“I speak no deceit, mortal,” the venerable figure croaked, his voice, though weak, echoing through the star-strewn void. “For twelve centuries, your name has been whispered in celestial spheres, your life, a tapestry of arduous cultivation. All I seek is the resurrection of your beloved.” Though faint, each word struck Wang Lin’s heart like a blacksmith’s hammer.

Yet, instead of clean blows, the words became a monstrous wave, crashing through his mind, blurring all but the final, agonizing quartet: “Wife resurrected!”

“I know you have beseeched many a cultivator to restore her to life, only to be met with failure. You doubt me, believing my injuries preclude such a feat!” the venerable one continued, his tone laced with a weary understanding.

“True, even at my peak, restoring your wife would have been beyond my power. But my master, a being whose name is spoken alongside the Ancient Immortal Emperor, revered even in the primordial age, is capable. I shall beseech him! We shall seek a world teeming with life, and from ten thousand trillion souls, we shall forge an 印 of eternal life! Not only shall your wife return, but your lost son as well!”

Wang Lin stood frozen, mind reeling, unable to speak. His injuries, borne by sheer will, now threatened to overwhelm him. With a shudder, he coughed forth a gout of crimson blood.

“Consent to be my adherent, and I shall grant you all!” The ancient voice, still frail, now pulsed with an unholy power, a dark magic that enveloped Wang Lin’s very being.

A tempest raged in Wang Lin’s eyes, a conflict unlike any he had known. Not even the entreaties of the Azure Dream Daoist, nor the words of the Scarlet Bird of old, could compare to this. The venerable one had struck directly at the most vulnerable core of his being, his inverse scale, the very essence of his Dao, plucking the ghost of his lost love from the depths of his heart. For Li Muwan, Wang Lin would sacrifice all. In the absence of hope, he craved it, and now, this sliver of a promise, however precarious, weighed upon him with the force of mountains.

“As my adherent, you shall surpass even Si Mozi, Qing Shui, and Qing Lin! You shall be the pinnacle of my most promising vassals! Accept, and I shall bestow upon you the Dao name of…Linshangzi! Is it not the revival of your wife and child that drives you? My master can accomplish this. Should you still doubt, I shall have him restore your wife first. After you are reunited, you can then pledge your allegiance!”

Wang Lin’s face was ashen, his internal struggle reaching a fever pitch. A voice within his mind screamed, roared, and thrashed against the confines of his skull: “Accept! Become the venerable one’s adherent, and Muwan will live again! Wang Lin, has your entire cultivation been for anything else?”

“Accept! The separation of one thousand five hundred years can end! Wang Ping will return as well! A family reunited, is that not your greatest aspiration, your most audacious dream?”

“Accept! What matters the status of a slave? What is your freedom compared to Muwan’s life?”

“Accept! Become a second Si Mozi, a servant of the venerable one, betray the Domain Within, severing ties with Situ Nan, Qing Shui, and all your Dao brethren! From this day forth, you will stand as an adversary!”

The voice swelled, becoming a deafening torrent, consuming his mind. Wang Lin staggered back, his eyes filling with blood, his body trembling, his very soul on the verge of collapse. The struggle, the choice, threatened to drown him in a flood of torment.

“If the venerable one commands me to slay Situ…what shall I do? If the venerable one bids me to burn Qing Shui…how shall I proceed? If the venerable one orders me to invade the Domain Within…how shall I face the faces of those who trusted me… Zhou Yi, Zhou Ru, Big Head, all of them… If the venerable one compels me to harm the second generation Scarlet Bird…can I bring myself to do it?”

A bitter smile twisted Wang Lin’s lips, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His heart felt as though it were being forcibly torn in two, a pain beyond words. Muwan was everything, his sacred inverse scale, and he would not allow anyone to harm her. For Muwan, Wang Lin would forfeit much, even his own life. Yet, there were things more precious than life itself. For a man’s journey is not solely defined by love, but also by bonds forged in gratitude and duty. “From this day forward, the Soul Refining Sect is in your care…” Old Duntian of the Soul Refining Sect, a gentle smile upon his dying face, had placed the Sect’s sacred Soul Banner in his hands, entrusting him with its legacy. Situ Nan, forsaking the potential to claim the Heavenly Jewel, had accompanied Wang Lin for centuries, mentoring him in the Dao from his youth, becoming a teacher, a father, a brother, and a friend.

Without Situ, there would be no Wang Lin! Years ago, Wang Lin had spoken to Situ a promise born from the depth of his heart, “I, Wang Lin, bow to neither Heaven nor Earth, but only to Situ.”

