“I desire the secrets of your Plum Blossom Eighteen Hells,” Wang Lin spoke, his voice betraying none of the voracious hunger that gripped him.

The Plum Blossom Eighteen Hells were legendary in the ancient realms of cultivation, a formidable enchantment known for its rigid lineage. Only those of pure blood could hope to master it, and even then, disciples rarely learned more than nine of the eighteen forms. The complete art was the sole preserve of the sect’s patriarch.

By the present day, the enchantment was believed lost, mourned by masters of the arcane arts.

It was within the Immortal Abode of the Demon Spirit Land that Wang Lin first beheld the true remnants of the Plum Blossom Eighteen Hells. When Li Yuan’s enchantments flickered into eighteen illusory shapes, suspicion stirred within him.

Doubt solidified upon obtaining the jade slip that concealed its aura. Within its depths, eighteen colossal figures materialized in his mind.

Though these figures bore little resemblance to plum blossoms, Wang Lin sensed within them a familiar truth.

His calm demand had been a subtle probe. Had Li Yuan denied the existence of the Hells, Wang Lin would have lost interest, his decision to engage or depart hinging on that single denial.

This was why Wang Lin had shadowed Li Yuan so closely – not merely for the ethereal Source artifact, as his nature would dictate.

Li Yuan, however, was an enigma, his true power masked. Wang Lin suspected that his cultivation might exceed even the peak of the Nascent Soul realm, and thus refrained from striking.

Now, arrived at their destination, Wang Lin launched his gambit upon the mountain’s ascent.

Li Yuan considered this, then smiled, “The Plum Blossom Eighteen Hells? A trifle. If Brother Xu desires it, Li Yuan will gladly part with it.”

He tapped his storage pouch, retrieving a jade slip. After a moment of focused meditation, he tossed it to Wang Lin.

“Within this slip lies thirteen forms of the Plum Blossom Hells. The remaining five shall be revealed after we ascend this mountain.”

Wang Lin caught the jade slip, scanning its contents with divine sense. His expression remained unchanged, but his heart quickened. There were no incantations within, only thirteen colossal figures, each standing upon thirteen plum blossoms. They were intricately linked, a testament to a hidden order.

Throughout this exchange, the woman called Ge remained silent, as if detached from the events unfolding. Her gaze was fixed upon the mountain, her eyes filled with a haunting mist.

“Brother Xu,” Li Yuan said, turning toward the peak, unconcerned by Wang Lin’s potential betrayal, “My skills are not limited to the Plum Blossom Eighteen Hells. Have you heard of the Four Forbidden Arts of Enchantment?”

Wang Lin stored the jade slip, his eyes betraying nothing as he stepped forward, beginning his ascent.

“It is said that in the dawn of creation, order arose, and from this sprang a force we call Forbidden Arts! Or perhaps Formation! The name matters little; the intent remains.

Heaven, Earth, Profound, and Yellow – these are the eternal divisions of enchantment!” Li Yuan continued, his pace measured as he climbed, Ge following close behind, her mind lost in shadow.

“Yet above the Heaven lies another tier, known to us as the Void! And from the Void, the Four Forbidden Arts are born. This mountain is wrought from the Ruination Forbidden Art. For countless years, none have reached its peak, for the mountain is without end!”

“Brother Xu likely wonders how Li Yuan knows this,” Li Yuan mused, stepping over a protruding stone. He formed a hand seal, pressing it casually into the empty air.

The mountain shuddered as the imprint landed, the echoes of the quake vibrating through the air. The peak shrunk by a noticeable degree.

“Even if one were to reach the summit, what then? Without the proper key, one could scour the mountain and still find nothing,” Li Yuan turned, a smile playing on his lips, “Does Brother Xu doubt my words?”

Wang Lin regarded Li Yuan and said flatly, “You are verbose.”

Li Yuan frowned, then smiled again, turning back to the ascent. He fell silent, his gaze distant, as if each blade of grass held a forgotten memory.

Midway up the slope, Li Yuan formed another, more intricate hand seal, striking the void once more. The mountain roared, and Wang Lin saw it shrink again, the summit seeming to draw closer.

As Li Yuan worked, a faint whisper of divine sense touched Wang Lin’s mind, “Save me, senior! He is a madman! He…”

The voice belonged to Ge. Before she could finish, Li Yuan glanced back, his gaze silencing her.

“Ge Hong, speak plainly, or do not speak at all,” Li Yuan’s icy gaze held a hint of mockery. He was no longer the man Wang Lin had first encountered.

Ge hesitated, then retreated toward Wang Lin, as if seeking solace in his presence.

“I know who you are! Your arrival at the Ge family was no accident! You came with purpose!” Ge hissed, desperate for survival.

Li Yuan nodded, “Indeed.”

Ge’s face paled. “Why me? It was not I who stole your master’s treasures! It was a Ge ancestor!”

