A drizzle, born of gathering clouds, wept upon the peaks of Heng Yun, its tears filling the mountain’s stony veins. ‘Twas in this downpour that a familiar face appeared.

The rain, at first a gentle patter, quickened its pace, drumming upon the ancient stones with a boisterous energy. This symphony, once sweet, grew insistent, bordering on cacophony.

But the wind, a playful spirit, intervened, seizing handfuls of rain and casting them aloft, tempering the unrest with gusts of wild abandon. Thus, the heavens and the mountain sang a song of storm and grandeur.

Upon Heng Yun’s summit, amidst this tempestuous embrace, stood a figure clad in white. Unmoved by the symphony of wind and water, he gazed upon an elder, his face etched with fervent anticipation, who stood before a weathered stone altar.

He sought no shelter from the rain, no defiance of its touch as he had once known, during his awakening of Rain, he stood, exposed and serene.

The torrent soaked his garments, chilling him to the bone, and plastered his white hair to his scalp. Yet, Wang Lin bore no semblance of disarray, only an air of profound belonging, as if he were but another stone, another tree, a part of the very essence of the mountain.

A smile graced Wang Lin’s face as he beheld the elder upon the altar. “Master!” the old man cried, rising to his feet, tears mingling with the rain that streamed down his cheeks as he knelt before him.

Eight centuries had passed since their last encounter. Wang Lin had returned to Qing Ling, to the place where his path had first taken form, and there he found Xie Qing, the nominal disciple he had taken long ago.

Xie Qing was but a fleeting memory in the tapestry of Wang Lin’s life, yet it was through him that Wang Lin’s understanding had once reached its zenith, forging a thread of destiny that led him to accept the man as a disciple.

Never had Wang Lin imagined that this disciple, born from a whisper of fate, would remain upon Heng Yun, steadfast in his devotion, for eight long centuries.

In those eight centuries, Xie Qing had immersed himself in the essence Wang Lin had imparted, pursuing it with the fervor of his days as a scholarly master in the mortal realm. His cultivation had blossomed, his progress nothing short of astonishing!

Yet, Xie Qing had forsaken all arts of magic and battle. His path diverged from all others, even from Wang Lin himself.

Wang Lin walked a path of merging Dao with the supernatural arts, slowly grasping at the very heart of the universe.

While Xie Qing, instead, completely abandoned the art of magic, and only walked along the path of his perception of the world!

Now, Xie Qing’s mortal frame was as frail as spun glass, a single blade could end his existence in a heartbeat. His body was near the end of its candle, but the well of his spirit overflowed, clinging to life with impossible strength!

Though his body was weak, his perception of Dao had surpassed all that a normal cultivator could possibly achieve in eight hundred years!

In terms of perception, even a Cultivator of Nirvana would be defenseless, as his perception had reached the level of purification and had even reached the first stage of regulation!

This path, unheard of in this world and similar to the extreme body cultivation method of the Ancient Gods, was the path of Xie Qing, the path of perception!

Within Xie Qing, there was no nascent soul, no immortal infant, nothing that a normal cultivator would have within them. The only thing he possessed was a well of energy, a boundless soul!

Even Xie Qing could not explain his actions as he knew nothing of cultivation and could only rely on Wang Lin to slowly perceive the world for eight hundred years.

“So, it is to cultivate the soul…” Wang Lin murmured, his gaze fixed upon Xie Qing.

“Those who cultivate immortality seek to become Immortals, to live forever… Those who cultivate reality seek to find themselves, unrestrained… Those who cultivate the Dao seek to understand the base of all that exists, to become one with it… but those who cultivate the soul seek to control all that exists… to master the Heavens, Earth, Monarch, Family, and Master”

Wang Lin spoke, the rain cold upon his face, as his eyes scanned the sky.

Xie Qing knelt upon the altar, his expression lost and uncertain. Perhaps driven by the discomfort of the heavy rain, he instinctively raised a hand, forming a minor art he had grasped on his own.

As his hand sealed its intent, the world around them shifted. The rain atop Heng Yun Mountain parted, deflected as if by an invisible hand.

Wang Lin shook his head, saying softly, “Still, you cling to the art of magic… Xie Qing, look upon this mountain. Does it resist the rain’s embrace? Look upon the river, the sea. Do they recoil from the falling tears of the sky? Look upon the grass, the trees, all things save the children of spirit, and tell me, who seeks to shield themselves from the rain’s touch? If you walk the path of the soul, why protect this mere vessel? The ancient texts speak of returning to the root. Few there are who truly grasp its meaning… Even I, your master, once believed I understood. But through the trials of time, upon my return to Luo Tian, I found true clarity…”

“To return to the root is to become one with the mountain, the river, the tree, the blade of grass. It is to shed the constraints of being, to become a part of the grand design. This, Xie Qing, is true return!”

