A chilling echo reverberated through the air as the Divine Thunder, summoned within the monstrous Canine Cauldron, descended. But this was no ordinary lightning; tendrils of violet flame snaked through the crackling energy, transforming the cauldron’s interior into a raging inferno of mingled fire and lightning, its power magnified tenfold!

Wang Lin’s face was a mask of grim determination. His nascent soul’s inherent power was no match for his opponent, and the true force of the Severing Luo spell remained elusive. As the venerable ancestor of the Illusory Clan had once foretold, were Wang Lin to ascend to the Second Step, even the realm of Yin-Yang Illusion, the Severing Luo would unleash its devastating potential.

A glint of resolve flashed in his eyes as Wang Lin dismissed the mighty Daoyou. Gazing upon the Thunder Beast, crackling with incandescent energy, Wang Lin bit his fingertip. With his own blood, he etched a complex rune upon the air.

The symbol pulsed with an aura of ancient power, a testament to countless ages endured. The moment the rune materialized, the distant Thunder Beast shuddered. Its monstrous head swivelled, eyes locking onto Wang Lin.

“Third Seal, be undone!” With a sweeping gesture, Wang Lin unleashed the rune. It pierced through the swirling lightning, unerringly striking the Thunder Beast’s brow.

The creature convulsed, a look of agonizing pain contorting its bestial features. A deafening roar erupted from its throat as rows of razor-sharp spines erupted from its back. The monstrous barbs shimmered with an icy, malevolent light, crackling with concentrated lightning. A wave of overwhelming power surged within the cauldron.

This was no mere primal force, but a power that defied the very heavens themselves! If it could overturn the sky, what chance did mere elemental spells possess?

In an instant, the Thunder Beast’s size swelled, multiplying several times over. The silver sheen of its lightning turned to an abyssal black.

Black lightning, reeking of annihilation, burst forth from the Thunder Beast’s body. It roared again, its voice a guttural incantation in a forgotten tongue. At once, the Thunder Immortal Palace’s Thunder Beast, a mere shadow perched atop the cauldron, trembled uncontrollably. It materialized from the illusion, collapsing to the ground, unable to meet the gaze of its kin. Before, it had merely sensed the other’s superior power, a power its pride allowed it to challenge.

Now, a deep-seated fear gnawed at its soul. Its kin had transformed, becoming an echo of the ancient progenitors, an irresistible force!

Unleashed from its Third Seal, the Thunder Beast shimmered with a golden, incandescent light. In a heartbeat, the light reached its zenith, and pitch-black lightning spewed forth in an unending torrent, forming a swirling vortex of dark thunder that surged outwards with earth-shattering force.

The Immortal Guard, witnessing this cataclysm, radiated an intense golden light. Slowly, the light shifted, tinged with a crimson hue, until it burned with a bloody crimson. The power contained within its metallic fists swelled.

“BOOM!” The thunderous vortex howled, engulfing the entirety of the Celestial Cauldron. Cracks spider-webbed across its surface, spreading with terrifying speed.

“BOOM!” The Immortal Guard’s fist crashed down upon the cauldron with renewed fury, widening the fissures.

The colossal force reverberated through the very fabric of the world. Within, the Thunder Dao child poured his essence into the crumbling cauldron, heedless of the cost. This battle, more than any other since he became an envoy of the Thunder Immortal Palace, was a struggle for survival itself.

But the speed at which he fueled the cauldron paled in comparison to the unleashed power of the Third-Seal Thunder Beast and the unleashed fury of the Immortal Guard. At this critical juncture, Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed. This time, he did not summon his great sword. Instead, he raised his right hand, forming his fingers into a blade, and slashed downwards.

“Severing Luo!”

“BOOOOM!” A deafening roar, beyond all description, shook the heavens and the earth. In that instant, the Celestial Cauldron shattered, its pieces exploding outwards in a chaotic spray!

Each fragment pulsed with black lightning, the sound of its disintegration a constant barrage. One by one, the fragments shattered a second time, their destruction echoing across the land.

Wang Lin’s face was ashen. Two consecutive applications of the Severing Luo had depleted his nascent soul’s power to a dangerously low level. Even his cultivation wavered, threatening to plummet. Another drop, and he would surely regress.

He staggered, the world snapping back into focus. He landed on solid ground, taking a deep breath. His face was devoid of color, yet the icy resolve in his eyes burned brighter than ever.

Across the ravaged landscape, the Thunder Dao child materialized, coughing up a mouthful of blood. He turned and fled, fear consuming him. Never in his countless battles had he encountered such a bizarre opponent. To think that a mere Ascendant cultivator could possess such potent spells and abilities! The memory of those two Severing attacks sent shivers down his spine, and he cursed his own lack of speed.

The Immortal Guard, unwavering, pursued relentlessly. The Thunder Beast, roaring in its wake, joined the hunt. Soon, they vanished from sight…

“Father… is what he said… true?” Wang Ping’s voice was barely a whisper.

The battle had spared Wang Ping and Qing Yi, the Thunder Dao child deemed it unwise to provoke the two latent sword energies within Wang Ping.

Wang Lin’s face remained pale. He turned slowly, gazing at Wang Ping for what seemed like an eternity before finally nodding.

Wang Ping smiled faintly at his father, a serene and accepting smile. He said quietly, “Father, is this… the real reason you never wanted me to cultivate? Is it the reason Qing Yi and I have never had children? Because… I am already dead.”