Li Yuan’s eyes flashed, his voice dangerously soft, “Because you are the last direct descendant of that thief! You are the sole inheritor of his bloodline.”

Fear flooded Ge’s eyes. She retrieved a storage pouch, her voice cracking, “I’ll give you everything! Within this pouch are the scroll, the iron sword, the compass! They are all yours! Just let me live!”
Li Yuan accepted the pouch, a tempest of emotions swirling within his eyes. With a gentle tap, three objects emerged as if summoned from the ethereal void. First, the plain iron sword, a relic of battles past. Next, an ancient compass, its aged face hinting at forgotten paths. Finally, a painted scroll, its secrets yet to be unveiled.

Li Yuan unfurled the scroll, the parchment whispering with age. He gazed upon the painted scene, a profound melancholy etching itself onto his features.

The artwork depicted a colossal mountain, its peak lost amidst swirling clouds, shrouded in mist. At its base, a solitary flying sword soared skyward.

Upon the sword’s hilt stood a spectral figure, an indistinct silhouette blurred at the edges. On the blade’s very tip perched another, his form eerily reminiscent of Xing Yuan.

Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of understanding igniting within him. The painting clearly depicted a time before the celestial realm’s fall. Could it be that Li Yuan was, in truth, a banished immortal?

A gasp escaped Wang Lin’s lips, but doubt immediately clouded his judgment. It seemed impossible!

Li Yuan sighed, carefully rolling up the scroll and returning it to his pouch, a gesture of utmost reverence. He then secured the sword and compass, turning his gaze towards Ge Hong. “Let us go,” he said, his voice calm and resolute. He turned and continued his ascent of the mountain.

Ge Hong, her face ashen, bit her lip. Instead of following, she bolted downward, transforming into a streak of vibrant color as she fled.

Wang Lin remained unfazed, continuing his upward trek.

Li Yuan seemed oblivious to Ge Hong’s departure, never once turning back, his pace unwavering.

“Brother Xu surely harbors many questions,” Li Yuan said, a peculiar resonance in his voice. “Fear not. Once we reach the summit, I shall reveal all, for even to me, much remains shrouded.”

Wang Lin offered no response, following close behind Li Yuan, their footsteps echoing on the rocky path.

As they ascended, any wards and enchantments were dispelled with a mere wave of Li Yuan’s hand. Several times, he employed increasingly complex techniques, causing the mountain itself to shrink.

With each contraction, the summit drew closer, becoming a tangible goal. Eventually, after much tribulation, the peak was within reach.

Upon it stood a colossal statue, carved in the likeness of a middle-aged man. Beside him lay a flying sword, its tip likewise adorned with a solitary figure.

A surge of emotion swept over Li Yuan as he beheld the statue. His pace quickened instinctively, and in a blink, he stood at the summit, beneath the towering figure, his eyes filled with sorrow.

Wang Lin joined him, observing the statue. A sense of inherent power radiated from the stone giant, exuding an aura of authority. Traces of ancient enchantments lingered within it.

The statue’s right hand was particularly striking, bearing a seemingly simple yet incredibly intricate mudra. As Wang Lin’s gaze fell upon it, a tremor ran through his very being, as if a strange force sought to wrench his soul from his body.

Whispers of countless blades filled his ears, his vision dimmed. Before him, an army of celestials, wreathed in celestial energy and wielding potent artifacts, charged skyward, battling the heavens themselves!

Lightning crackled around these warriors, and with each gesture, devastating thunderbolts surged from the earth, striking at the emptiness above.

The sky, however, remained devoid of any foe. The immortals fought against nothing, yet they fell, one by one, their bodies exploding into dust!

This bizarre spectacle sent shivers down Wang Lin’s spine. Suddenly, a streak of light, a sword of pure violet lightning, pierced through the celestial ranks. On its hilt stood the figure mirrored in the statue.

And upon its tip, another, a being bearing no resemblance to Li Yuan!

The blade’s arrival scattered the other immortals. The sword flashed, carrying a wave of energy so potent that even witnessing it left Wang Lin reeling. It shot straight into the heavens.

In the desolate hallucination, Wang Lin thought he heard a calm, resolute cry.

“I fall, but my spirit shall not be broken!”

As the words echoed, the form of the man upon the hilt faltered and crumbled, leaving only the servant upon the tip, gazing blankly at the now empty blade. A profound grief emanated from the servant, a sorrow that spoke of eternity. His master, the figure upon the hilt, was the heavens themselves, and now, the heavens had fallen. The hilt was forever empty. The world was now empty save for the sword. From this day forward, the hilt would only have emptiness…

Driven by utter desolation, the servant lifted his gaze to the heavens. Standing upon the blade’s point, he followed in his master’s wake, and hurtled towards the sky.

“Master falls, so I shall be his servant forever!”