A fitful chorus of coughs shattered the twilight hush of the courtyard, each rasp a testament to a life nearing its final ember. The sound was aged, weary, like the rustling of autumn leaves about to fall. With each expulsion of breath, a low, mournful wind seemed to rise outside the walls.

Whispers of wind snaked through the ancient stones, causing the lanterns that hung above the courtyard gate to sway with a frantic dance. They flickered and cast long, dancing shadows that seemed to writhe with an energy drawn from the very veil between worlds. A chilling premonition rode upon the wind: a spectral hand reaching to claim a weary soul teetering on the brink of the next great journey.

As the lanterns swung, their crimson surfaces caught the light, revealing characters painted in vibrant cinnabar – a single, stark symbol: “別.”

The Sun Clan.

The fractured silence spurred a flurry of activity within the courtyard. Servants, their faces etched with worry, hastened towards a modest dwelling nestled deep within the family estate.

Before the humble cottage stood three ancient elders, their faces a mask of apprehension. Behind them huddled a throng of Sun Clan heirs, their voices hushed with concern.

“Cease your fretting! This old crone has cheated death’s embrace too many times to succumb so easily,” a voice rasped from within the cottage, thick with the weariness of centuries.

“Ancestress…” One of the three elders, his face etched with deep lines of worry, stepped forward, his words a hushed plea.

Suddenly, the rhythmic thunder of hooves shattered the fragile peace. In the distance, a rapid gallop grew closer with each heartbeat. Soon, figures emerged from the inky blackness of the surrounding streets. A handful of warhorses pounded toward the courtyard, the lead rider a man in gleaming armor, his face a granite mask of authority. Beside him, clinging precariously to his mount, was an elderly man, his hat lost, his silver hair streaming in the wind.

Before the courtyard gates, the warhorses drew to a snorting halt. The armored warrior dismounted, seizing the trembling old man with surprising gentleness. As swift as the wind, he bore him into the courtyard, racing towards the unassuming cottage.

“Honored Ancestress! This unworthy descendant brings the most skilled physician in the land! He shall restore your vitality!”

“Foolishness! I have danced with mortality for a thousand years! No mortal healer can mend what is beyond mending!” the voice within retorted, followed by another racking cough.

As those gathered held their breath, the cottage door creaked open. An old woman, her hair a cloud of snow, emerged, supported by two young maids.

“I have summoned you all this night, for I sense my time draws to a close. Seven suns, perhaps, shall be my last. I have some final words for you, for my heart carries concern. The Sun Clan, save for myself, boasts no others who tread the path of cultivation. Thus, you are spared the trials of the cultivation world, and its cruelties. Heed my words: let no descendant of mine seek the Way. Let them revel in the riches of this mortal realm, for that is the truest blessing.”

Her voice, though frail, held an undeniable weight. As she finished, her eyes suddenly snapped open, blazing with unexpected power. Her gaze swept over her descendants, piercing through them.

A palpable pressure emanated from her, a wave that crashed upon the assembled clan members. Even the armored warrior knelt, his face etched with awe and fear, murmuring assent.

“Good, good… Remember well. Now, leave me to find peace in solitude.” The light in her eyes dimmed, though the faint echoes of youthful beauty still clung to her aged face. A beauty coupled with a disposition for imparting wisdom.

Her words were law. The kneeling family dispersed, followed by servants and maids, until only silence and shadows remained around the modest cottage.

With a sigh, the old woman settled onto a nearby stone bench, gazing at the moon obscured by swirling clouds. Memories, like phantoms, danced in her mind.

“An old woman’s mind drifts back… Even at death’s door, I cannot relinquish my need to impart lessons. And truth be told, I have not instructed many…” Her thoughts drifted to a particular figure.

A youth she had once dismissed as an indifferent cultivator. A youth whose lazy demeanor had often spurred her to fits of righteous anger.

A faint smile touched her lips as she recalled those days, finding a flicker of joy in the twilight of her life.

Outside the courtyard, bathed in the pale glow of the lanterns and the autumn wind, stood a lone figure in white.

Wang Lin gazed upon the familiar courtyard. Since his return to Ran Yun Star, his senses had been drawn to this place, to the last vestige of a former life. A memory of a spirited young cultivator, disguised as a man.

That youth, whenever their paths crossed near his cave dwelling, would scold him for his idleness, urging him to dedicate himself to the Dao.

Wang Lin knew her words were genuine, a rare and precious thing in the cutthroat world of cultivation. It warmed his heart.

And so, he remembered her.

Now, after a millennium, he had returned to this star, and the sole surviving acquaintance from his past was that very same young woman.

A gentle smile graced his face as he walked toward the gate, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the night. He moved towards the cottage, to where his friend waited.

He saw her sitting there, lost in the labyrinth of memory, the female cultivator Sun Ling, or rather, Bie Ling.

