The unveiling of the Spirit Lands necessitates preparation, for this endeavor holds grave import. Each must invite trusted companions to venture within, that the entrance to the ancient grotto may be achieved. Until then, remain at ease within these grounds.” Tian Yunzi’s visage remained serene, betraying no hint of emotion, neither pleasure nor displeasure. Having spoken thus, he flicked his sleeve, and a cloud of pearly white materialized beneath his feet, upon which he ascended and drifted away.

“The Violetwood Pavilion yet awaits your return,” came Tian Yunzi’s distant, ethereal voice, fading with the wind.

Wang Lin gazed upon the heavens where Tian Yunzi had vanished, a thoughtful glint in his eyes.

“Ling Tianhou’s actions carry a deeper meaning! In our duel, even his ultimate spells were not unleashed with their full potential…” Wang Lin could not entirely fathom Ling Tianhou’s intent, yet discerned a fragment of the truth.

“As for Tian Yunzi… unfathomable…” Wang Lin remained perplexed by Tian Yunzi’s true motives. Even when a sliver of a clue was perceived, it swiftly morphed, offering alternative interpretations, shrouding the truth in mystery.

“Unfathomable,” Wang Lin murmured to himself. A veil of obscurity perpetually shrouded Tian Yunzi, leaving him with the constant impression that each encounter revealed a different facet of the man.

In truth, Wang Lin had foreseen Tian Yunzi’s arrangements for his arrival. Yet, even though Tian Yunzi’s actions mirrored his expectations, a sense of unease lingered.

All transpired with undue smoothness, as if events unfolded precisely according to Wang Lin’s desires.

A frown furrowed his brow as Wang Lin surveyed the familiar grounds of the Heavenly Fate Sect. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he turned towards the Violetwood Pavilion of old. A solitary path led from the plaza to the Violet Peak, a winding mountain trail with steps etched deep into the stone. Towering boulders and verdant foliage crowded the path, creating a sense of seclusion.

The setting sun cast long shadows as a cool mountain breeze rustled the leaves, filling the air with a hushed symphony. The distant murmur of flowing water echoed in the wind.

Wang Lin had trod this path long ago. Now, after centuries of absence, he walked it once more, filled with deep nostalgia.

“All remains as it was in days of yore…” Wang Lin’s steps were measured, his progress unhurried.

As he walked, two figures clad in azure robes came into view at the path’s bend, their voices low in conversation. These cultivators were of modest power, barely within the nascent soul stage.

Their words carried on the wind, drifting towards him.

“Senior sister, I have heard that the Ghost Eye Bazaar shall reopen in seven days hence. Many fellow cultivators have already made their way there.”

“The Ghost Eye Bazaar? Is that not the market famed for the auction of an immortal art?” the woman’s voice was filled with wonder.

“Indeed. That selfsame Ghost Eye Bazaar. The auction of that immortal art caused a great stir, so it is said. Even ancient, unfathomably powerful beings journeyed there for a glimpse. Immortal art! We, with our humble status, are only privy to incomplete, inferior versions. Yet, that immortal art was a rare, complete specimen. This time, with the reopening of the Ghost Eye Bazaar, it is said that an object of great mystery shall be offered for sale.”

“Alas, what matter is it to us? Even the lowliest trinket at the Ghost Eye Bazaar commands a king’s ransom. Moreover, entry requires an invitation.”

“Fear not. We may lack the right to enter the auction house, but the free trading district of the Ghost Eye Bazaar is open to us,” the blue-robed man replied, producing a jade token from his storage pouch. The token was pitch black, save for a crimson, eye-like mark at its center that pulsed with an eerie light.

“A Ghost Eye Invitation!” the woman exclaimed, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

The blue-robed man was about to speak, pride swelling in his chest, when his eyes widened, beholding Wang Lin descending the path.

The woman, noticing her senior brother’s surprise, looked up and also saw Wang Lin.

Given their cultivation level, they had been completely oblivious to Wang Lin’s presence.

Wang Lin’s expression was serene. Approaching the two cultivators, he glanced at the blue-robed man, offering a slight smile. “Brother Li, greetings. It has been long.”

“Y-you…” The blue-robed man stood dumbstruck. He had only recently returned to the Heavenly Fate Sect and was unaware of Wang Lin’s return. The sight of Wang Lin had stirred a faint memory, causing him to pause. But upon hearing Wang Lin’s words, a tremor ran through him.

“Wang Lin!” The blue-robed man recoiled, his eyes filled with horror.

Wang Lin chuckled. He did not recall the blue-robed man’s given name, only that it was Li. They had shared a brief encounter in the Heavenly Fate Sect long ago. He vaguely remembered the man’s gaze, filled with scorn and disdain.

Now, the man’s cultivation had progressed from the early to mid-Nascent Soul stage.

Wang Lin dismissed him, passing between the two cultivators and continuing on his way.

“Senior brother, was that Wang Lin? The name… it seems familiar…” The woman turned to gaze at Wang Lin’s departing figure, a hint of confusion in her voice.