Sorrow filled Wang Lin’s eyes. He looked at Wang Ping and whispered, “You are not dead.”

Wang Ping shook his head, smiling gently. “Father, you always taught me to yield when faced with adversity, to persevere through hardship, to rise up even against the heavens themselves. Thank you, Father.

“I think… deep down I’ve always known the truth, I just never dared to face it, never dared to ask the question…

“Why was I forbidden from cultivating? Why can I not produce offspring? Why, for seventy years, have I never been ill, never felt truly weary? And why, even though I know my end is near, do I feel no physical sensation? Now… I understand.”

Wang Ping looked at Wang Lin, his smile a mixture of acceptance and a faint regret.

“Father, I, Wang Ping, have no mother. All I have is a father. Thank you for your companionship.” Tears welled in Wang Ping’s eyes, but he found that he could not shed them.
Even tears were absent as Yuan Cheng, bereft, watched his father. A whisper escaped his lips, “Father, fare thee well… Your Ping’er has failed to fulfill his promise, unable to spend eternity by your side.”

Sorrow, like a shroud, deepened in Wang Lin’s eyes. When Liu Mei entrusted Wang Ping to him, he had administered elixirs to the babe and purged much of the lingering resentment with thunderous spells. Yet, the grim truth remained: Wang Ping had perished long ago.

A mortal’s life is a fleeting whisper, and so too is that of a vengeful infant. Only a wisp of soul remained, ensnared by resentment, forever denied the cycle of rebirth. This was the very essence of a “resentful infant”!

It was this fragile wisp of soul that Liu Mei gifted to Wang Lin.

This soul fragment was incapable of cultivation, forbidden from it! For any attempt would ignite the suppressed resentment, extinguishing it utterly, scattering it into the void.

Wang Ping could never conceal cultivation from Wang Lin, for his very being was woven from the threads of a celestial sword’s qi…

A body fashioned from the Heaven-Piercing Marquis’ sword intent, a vengeful spirit sheltered by another strand – this was Wang Ping. His growth, his life, were but illusions, enchantments.

Seventy years spun into existence, and the Wang Ping who matured was merely an extension of Wang Lin’s masterful magic.

“Your promise will be fulfilled. Trust me,” Wang Lin murmured, his voice a gentle echo in the twilight.

Wang Ping gazed upon his father, then took Qing Yi’s hand. Softly, he pleaded, “Father, let Qing Yi go…”

He turned, offering Qing Yi a tender smile, a promise whispered, “If there is a next life, if I am granted reincarnation, Qing Yi, I will seek you out.”

Tears streamed down Qing Yi’s face, words caught in her throat. Wang Ping only shook his head, a sad smile gracing his lips. He raised his eyes to the heavens, a final whisper, “Father, Qing Yi, I go now…”

A profound sorrow filled Wang Ping’s eyes, a yearning to stay, to linger with Qing Yi and stand vigil by his father’s side. A vision, faint and fleeting, transported him back to his childhood, to the nineteen years spent in the mountain village, daily swallowing bitter tonics. A faint, contented smile touched his lips.

“Father… the medicine is bitter…”

He seemed to witness, once more, his father’s nightly struggles, the powerful spells cast to quell the resentment festering within. He saw the tonics, unabsorbed by his body, instead merging with the essence of his spirit.

For his flesh was incapable of consuming anything tangible.

He glimpsed his form for what it was – a shimmering strand of golden qi. He saw, too, that his soul was also encased in a protective layer of golden sword intent.

“No wonder…” he mused, “In my childhood dreams, I always found myself within a world of gold…”

Wang Ping’s eyes closed…

His mortal shell blazed with golden light, dissolving into strands of qi that danced around Wang Lin. A moment later, another wisp of qi materialized.

Upon the earth, a single, luminous orb remained, hovering in stillness. Within it, a thread of darkness writhed.

This was the last vestige of his vengeful essence!

Wang Lin stood, transfixed, gazing at the orb. After an eternity, he raised a hand and gently brushed across its surface. The dark thread vanished…

After a lifetime of reincarnation, Wang Lin had finally purged every trace of resentment from his son’s soul. Tears, rare and precious, welled in his eyes as he cradled the orb, as if holding the infant he had once known.

A breath of wind threatened to dissipate the light. But Wang Lin held firm, knowing that if he relinquished his hold, Wang Ping, freed from resentment’s chains, would be drawn into the endless cycle of rebirth.

“Ping’er, your promise will be fulfilled!” Wang Lin pressed the orb against his brow, melding it with the Tian Ni, placing it beside the nascent soul of Li Muwan.

“From this moment forward, your mother is Wan’er.” Wang Lin turned and walked away.

“Father!” Qing Yi knelt, her sorrow no less than Wang Lin’s own.

“Father, Wang Ping and I are bound by a vow, to remain together even in the underworld! Take me with you, even as a wraith! To be near Wang Ping… that is what you told me, all those years ago! You bid me to always stay by Wang Ping’s side!” Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded.

“Do you not regret this?”

“Never!”

Wang Lin departed, taking with him Qing Yi’s unwavering soul.

His silhouette, framed against the dying embers of the setting sun, transformed. The marks of age began to recede, his silvered hair darkening, his stooped shoulders straightening. In the fading light, the Wang Lin of seventy years past walked towards the infinite void once more…

A single lifetime, concluded…