Wang Lin’s arrival was marked by the unmistakable sound of footsteps, unhurried and deliberate. He concealed nothing, hid nothing.

“Did I not say, ‘leave me in peace’?” the old woman said, her brow furrowed, without turning around.

“A thousand years have passed since our parting, and you bid me leave so soon?” Wang Lin said softly, a smile in his voice.

His words struck her like a chime. The old woman started, turning to face Wang Lin, her body trembling as her eyes landed on him.

“Xu Mu?” she whispered, a smile slowly spreading across her face.

“When did you return…?” The old woman did not lose composure as Yan Lei Zi and the others might. Although her lifespan could not compare to that of Yan Lei Zi and her cultivation was far weaker, she was only seven days from death and had long since seen through everything. Only the joy of seeing an old friend remained.

“Not long ago. I passed this way and wondered if any familiar faces remained.” Wang Lin sat opposite her, regarding her with the warmth he would offer a dear friend.
In Wang Lin’s eyes, the woman’s gender was of no consequence. He and she were not bound by the ties of man and woman, but rather by the enduring friendship of comrades long past. Man or woman, it mattered not; each evoked echoes of bygone days.

That eve, Wang Lin was filled with a serene joy, and his words mingled with those of Duo Ling, resonating within the courtyard. At times, the aged, raspy voice of Sun Ling would chime in, her laughter, though weathered by time, sounding to Wang Lin like the silver bells of a millennium past.

When an old friend arrives despite the ravages of age, even the chill of autumn seemed to abate, the wind becoming as gentle as a spring zephyr, stirring warmth within his heart.

As the moon’s radiance began to wane, a pearly luminescence emerged upon the horizon, spreading like the opening of a celestial eye, slowly awakening from its slumber.

“Have you truly decided?” Wang Lin murmured as the dawn painted the sky.

“All that lives must die, and I am weary. To linger would be without purpose; better to depart,” Sun Ling replied, her face illuminated by a gentle smile as she gazed upon Wang Lin.

“Should you change your mind, partake of this elixir,” Wang Lin stated, placing a pill beside her. With a sigh, he rose, casting one last glance at the aged woman before turning and striding towards the courtyard’s gate.

Sun Ling watched Wang Lin’s departing figure, a vision blurring at the edges, as if transported back to a time when she sat before the cave dwelling, scolding a youth who seemed forever absent from his studies.

“Do you know what is most valued by those who tread the path of cultivation? I shall tell you: diligence! Though your talent be meager, with effort, there remains the hope of progress. I have watched over this abode for many years and have witnessed cultivators, some even reaching the lofty state of Transformation. None among them abandon their meditations at dawn to wander aimlessly as you do.”

The smile upon the old woman’s face deepened, yet beneath the mirth lay a faint flush of color.

The morning sun spilled across the land, banishing the chill of night, and even the autumn breeze seemed less severe, carrying a hint of warmth.

Leaves, tinged with yellow and crimson, danced in the wind, a tapestry of beauty unfurling across the land.

Wang Lin walked through the autumn breeze, slowly ascending the highest peak on the star. Forsaking all artifice, he climbed as a mortal, step by step.

It was as he had done in days long past, when he led Wang Ping to conquer this very mountain.

He stood by a rushing river, his gaze lost in the distance.

Upon a lone skiff adrift in the sea, Wang Lin braved the crashing waves, gazing upon the vastness of the heavens and earth.

“Ping’er,” he whispered, “the mountain represents an unyielding spirit, the river embodies persistence, and the sea mirrors a boundless heart. I brought you to conquer this mountain so that you might possess an unbreakable will, bowing neither to heaven nor fate. Wherever you may tread, hold your head high and stand defiant.

I brought you to conquer this river, so that you might understand the relentless flow, the unwavering belief that sustains it. Without such belief, the river cannot flow, and without belief, a man’s life is but a hollow shell.

I brought you to conquer this sea, so that you might possess a heart as vast as its depths. What tribulations can compare to such immensity?”

Wang Lin walked through mountains, rivers, and seas, across plains and through forests, retracing the footsteps he had taken with Wang Ping. Though he was a seven-star ancient god, though his name echoed beyond the borders of this realm, though he would one day be hailed as a legend within, he was, at this moment, a father.

A mortal man, yearning for his son, Wang Ping.

Returning to places of old, his heart heavy with memories of his son, Wang Lin, his hair as white as snow, his figure etched with loneliness, departed Ran Yun Star, the star that had gifted him a century of unforgettable memories. Only a wistful sigh lingered in the air, echoing through the heavens, refusing to fade.

Ran Yun Star, a name that evokes an image of softness, a willow’s sway, like clouds slowly descending and dissipating on the horizon, a gentle reminder of the approach of age…