Wang Lin’s eyes gleamed, and with a deft movement, he descended within the confines of the colossal cauldron. Space was limited within its metal belly, and the moment he settled, he channeled his vital essence throughout his form. Outside, the tendrils, like the grasping limbs of some monstrous kraken, writhed and coiled about the cauldron, yet dared not pierce its protective shell, instead, they lingered, a menacing fringe of undulating dread.

A sigh of relief escaped Wang Lin’s lips. Here, he found but a temporary sanctuary. His gaze, sharp with contemplation, dismissed the outer perils. He settled into a meditative posture, cross-legged upon the cauldron’s floor, his eyes sealed shut as he drew in the ambient energies.

As his eyelids fell, a spectral figure materialized behind him. Ta Shan, the steadfast guardian, stepped forth, mirroring Wang Lin’s pose within the cauldron’s depths. His eyes, alight with vigilance, promised swift and decisive intervention should any threat encroach upon their haven. Wang Lin, lost in his meditation, felt a profound weariness wash over him, a residue of relentless trials endured since his entry into the Realm of Thunder. Emerging from that perilous domain, he had been swallowed by the abyssal maw of a Netherbeast, battling his way back to the familiar constellations of the Luo Tian Starfield. He had sought only to escort his clan to Umbrella Star, seek enlightenment from Li Yuan in unraveling the forbidden heart-spell, and find respite, but fate, it seemed, had other designs. He was thrust into conflict, compelled to act with ruthlessness, and to retaliate against relentless foes.

The relentless pursuit of the Yao family, bolstered by the involvement of lesser houses of cultivation, had forced Wang Lin into a desperate flight. Though he had gained the upper hand in this deadly dance, the ever-present threat of grievous injury or even oblivion had accumulated into a crushing fatigue, a burden he carried deep within. Now, seated within the great cauldron, Wang Lin allowed his weary mind and body a moment’s fragile peace.

“The cultivators outside must be suffering grievous losses under the assault of the celestial Wyrm,” he mused, his eyes still closed. “Surely, no immediate pursuers will trouble us now. And even if some remain, they cannot penetrate the Wyrm’s immense body to find me. Thus, though this place is fraught with peril, it is also a sanctuary.” Wang Lin’s vital essence coursed through him, caressing his nascent soul, nurturing it back to health.

With each revolution of his essence, a sharp, throbbing pain emanated from his nascent soul. Wang Lin remained stoic. The trials he had faced would have surely extinguished him if not for the protection granted by the ancient god’s hide. The cruel capriciousness of the cultivation world, this constant dance with death, could not sway his resolve. He had grown accustomed to such trials back in the Alliance Starfield, and such experiences had shaped his very being.

“Yao Bingyun’s craft wrought grievous damage to my soul,” Wang Lin thought, his eyes opening, revealing a glint of icy fury. “Were it not for the ancient god’s hide…” His physical wounds were minor, but his nascent soul, though shielded, had suffered. Now, with a measure of tranquility, he could focus his mind and body on drawing in the ambient energies, seeking restoration.

Outside the cauldron, the invincible tendrils swayed languidly. Near the vortex’s heart, Yao Xixue stood, her face pale, yet her eyes remained tranquil, devoid of panic. She had fled the star-wyrm, only to be devoured whole by a ten-thousand-foot avatar of that very beast. A strange power had swept through her, severing her essence and leaving her a mortal shell.

Then, oblivion. When awareness returned, she found herself ensnared, her body bound by grasping tendrils. A chilling cold permeated her, emanating from the tendrils themselves. This cold snaked its way into her veins, siphoning away her severed essence, drop by agonizing drop. The process was gradual but unyielding. Yao Bingyun, ever composed and serene, understood that panic would only hasten her doom. Only by remaining calm could she hope to devise an escape.

But as her vision cleared, and she took in the spectacle about her, a wave of horror washed over her, threatening to shatter her composure. Countless emaciated figures, drained and lifeless, clung to the myriad tendrils that surrounded her.

After a long, steadying breath, she regained control. With a chilling clarity, she realized that the tendrils were not only stealing her essence, but her very life force.

“Seal the eyes!”

Yao Bingyun steeled her resolve, closing her eyes. “Seal the ears!” With a slight tremor, she extinguished her hearing, severing the link to the outer world. “Seal the breath!” Her body relaxed, the air ceased to flow through her nostrils and mouth.

“Seal the spirit!”

Her nascent soul stilled, ceasing its own revolutions. Though separated from her vital essence, it remained within her, seated in meditative posture, entering a realm beyond comprehension. “Seal the intent!” This intent was the very will to live, a spark that resided in all living things. Yao Bingyun ruthlessly severed her connection to it. Her body became devoid of life, an empty vessel. Her being faded, a mere husk, absent of life, as though she had transcended.

Yao Bingyun had attained an unparalleled mastery of this spirit-sealing technique. Innate talent counted for little. It was the strength of one’s conviction that was the key. One with a wavering spirit would find themselves adrift, unable to truly enter the depths of spirit-sealing.