Xie Qing shuddered, understanding dawning within his eyes.

Wang Lin raised his hand and with a wave, dispelled Xie Qing’s meager art. The rain fell once more, drenching Heng Yun in its embrace.

“If you see yourself as a part of this world, if you become the sky, the earth, then the rain is but your own lifeblood. Why then, would you resist it?

Wind, rain, snow, thunder, all things natural are you, and you are them. There is no division, no need for opposition… Eight centuries have passed, and still you have not fully understood the gift I offered you. When you are ready to shed this flesh, forget all that you have learned, and embrace only the spirit of Dao, then, seek me out…”

Wang Lin gazed upon the contemplative Xie Qing. He raised his hand and grasped at the emptiness of the sky. The heavens roared, the clouds churned, and the rains that blanketed Qing Ling rushed towards Heng Yun as if called by a single voice.

In an instant, the endless deluge merged above the mountain, forming a colossal sword of water, ten thousand feet in height! With a wave, the rain-sword descended, piercing Heng Yun’s peak, burying itself three-tenths into the mountain. What remained towered six to seven thousand feet above, a breathtaking display visible from afar. A wave of power, vast and untamed, emanated from the sword, echoing through the heavens and radiating from Qing Ling into the boundless stars!

As the rain-sword took form, Wang Lin pointed two fingers towards it. The ancient god star mark upon his brow flickered as he infused it with ancient god power. The essence of thunder and fire streamed from his eyes, imbuing the sword with their might. Thus, this simple sword of water now possessed two perfected essences and Wang Lin’s own indomitable spirit. This force did not spread far, but it was enough to shake Luo Tian!

“With this sword, few will dare trespass upon this star!” Wang Lin spoke with quiet authority. Even powerful cultivators of the void would hesitate before this blade, weighed down by the might of one who stood near the perfected Dao.

“This sword, when you understand it completely, shall be your gift upon entering my lineage.”

Wang Lin cast a final glance upon Xie Qing, then turned towards the lands beyond, and with a single step he departed. His form dissolved into the rain, receding into the distance. Xie Qing watched him go, kneeling and bowing his head to the ground three times. Once there was rain in Heng Yun, there is now a sword from the heavens. A friend has parted ways, accompanied with rain, the sound of someone kneeling… blessings. The Xian Xuan clan has moved on, without trace, as if they had never been here.

Wang Lin had departed. He returned to Luo Tian with four places to visit, and four matters to settle! The first place, and first matter, were now complete. As he strode through the resplendent Luo Tian star system, a glint of cold resolve and killing intent flickered in his eyes.

“Ancestor Xiang… the time to settle our debt has come…” With a flick of his sleeve, Wang Lin moved like a flash of light toward the Xiang family’s cultivation star, the star where he had been robbed of all vitality through the Seven Evening Art!

In the void, several hours after Wang Lin’s departure, a group of cultivators, led by a middle-aged man in thunderous robes, traveled towards Qing Ling, thirty million miles away. They were dispatched from the Thunder Immortal Temple, tasked with locating a cultivation star that met the requirements of Luo Tian’s ancestor, to form the legendary Star Shattering Seven Tribulations Formation!

Qing Ling met the requirements. The order had been given for its inhabitants to relocate, and the cultivators were prepared to move the star. But as they entered within thirty million miles of Qing Ling, they were suddenly struck by an overwhelming intent, as if the world were drowning in rain. The intent was so strong that the very stars trembled, and the middle-aged man leading the group coughed up blood, reeling backward. The other cultivators, one by one, spilled blood from their lips, their faces contorted with terror as they retreated. As the group was repelled by the force of this sword spirit, a man silently stepped out of the void, above Xie Qing who sat in meditation on top of Hengyun Mountain. The man was old, garbed in Daoist robes, it was Lu Fu Zi! He did not wish to meet with Wang Lin, and chose to stay hidden. But with a tap from Lu Fu Zi, who was floating in the air, all color left his face, as he could sense the Sword Intent.

“This aura!! Similar, but also completely different, with the powers of the Ancient God. And in this aura, I, have a heart attack! In addition… there’s two sources of power in the Sword!!”