Zhou Yi, forever pining for his love, his magical artistry overshadowed by his infatuation, also had saved Wang Lin’s from a great doom! Zhou Yi has long sought Qing’s frosty grace, and Wang Lin knew in his heart that if he was made a choice, it would lead to a battle he wanted no part in. “I, Zhou Yi, seek only one goal in this lifetime: to walk the path of years with Qing’s radiance…”

His brother, Qing Shui, cold on the outside, warm at the heart, had embraced Wang Lin as a successor to his master, Bai Fan. He had defied all odds for Wang Lin’s safety, not letting anyone do him any harm. “He is my junior brother, and I shall not permit anyone to injure him! Harm him but a finger, and I shall claim your life!”
The Madness of Clear Waters, born of the grief-stricken rage at his wife’s murder, was revealed to be a tendril of insidious influence, a whisper from the Outer Realms. When he learned his beloved brother-in-arms had become a puppet, a thrall to the very darkness that drove him mad, the pain was immeasurable. And there was the Fifth Lord of the Vermillion Bird, his life force guttering like a dying ember, yet he poured his essence into healing Wang Lin, entrusting him with the sacred legacy of the Vermillion Bird Sect. His gaze, filled with a fatherly love, burned eternally in Wang Lin’s heart, a beacon in the encroaching darkness.

“All my days, I, Lu Yun, have dedicated myself to the Vermillion Bird Sect… Even now, as Oblivion claims me, I depart with a smile… You are good, you are worthy. The Vermillion Bird Sect… see to its care.”

The noble spirit of the Fifth Sacred Emperor filled Wang Lin with respect. Torn between gratitude and reverence, he could not bear to face the memory of the benevolent elder, his disappointed gaze forever lingering.

The Second Crusade against the Vermillion Bird Sect brought fleeting moments of connection, bursts of hearty laughter, looks of tender pride, and undisguised affection for Wang Lin. The gifting of the Dragon Hook, the offering of his own blood, the countless attempts to shield him from peril during trials… And then, within the intoxicating haze of the Celestial Fragrance, he had dared to challenge the First Lord, bestowing upon Wang Lin the forbidden knowledge to command the Flame Dragon, gifting him the Ancient Soul Turtle Shell. And as a final act, defying the will of the First Vermillion Bird and knowing the price he would surely pay, he imparted to Wang Lin the Vermillion Bird Clan’s most potent art: the World-Burning Ancient Umbrella. “Little one, do not forget. When next we meet, you must have chosen my Seventh Vermillion Bird well! A babe with strength of will! You seem so aloof, child, yet you know mischief. Alas… alas, what good is dual cultivation? I cannot fathom it… and there are so many others… so many…” How could Wang Lin sever all these ties with a single choice? The memories of Si Mozi flooded his mind, the tapestry of his life unfurling before him like a morbid reflection of his own path.

For Si Mozi was Wang Lin’s shadow, a twisted echo of what he might become. For his sister’s revival, Si Mozi had forsaken the Heaven-Piercing Sect, abandoned the Inner Realm, severed all bonds with his brethren, and surrendered even his own soul. He became the Palm Sovereign’s slave, his hound. In the name of the Sovereign, he would slaughter, even raise his blade against his former master, tears streaming down his face. Had Wang Lin not seen Si Mozi’s memories, the choice before him would have been an agonizing torment.

Without the counsel of Dao Lord Blue Dream, without the words of the First Vermillion Bird, Wang Lin might never have been able to make the greatest choice of his life, a choice that was a painful, yet unavoidable necessity. Seeing Si Mozi’s life played out, Wang Lin had questioned himself: if faced with such a fate, how would he choose? He never imagined that day would arrive so swiftly. This day was a trial, a crucible. Fortuitously, Si Mozi’s memories offered Wang Lin a path, a distorted reflection… “I will not become Si Mozi…” Wang Lin murmured, the internal struggle slowly replaced by a resolute pain. “I will not become your slave!”

“I will not betray their kindness through my choices.”

Love, was a pain he could not sever, the very essence of his lifelong cultivation… but his life was not solely defined by love!

“Like Si Mozi, to sacrifice all for family, to endure the condemnation of conscience and a thousand voices, I admire Wang Lin! But I fear the choice, I fear facing those who have shown me grace… Even with my wife and child restored, we would be puppets… I will not choose that path…”

“Perhaps your master can truly revive my wife and child, but what he can do, I, Wang Lin, can also achieve!”

“My wife and child… I will resurrect them myself!” Wang Lin lifted his gaze, staring at the Palm Sovereign who stood frozen in the distance. He turned, becoming a streak of light against the endless starry void, carrying with him a breath of sorrow as he vanished into the distance.

Unseen, two crystalline tears escaped Wang Lin’s eyes, scattering into the vast ocean of stars, lost without trace.

“Wan’er… Ping’er… will you blame me?… Yesterday, I vowed, once the sword is drawn, it will not be sheathed until it is bloodied, for days unending! The sword is drawn, but the blood has not been drunk enough, it is not yet warm enough, I beg for moon tickets.”