Having sealed herself from the world, a cacophony of clicks and cracks echoed from within. A thin layer of frost formed upon her, spreading rapidly until she was encased.

The tendrils that held her were also frozen in place. Soon, the cracking intensified, and Yao Bingyun was imprisoned within a three-foot-thick layer of ice.

She was encased from the neck down, her expression serene, and her visage breathtaking.

Time passed, unnoticed within the wyrm. Days and nights lost their meaning. The celestial wyrm, its colossal form drifting slowly, patrolled the northern reaches of the Luo Tian Starfield. On this particular day, the wyrm halted in the deepest recesses of the northern domain, where the stars were sparse and worlds of cultivation were nonexistent.

The wyrm coiled slowly upon itself. Tail to head, it formed a perfect circle, transforming back into a celestial body.

Its ten-thousand-foot tendrils retracted, belching forth waves of ink-black mist that swirled around the newly-formed world. The tendrils shortened, drawing closer and closer.
As the final moments waned, a mere hundred zhang remained, adrift amidst the celestial remnants of a shattered cultivation star. Silence descended, a stark contrast to the chaos that had preceded it. Within the peculiar, elongated space that comprised the heart of the colossal Wang Yue, Wang Lin’s eyes snapped open. A sharp light flashed within, reflecting the incomplete restoration of his Yuan Shen. Though meditation had aided his recovery, only eighty percent of his former strength had returned.

His gaze, sharp as lightning, fixed upon the surrounding cauldrons, their surfaces scarred by the ages. The aura of the Ancient God pulsed strongly from them, a dense and palpable energy. Even as Wang Yue continuously siphoned this power, its strength remained astonishing.

“Wang Yue did not seek my demise,” Wang Lin mused, his eyes thoughtful. “Instead, I was cast into this place. It is not only a wellspring of life force for the beast, but also a reservoir of Ancient God essence.” He reasoned that the gargantuan Wang Yue, upon encountering any being or object imbued with this sacred power, would invariably consign it to this very chamber. A gleam sparked in Wang Lin’s eyes as he murmured, “Thus, something else connected to the Ancient Gods must lie hidden here.”

His hands rose, pressing against the cool surface of the cauldrons on either side. With a surge of intent, his divine sense flowed through his fingertips, coursing into the ancient vessels.

“If Greed Wolf could bend these cauldrons to his will, so too shall I,” he declared silently. His divine sense swept through the interior, and in that instant, he was met with a monstrous suction, an insatiable force tearing at his very essence. He had anticipated this, understanding it to be the power emanating from the myriad tendrils within. His will steeled, his divine sense became a solitary skiff battling a raging storm, fighting to permeate the cauldron’s depths.

Gradually, under the relentless pull, Wang Lin’s divine sense spread through the cavernous space, leaving the faintest imprint of his consciousness. Yet, no sensation of control manifested, no spark of mastery ignited within him.

A frown creased his brow, but he refused to yield. His divine sense continued its painstaking work, inch by inch imprinting his will. The process was agonizingly slow, hampered by the oppressive suction, pushing Wang Lin’s cultivation to its limits. As time stretched onward, he persisted, and amidst the constant imprinting, a subtle clue began to emerge.

Upon the cauldron’s outer surface, nestled in a forgotten corner, lay a rune, meticulously carved. Though etched into the ancient metal, it was shallow, invisible to the naked eye. Even a cursory examination with divine sense would fail to reveal it, save for the methodical approach Wang Lin now employed. Upon this rune lay a faint imprint of divine sense, and the instant Wang Lin’s consciousness brushed against it, his eyes flashed with chilling intensity. He recognized the lingering signature of Greed Wolf!

“Greed Wolf lives!”

The chilling realization sent a shiver down Wang Lin’s spine, but after a long moment, he regained his composure.

“Greed Wolf lives, and his imprint remains. Yet I cannot command this cauldron, even though I can leave my own mark upon it… But why can I leave an imprint at all, when his also exists?” He pondered, and a sudden thought struck him. His mind turned to the rune bearing Greed Wolf’s mark.

“This cauldron was cast aside by the Ancient God Tu Si. In the ancient memories I possess, only the form of the cauldron is revealed, not its method of operation. My inheritance remains incomplete.” With renewed focus, Wang Lin directed his divine sense toward the rune, examining its intricate patterns.

Despite his animosity towards Greed Wolf, a grudging respect now stirred within him. “The man possesses a keen mind. He found this cauldron, yet could not discern its true purpose or control it. Instead, he sought a different path. He found this rune somewhere and inscribed it upon the cauldron, connecting it to some hidden power within! He does not control the cauldron directly, but the rune. Yet with it, he is able to wield some of its power.”

Taking a deep breath, Wang Lin unhesitatingly gathered his divine sense, pulling it from across the cauldron and focusing it upon the rune.

“Erase Greed Wolf’s imprint, and the cauldron shall be mine once more!” Excitement coursed through him, but as his divine sense neared the point of dissolving Greed Wolf’s essence, Wang Lin’s expression shifted. His divine sense recoiled, retracting with blinding speed, hurtling back into his own body, leaving the ancient cauldron behind.