwhelming resentment that threatened to engulf the very heavens.

The earth trembled beneath the weight of this rancor, and the sky darkened, as though cloaked in a shroud of ill-omen. A massive vortex formed slowly, its maw hungering for light. The thick miasma spread outward, transforming the surrounding ten leagues into a ghastly realm echoing with eerie, spectral cries. A piercing shriek erupted from the black mist. So swift was the dark projectile that even the sharpest divine sense could not fully track its movement. It surged past the Immortal Guard, heading directly for Wang Lin.

Wang Lin remained unmoved, his gaze fixed on the approaching darkness. As it drew near, he formed his fingers into a sword and thrust them forth. His fingertips cleaved the air, creating a gust of gale-force winds that dispersed the vapor, revealing a pair of black eyes within. The instant Wang Lin’s gaze locked onto those eyes, his body froze. They were turbid eyes, devoid of any life, yet filled with the burning embers of purest resentment.

In that instant, Wang Lin’s soul was shaken to its very core. An indescribable sense of familiarity washed over him, akin to being reunited with something long lost. It was as if a thousand thunderbolts detonated around him. Instinctively, he withdrew his hand and stumbled backward, his eyes fixed on the mist.

“This… this is…” A searing pain blossomed within his heart, spreading throughout his entire being. He stared at the mist, his eyes suddenly bloodshot. With a wave of his hand, the Immortal Guard puppet rushed back, forming a dark cage around the mist to contain it. “What is inside there?!” Wang Lin roared at Liu Mei, his face contorted with agony.

Liu Mei smiled, yet her eyes mirrored Wang Lin’s torment. Gazing at him, she said softly, “Do you not recognize it? Surely, with your cultivation, you would…”

“The mortals have a legend that when a person loses their children, the souls of those children do not simply vanish. They linger behind, following silently, watching, whispering unheard. Only at the moment of your death do you finally hear them, their voices finally reaching your ears. They were merely asking, ‘Father, why did you abandon me?'” Liu Mei’s voice held a touch of unsettling madness.

“I have cultivated this child within my body for a hundred years, finally forging him into a Resentful Infant. From the moment he became conscious, I constantly whispered to him that his father had abandoned him. His father’s name… is Wang Lin!”

“Wang Lin, you have ruined my Dao Heart, shattered my understanding, and stolen my purity. If all of that was an accident, then today, I shall repay you with a most singular treasure!”

Wang Lin fell silent. A silence profound and absolute, as if the very essence of his life was being drained away. He felt none of the joyous shock he experienced when Li Muwan’s revival had appeared to be at hand, nor the roaring of the thunderbolts when the hope of Li Muwan’s revival had been within reach. This was not the unbridled fury he had felt when confronting Teng Huayuan, nor the focused intensity he had felt when facing great peril. This time, it was merely silence. It was a silence so complete that it was terrifying.

As if time itself had stopped, Heaven and earth were frozen into stillness, the whole of creation subject to some unearthly paralysis. Wang Lin stared at the mist, his gaze piercing the shadows that surrounded it. Within the mist, he saw a small figure. The suffocating aura of resentment could not mask the child from his sight. “Thank you…” Wang Lin whispered after an age. Liu Mei flinched, her eyes narrowed. “Wang Lin, have you no shame?”

Wang Lin did not so much as glance at Liu Mei. He simply stared at the figure within the mist, whispering, “You may have transformed him into a Resentful Infant, but I can restore him. Even if it takes a thousand years… even if it takes ten thousand. Thank you for bringing him back to me…”

This was far beyond Liu Mei’s expectations. She laughed coldly, “He cannot be restored. To ensure that he became a true Resentful Infant, I…”

Before Liu Mei could finish, Wang Lin whispered, “If I say that he can be, then he will be.” His gaze lifted from the mist, settling upon Liu Mei. The calmness in his eyes shattered, replaced with a torrent of unimaginable rage. Never had he felt such overwhelming murderous intent towards anyone, save for Teng Huayuan! “I was wrong about you.”
A chill, not of ice, but of the grave, emanated from Wang Lin’s voice, plunging the surrounding air into a semblance of winter. He stepped forward, extending a thumb, and with a whispered incantation, the Finger of the Yellow Springs manifested.

The heavens themselves shuddered, unleashing a thunderous crack. The Yellow Springs, now reborn as countless spectral dragons, coalesced upon Wang Lin’s thumb. The Finger, forged from the very essence of Dao and the Yellow Springs, burst forth like a bolt of lightning, aimed directly at Liu Mei.

