Wang Lin felt a stirring of understanding. The ancient spirit dwelling within him, guiding his movements in spellcraft, drew but a sliver of its own power. The vastness of the spell’s energy was woven from the very fabric of the heavens and earth, meticulously gleaned and channeled.

This arcane art, in Wang Lin’s perception, held a shadowed kinship with the devouring of a thousand spirits, yet it was undeniably different, possessing a deeper, more profound resonance.

But the intricacies of this magic dwarfed his current cultivation, accessible yet shrouded by an intangible veil he could not pierce.

As the ancient spirit propelled his vessel forward with breathtaking speed, Wang Lin could not afford to dwell on this new understanding. He keenly sensed the spirit’s essence diminishing within his flesh, a rapid erosion fueled by this very velocity.

Barely the span of half a joss stick had passed, and already the ancient spirit had shed more than half its being, expending its essence as a sacrifice for an unimaginable celerity.

The rate was beyond Wang Lin’s comprehension. He became one with the tapestry of creation itself, each breath an eternity. It was not merely space he traversed, but the very flow of time beneath his feet.

It was an illusion, perhaps, yet Wang Lin could find no other words to capture the truth of this accelerated passage.

He, more than any other, understood. He had brushed against the threshold of “Shrinking Earth to an Inch,” a transcendent ability belonging solely to cultivators of the Second Step. Though he could not yet seamlessly meld with existence and traverse the cosmos as instinctively as this ancient spirit, he could, with preparation, attempt the feat.

Any other cultivator, even one possessing the solidified Yang, would find their soul shattered by this sudden, overwhelming shift, if they hadn’t also grazed the hem of ‘Shrinking Earth to an Inch.’ At best, they would be crippled, at worst, their very essence would be undone.

Even for Wang Lin, who had tasted its potential, the unrelenting tempo threatened to overwhelm his own spirit, a constant test of endurance.

Under the spirit’s dominion, his mortal shell barely touched the earth, perpetually existing within the ethereal plane. His body, his soul, seemed to shatter into a myriad of motes, each becoming part of the celestial whole.

Every destination within the realm became within reach. It was plain to see, however, that the art was not without its limitations, for if the spirit was truly unbound, it could surely merge with existence and instantly appear at its final destination, rather than engage in this frenzied race.

For Wang Lin, the passing of half a joss stick felt like a century unfolding, a tempest of time that buffeted him relentlessly. He was but a leaf in a hurricane, struggling to keep from being torn asunder.

Though excruciating, this state offered him a gift beyond measure. His spirit, tossed and turned by the storm, grew ever more attuned to the harmony of existence, until, at last, that connection etched itself upon his very soul, never to be forgotten.

Were any other cultivator to witness Wang Lin’s transformation, they would surely covet it. The Second Step of cultivation, beyond raw power, was the pursuit of understanding the very rules of reality, of wielding and bending them to one’s will. But these concepts were often ephemeral, beyond clear definition. Thus, oneness with existence was the path.

Only by embracing the cosmos could one hope to grasp its secrets.

Wang Lin’s spirit, through the unwitting guidance of the ancient one, was forcibly being merged into the symphony of creation, as if seized by unseen hands and compelled to become one with the All.

Painful as it was, the benefits were undeniable. His spirit and world wove together until they became inseparable, like two parts that were always meant to be together. In this state, Wang Lin’s understanding also seemed to be touched, and gradually, with his soul, it confirmed with the cause and effect of this world.

Beyond the spiritual, his flesh also benefited. It had already been cleansed and refined by a prior ordeal until it had become one with Yuan Qi.

Now, under the spirit’s control, his prolonged immersion within the celestial plane brought his physical form into harmony with his soul, becoming infinitely interwoven.

This, however, was not the greatest miracle. The process of dissolution was, in truth, a controlled collapse, a state of near-death, wherein his flesh was scattered only to reform at the desired location.

During this prolonged state, his mortal form received the very essence of the universe, suffusing every muscle and drop of blood with celestial power.

This was no deliberate act of kindness by the ancient spirit. Had Wang Lin not possessed the necessary foundations, his body would have dissolved once the spirit had reached its destination, and his soul would surely have perished.

Wang Lin and the malevolent youth sped through the heavens, and after a short while, on a shattered continent in the northern reaches of the Thunder Immortal Realm, Wang Lin’s form flickered into existence.

The instant he materialized, the ancient spirit within him dissolved completely, relinquishing control. In a heartbeat, Wang Lin once again commanded his mortal form.

A familiar, longed-for sensation flooded his senses. Without hesitation, he channeled every ounce of his Yuan Qi, unleashing it through his pores in a whirlwind of raw power that exploded outward.

With a deafening roar, the force propelled him forward at even greater velocity. In that fraction of a second, the malevolent youth took a step and lunged toward Wang Lin’s previous position, his hand grasping only empty air, momentarily staggered by the shockwave.

Wang Lin, having broken free, wasted no time in fleeing, transforming into a comet of light. At the same moment, he retrieved his celestial sword from his storage bag and unleashed eight rending strikes.

With a chorus of cracks and fissures, the sky around Wang Lin shattered, disrupting a shroud of invisible suppression.

Wang Lin, his face grim, pushed himself onward, recalling a past ordeal where he had been trapped by such an invisible cage.

The malevolent youth’s eyes flashed with cold fury. He surveyed the shattered continent below, a furrow appearing on his brow.

“This place… it is the Chao Sendai of the ancient Thunder Immortal Realm, the very heart of it, said to be the closest point to the Ancient Immortal Domain before it vanished… Legend states that the first step of descending Immortals was on this ground… That someone of the same Celestial Sovereign level would guide Us here… What could be the purpose?”