“Wang Lin has returned! If he walks here, the Master cannot be unaware. Does this mean he has been forgiven for his transgressions? I sensed not a ripple of spiritual energy upon him, as though he were a mere mortal. Yet, as he passed, my heart quailed, and the spiritual energy within me trembled as if in fear, nearly shattering.” The blue-robed man’s face was pale. He grabbed his junior sister’s arm, urging her to depart swiftly.

“Senior brother, what troubles you?” the woman asked, perplexed.

“His name is Wang Lin. He was once Seventh Lord of the Violet, of our Heavenly Fate Sect! Junior sister, do you not remember?!” the blue-robed man said urgently.

The woman’s eyes widened, and her face blanched.

“But that Wang Lin is rumored to have wreaked carnage in the Spirit Lands, staining the earth with blood! Was he not pursued by the Master and countless elders, yet still managed to escape – the fiend Wang Lin!”

In the distance, Wang Lin smiled ruefully. The tongue of rumour was a fearsome weapon. In the centuries that had passed, accounts of his deeds had been twisted and amplified. With a sigh, Wang Lin followed the path beyond the gates of the Heavenly Fate Sect.
Before him rose a mountain of impossible height, its peak shrouded in swirling mists, a perpetual violet aura clinging to its summit. This was the dwelling place of the Disciples of Karma.

Mount Violet, nestled within the Heavenly Fortune Sect.

Gazing upon the familiar peak, Wang Lin felt a wave of remembrance wash over him. He saw, in his mind’s eye, a youth, fresh from the Vermillion Bird Star, ascending this very path. He saw that youth, step by painstaking step, secure his place upon this sacred ground.

A mountain wind, biting and sharp, swept across the slopes. It lacked the bone-chilling intensity of the higher altitudes, yet it stole the warmth from his face, leaving behind only a frigid kiss.

Mount Violet bore a tapestry of verdant life, grasses and trees swaying in rhythmic unison. One could not be certain if it was the mountain itself that trembled, or merely the palpitations of the heart.

He ascended, his boots crunching on the stone steps that snaked towards the celestial heights. His pace was measured, unhurried. He climbed, undisturbed by any other cultivator, the mournful whisper of the wind his only companion.

Silence reigned, broken only by the wind’s lament. The summit remained as he remembered it, unchanged by the passage of time. In the distance, a corner of an exquisite pavilion peeked from behind ancient trees, a single character visible upon its weathered plaque.

紫 – Violet.

As Wang Lin drew closer, the obscured section of the pavilion gradually revealed itself, until finally, the entire structure stood before him: the Violetwood Pavilion.

“I recall a time when this place was known as the Violet Cloud Pavilion…” Wang Lin murmured, lost in reverie. He pushed open the heavy door, and a gust of stale, musty air assaulted his senses.

The furnishings within were precisely as he remembered them. The only difference lay in the pervasive layer of dust that coated every surface: the table, the wooden chair, even the bed were veiled in grey.

The oil lamp on the table was long extinguished, its reservoir dry.

Wang Lin drew a finger across the dusty tabletop, leaving a deep, clean furrow in its wake. He examined the dust clinging to his fingertip, then, with a flick of his wrist, unleashed a sudden gust of unseen wind.

It erupted before him, a miniature cyclone that swept across the table, the chair, the bed, and throughout every corner of the pavilion, both above and below. It was as if a tempest had been unleashed within the building.

Yet, miraculously, only the dust was affected. The furniture remained undisturbed, the fragile paper windows did not even rustle.

After a few breaths, Wang Lin turned his palm upwards, and with an invisible grasp, he drew the tempest back upon itself. In an instant, the whirlwind vanished, leaving only a vortex of swirling grey dust suspended above his palm.

With a casual flick of his wrist, the windows of the pavilion swung open, and the grey vortex was cast into the open air, as if banishing centuries of neglect, and burying the memories held within. In an instant, the room regained its former pristine glory. The setting sun cast long shadows, painting the room in a deepening gloom.

The darkness within the room amplified the fading light, obscuring Wang Lin’s form. He sighed softly and walked towards a purplewood cabinet. He remembered this cabinet as the place where lamp oil was stored. He opened it to find a small vial, still partially filled with a brownish liquid.

He poured the oil into the lamp, and with a touch, ignited the wick. A small flame flickered, then roared to life, banishing the shadows.

As the light flared, a gust of mountain wind swept through the open window, causing the flame to dance and writhe. The shadows of Wang Lin flickered and distorted upon the walls.

“Hm?” Wang Lin’s expression sharpened, his gaze fixated on the dancing flame. A sudden spark of insight ignited within his mind, his eyes widening with revelation. “The wind blows, and the flame changes. Its form becomes distorted, making it impossible to discern its original state… I understand! Heavenly Fortune is like this flame. The reason he always appears different is because he is constantly shifting, as if he possesses a thousand separate bodies within one. These bodies are constantly exchanging places… That is why Heavenly Fortune gives me such an unsettling feeling of unpredictability!”

Wang Lin gazed at the flickering flame, his face illuminated in a shifting tapestry of light and shadow, his eyes now brimming with clarity.