Liu Mei recoiled, her hand darting to her storage pouch. She drew forth a colossal, ancient mirror, a gift from the progenitor of the Illusion Clan – a Lesser Immortal Treasure!

The mirror stood as a bulwark. The Finger of the Yellow Springs slammed into its surface, unleashing a deafening clang that echoed through the void. Even as the sound reverberated, Wang Lin advanced, summoning the Seven Star Sword Formation, a swirling constellation of blades that encircled Liu Mei. With a low growl, Wang Lin commanded, and the seven streams of sword qi hurtled inward, a cage of lethal intent.

“A false Latter-Stage Ascendant Soul, possessing the power of immortals, yet lacking the essence! In my eyes, you are less than even a true Middle-Stage Ascendant Soul cultivator!” Wang Lin declared, his voice devoid of emotion. His right hand conjured the Finger of Extinction, unleashing it in concert with the Seven Star Sword Formation, pressing Liu Mei from all sides.

The blades danced perilously close. Liu Mei’s face contorted in panic. In this moment of dire need, she bit her tongue, spitting forth a mouthful of blood. From her lips flew a peculiar object – a needle of darkest ebony.

The needle darted and weaved, tracing a path around Liu Mei’s form with incredible speed. The Seven Star Sword Formation faltered, its blades impeded. Even the winds of the Finger of Extinction were pierced and deflected by the strange, dark instrument. “The Fourth Spirit!” Wang Lin hissed, his eyes flashing with a cold light. He raised his hand once more, pointing with a touch as light as a feather. “Bind!”

The dark needle shuddered, its movements arrested. As it struggled against the unseen force, Wang Lin lunged forward, appearing directly before Liu Mei. He slammed his right hand into her brow with a brutal, merciless strike.

Liu Mei screamed in agony. A cloud of noxious black vapor erupted from her forehead. She staggered backward, her eyes wide with terror. How could this Wang Lin, merely a nascent Ascendant Soul, wield such astonishing powers and treasures? “You think to flee?” Wang Lin roared, taking another stride. He formed a sword with his fingers, splitting a shard of thunderous divine power from his very soul and condensing it at his fingertip. With this strike, he would end the life of this venomous woman.

The specter of death descended upon Liu Mei, chilling her to the very core. Her face was ashen. Wang Lin’s previous strike had already wounded her soul. Were it not for the sheer volume of immortal power coursing through her veins, that single touch would have surely been her end. “Li-er!” Liu Mei shrieked, her voice ragged.

Wang Lin’s brow furrowed. The black mist that had shielded the Immortal Guards roiled violently, emanating a cacophony of agonizing cries. The sounds clawed at his heart, tearing at his spirit like a thousand razors.

A flicker of sorrow danced in Wang Lin’s eyes, but his resolve remained unyielding. He unleashed his fingertip, the force of a thunderclap behind it, plunging toward Liu Mei with lethal speed.

In this desperate hour, as despair etched itself upon Liu Mei’s face, a swirling vortex of pure blackness materialized before her, an abyss filled with the churning shadows of nightmares. A withered, ancient hand emerged from within the vortex, casually swatting at Wang Lin’s outstretched fingers.

A deafening “BOOM” echoed, and Wang Lin was hurled backward like a falling star, his face deathly pale. He coughed a mouthful of blood, but a look of absolute, icy fury burned in his eyes. “Hm, not dead?” A creaking, aged voice emanated from the vortex. The hand seized Liu Mei by the arm, dragging her back into the swirling darkness. “You save her, and the Illusion Clan will face annihilation!” Wang Lin’s voice was a frigid gale, rasping between clenched teeth. He glared at the ancient hand. It was clear that none other than the Illusion Clan’s progenitor could save Liu Mei now.

As he spoke, Wang Lin charged forward, channeling the sword qi of the Ling Tian Hou into his right hand. Without hesitation, he unleashed a lightning-fast strike, sending the blade of pure energy hurtling toward the vortex.

“Insolent whelp! Even with a Yin-Yang Void-Reality puppet, you are no match for this old one. I sense your connection with Huan Mei. This old one cares not for your petty squabbles, but if you persist, I will show you no mercy!” The ancient voice boomed from the vortex. With a final tug, he dragged Liu Mei completely into the swirling void.

But the sword qi of the Ling Tian Hou was already upon them, plunging into the vortex, aimed directly at the Illusion Clan progenitor on the other side.