The crimson fire that danced upon the stone idol was drawn inward the moment Li Yuan turned, consumed utterly by the ancient effigy. Cracks widened across its surface, each fissure pulsing with a sanguine light – the lingering essence of Ge Hong’s blood, thick with a dreadful, metallic scent.

These crimson rays, pregnant with an unseen power, stretched forth, seeking to coalesce upon the unfurled painting before them. But even the stone idol’s eyes now wept with their own fractured lines, leaking crimson light that, from afar, gave the chilling illusion of blood tears.

“Have I erred?” Li Yuan whispered, his gaze fixed upon the idol, his eyes clouded with a profound bewilderment.

Wang Lin watched with icy detachment. Li Yuan himself held little threat; a mere peak-level Ascendant cultivator was easily dealt with. But within Li Yuan resided an alien force, a power drawn from the slave seal etched upon his soul. It was this presence that veiled him in an unsettling mystery.

Wang Lin held a deep distrust for this presence. He’d first sensed it when Li Yuan spoke of karma before the idol, a sudden seizure that drenched the man in sweat. The memory, now viewed with new understanding, was chilling.

The Ge clan were descendants of the Immortal! And Li Yuan? Perhaps he was blameless, burdened by the recklessness of his ancestor, his lineage doomed to servitude, each generation sacrificing lifespan and cultivation to nourish the slumbering Immortal Soul.

Perhaps the Li clan had once sought to break free, but each attempt ended in ruin. Then came a Li ancestor who offered hope, yet the slave seal, festering for millennia, birthed a spectral echo, a servant soul lurking within the heart of each gifted descendant.

Thus, the Li clan would feign the breaking of the slave seal, only to resurrect their true master.

Wang Lin had once believed Ge clan treachery had thwarted the ritual, but as he pondered why Li Yuan sought him out, a new theory took hold.

The Li clan had foreseen his use of the Karma Whip in his battle against the Yin Void cultivator, and that was why Li Yuan had chosen him.

For the Karma Whip struck at the very threads of destiny!

The failure of the first reincarnation, ages past, lay not in treachery or imperfect artifacts, but in the idol’s own refusal. It balked at a revival that demanded the utter extinction of the Ge bloodline – this was the fruit of their labor.

To resurrect the Immortal could not be achieved with Ge Hong’s blood alone. Even now, beyond the Thunder Immortal Realm, the Ge clan surely performed some deathly sacrifice.

The idol’s rebirth was the seed of the ritual, the Karma Whip would pluck from its soul the bitter resistance.

But to lash an Immortal Soul with the Karma Whip was a perilous act, one that could draw even Wang Lin into its chaotic currents, risking his life and sanity.

Had Wang Lin not intervened, Li Yuan would have followed his contingency plans, though even he doubted their efficacy. This explained his initial “seventy percent” chance of success, which the Karma Whip could elevate to “ninety percent”.

Wang Lin dared to suspect that Li Yuan carried a similar artifact, a treasure resonant with the intent of Karma.

This explained why the Ge clan, after the failure of millennia ago, had preserved three artifacts, broadcasting their existence rather than concealing them.

Their purpose was to wait for the second coming of the Li clan’s slave soul.

Thus, Li Yuan had met with such ease in the Ge clan’s halls. Yet Wang Lin recalled Li Yuan’s actions towards Ge Hong – behaviors so inconsistent that he seemed like two different men.

Combining this with Li Yuan’s seizure before the idol, his suspicions hardened. The true soul of Li Yuan had not vanished, it still lingered.

Within Li Yuan’s body existed not two souls, but a single soul fractured into two conflicting wills: the true Li Yuan, and the lingering shade of the slave seal.

Their struggle weakened the Li clan’s forbidden arts, each manifestation marred by instability. The Plum Blossom Shackles, and the black threads of Annihilation, were both imperfectly wrought.

With dawning clarity, Wang Lin stared at the bewildered Li Yuan within his Mountain and Rivers Painting. He felt a pang of pity.

Li Yuan was a faithful servant, willing to sacrifice all for his master’s resurrection!

Like the mournful servant, seen in the idol’s illusory vision, standing upon a sword’s point after his master’s demise, turning back with a heart-wrenching sorrow.

The master was gone from the sword hilt, and only the servant remained, alone upon the blade…

Countless years of waiting, two cycles of reincarnation, yet he could not escape the threads of fate.

Li Yuan fell to his knees before the idol.

“Master… have I truly erred?”

The idol was now a web of fractures, veins of crimson light throbbing with fevered intensity. The blood-tears beneath its eyes thickened, pooling together in a ghastly imitation of grief.

“Why do you refuse to awaken? I only wished to see the sword hilt filled once more, for my master to stand upon it, while I, from the blade’s edge, would conquer all beneath the heavens!” Li Yuan wept, a sorrowful abyss opening in his eyes.

Wang Lin, within his painted realm, watched the unfolding tragedy. There was no true animosity between them. He sighed and sheathed the Karma Whip.

“His fanatic devotion has led him into utter darkness. His conviction faltered after the first failure, millennia past, and now, in this second attempt, his broken faith has finally crumbled.”

The idol’s fissures spread like a plague, even across the stone sword and the kneeling servant. Crimson light blazed from within, bathing the sky in an unnatural, sunset glow.

The light, dense and ever-shifting, streamed forth, consumed by the unfurled painting before it.

At first, the painting absorbed the light in meager sips, but with each passing moment, the idol spewed forth more and more crimson essence, pouring it into the waiting canvas.

Finally, a torrent of crimson engulfed the painting, blinding and ceaseless. Li Yuan, kneeling, watched with vacant eyes that suddenly ignited with manic glee.

“Master…”

The crimson light poured forth, without restraint, until at last, the final glimmer fled the idol. The stone shuddered, devoid of essence, rendered mundane and lifeless.

The painting, glutted with crimson energy, pulsed with blinding light. A tendril of flame coiled from its edges, consuming the canvas from the border inwards.