Chen, the cultivator, stood before a shimmering array of silver needles, each tip crackling with azure energy. His fingers danced in arcane gestures, and a spectral figure, vast and ethereal, shimmered into existence behind him. Wreathed in celestial aura, the shade pointed a single, accusing digit towards Wang Lin’s back, a harbinger of doom.

Song, another mage, wove the very essence of Yin and Yang between his hands, forming a swirling glyph. As it hurtled forth, lightning writhed within its core, a chorus of thunder echoing its passage. A palpable surge of celestial energy emanated from the glyph, propelling it towards Wang Lin like a bolt from the heavens.

Song himself followed in the glyph’s wake, his right hand contorting into a grotesque sigil. From it, a spectral strand of hair, long and unnervingly real, emerged. A palpable pressure, heavy and ominous, emanated from the ethereal hair, accompanied by a miasma of emerald fog that threatened to engulf all.

Finally, there was the spirit-form Lü, devoid of physical flesh. He opened his spectral maw and spat forth a miniature fan of crystalline light. With frantic waves and desperate exhalations of his nascent soul, the fan unleashed a torrent of violet flames. These flames coalesced into six roaring dragons, spreading outwards, intent on encircling Wang Lin and barring his escape.

Each of the three was consumed by a feverish desire, their eyes burning with the conviction that Wang Lin’s death was the key to claiming the Ninth Layer Celestial Art. They moved with blinding speed, their spells and artifacts hurtling towards their prey, converging upon Wang Lin in a heartbeat.

Yet, Wang Lin remained lost in a daze, his mind still swirling with the bewildering intricacies of the Celestial Art, “Summon Wind.” As the trio’s assaults converged, he reacted almost unconsciously, turning his back to them. He raised his right hand and whispered, “Summon Wind!”

The words unleashed a torrent of black wind from his hand, a tempest that swelled with impossible speed. It formed a howling vortex, engulfing everything in its path. Darkness descended, as if the very heavens recoiled from the oppressive force of the wind.

The earth trembled beneath its might, a profound, primal energy filling the air. It was all because of the black wind! Because of the Celestial Art! As if the very earth held a memory of this power, as if the sky itself had once bowed before its might.

The moment the black wind materialized, the lost art of the Celestial Emperor returned to the mortal realm. Without hesitation, it surged towards the three would-be assassins behind Wang Lin.

Chen’s silver needles, his prized artifacts, shattered upon contact, offering no resistance. The spectral figure he had summoned, its finger about to strike, faltered. The black wind swept over it like a candle blown by a raging gale, extinguishing it instantly.

“This… this is the Ninth Layer Celestial Art?!” Fear etched itself onto Chen’s face. The black wind, in his eyes, was the chilling breath of death, sending tremors through his very soul. A sense of utter helplessness washed over him, as if he faced the wrath of the heavens themselves.

Without hesitation, he turned and fled, attempting to teleport away. But even as he initiated the maneuver, the black wind buffeted him, disrupting the teleportation. His eyes dimmed, and his body imploded with a silent *pop*.

His nascent soul, a flickering flame, was snuffed out by the black wind… All of this happened in the blink of an eye. As for Song’s artifact, the Yin-Yang glyph, it fared no better. It shattered instantly, and Song, horror etched on his face, abandoned his physical form as the black wind rushed upon him, his soul fleeing in terror.

Lü, the spirit-form, watched in dismay as the fan in his hand disintegrated. Already weakened, he was utterly terrified, retreating as fast as his spectral form could carry him.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the black wind vanished, as if it had never been. Clarity returned to Wang Lin’s eyes.

“So, this is the Celestial Art, ‘Summon Wind’!” He took a deep breath, his face ashen. Turning, he strode forward and tapped his storage pouch. The Soul-Devouring Banner materialized, unfurling into a swirling cloud of black mist that pursued Lü’s fleeing spirit.

His eyes gleaming with cold intent, Wang Lin spat out a single grain of sand, which swelled into a colossal seal. The seal hurtled after Song’s escaped soul, overtaking it in moments and slamming down upon the earth with devastating force.

Song screamed in agony, his soul spilling celestial energy as it withered. Terror filled his eyes as he tried to escape, but the Karmic Whip appeared, snaking out to bind his soul, which Wang Lin seized in his grasp.

“Fellow Daoist Xu, spare me! I was wrong, I confess!” Ignoring Song’s pleas, Wang Lin’s eyes hardened. With a single squeeze, Song’s soul collapsed, dissolving into a burst of celestial energy that Wang Lin devoured.

A surge of power coursed through him, banishing the deathly pallor from his face. He exhaled deeply, then sped towards the Soul-Devouring Banner, which had ensnared Lü’s spirit. The Karmic Whip lashed out from within the black mist, striking repeatedly. Finally, the Soul-Devouring Banner shuddered, drawing the spirit within. With a chilling gleam in his eyes, Wang Lin reached into the banner and retrieved Lü’s soul.

“If you kill me, the Lü family will never forgive you!” Lü shrieked, but his voice was cut short. Wang Lin crushed his soul, converting it into celestial energy that he consumed in turn.

His complexion regained some color, though a hint of paleness remained. Without hesitation, he plunged his hand into the Soul-Devouring Banner once more, retrieving the soul of the black-clad assassin he had slain first.

He crushed it, converting it to celestial energy, and swallowed it down. After consuming three souls in quick succession, Wang Lin sat cross-legged, focusing on his breathing.

After a long while, his complexion returned to normal, though a lingering hint of paleness persisted. Wang Lin opened his eyes and exhaled a breath of foul air.

The exhalation was tinged with black, a disturbing sight.

“Such a powerful Celestial Art! I have barely grasped its essence, yet even its application is uncontrollable. The celestial energy it consumes is staggering, nearly draining the reserves protecting my extreme state. Had I not replenished them swiftly, the consequences would have been dire. Yet, the art itself feels nothing like a Celestial Art. It could easily be mistaken for a demonic practice! Furthermore, the energy demands are excessive… To wield this art effectively, I will need to constantly carry several souls of the Yin-Void Yang-Solid realm.”

Wang Lin rose, retrieved the storage pouches of his victims, and turned towards the treasure pavilion. “Alas, this pavilion cannot be moved… Otherwise, the Four Great Clans would have already taken it from the Celestial Realm. But to leave such a treasure behind is difficult, If I could take it…”

Lost in thought, his eyes suddenly gleamed with an idea. He recalled the words he had heard within the painting: “The carefree Immortal paints to commemorate the first opening of the Celestial Treasure Pavilion…” His eyes widened. He remembered the hand seal of the boy beneath the tree in the painting.

“When I used that hand seal before, I felt the pavilion tremble…” Wang Lin’s heart pounded. In a flash, he materialized before the treasure pavilion.

He took a deep breath and formed the hand seal he had learned from the boy. Instantly, the square pavilion began to radiate light. Before Wang Lin’s very eyes, it shrunk, becoming smaller and smaller, until it was no bigger than his palm. As Wang Lin completed the final hand gesture, the miniature pavilion flew into his hand.

Gazing at the treasure pavilion in his palm, even Wang Lin, with his renowned composure, could not contain his laughter. His laughter was filled with a joy so profound, it echoed his elation.