Within the grotesque womb of the Netherbeast, lay a singular, bizarre realm. Stars twinkled in its ethereal sky, and shattered, forgotten worlds of cultivation drifted aimlessly. Yet, life was a phantom here, a whisper lost in the endless expanse. Before the arrival of Wang Lin, only one soul dared to call this desolate sphere their prison:

A wretch haunted by the specter of the Netherbeast, twice terrified into a life of paralyzing dread. He had, in his madness, come to believe this internal world was the true cosmos.

Upon a crumbling, shattered star – once a world of cultivation, now a barren husk – knelt a figure cloaked in rags, face obscured by a tangled thicket of beard. His vacant eyes were fixed upon a prone form, a corpse laid before him.

“Curious… Surely he yet lives? But days ago, the growth was scant. Now, upon my return, it flourishes! At this rate, in but a few years, he will be whole… Hmm, perhaps my blood is the catalyst?” The madman stroked his chin, circling the corpse, then abruptly delivered a harsh kick.

“Daring to feign death before your king, eh?” He bellowed, his eyes widening. When the corpse remained still, he rained blows upon it with his tattered boot. Finally, overcome with manic glee, he leaped upon the body, stomping and cavorting for what felt like an hour, before collapsing beside it, gazing blankly at the hazy heavens.

For years beyond count, he had searched this star-strewn void, his quest futile, his heart filled with a deep loneliness. Never had he beheld another soul. He recalled, with a pang of ancient sorrow, how he had once lain just so, pleading to the celestial beings for a companion, a fellow wanderer to share his torment.

The longing was a constant ache, but this time, something shifted. In the moment the familiar prayer formed on his lips, his eyes snapped open. A distant spark flickered in the dim expanse above. Then, through the nebulous veil, he glimpsed something falling, plummeting towards the opposite side of the broken star.

He recalled the days, perhaps four or five, that had passed before he mustered the courage to investigate. Overwhelmed with a strange surge of hope, he had stumbled across the star to find the broken corpse he now obsessed over.

“At last, companionship… Though you are but a dead thing, how can it be that your form regenerates? Ah, well, who can know? Perhaps it will rain today… Little Crimson, fetch the rain-warding relic for your King! What? You say I devoured it in my drunken stupor? Then go to the house of Li and demand another! If they refuse, tell them my brother will plunder their halls on the morrow!”

“Or perhaps… perhaps the coffers are low. How shall we replenish them? Little Laurel, seek out my brother and beg for funds! If he refuses, tell him I… I myself shall…” The madman trailed off, his words dissolving into a jumbled stream. This was a malady that had plagued him since his confinement within the prison of rainbow light. The nonsensical rambling was the only thing keeping the demons of madness at bay.

After an eternity of unintelligible mutterings, he released a ragged breath. Rising, he cast a look upon the corpse, his features twisting with sudden rage. A sinister grin stretched across his face. “Daring to frighten your King! Prepare to be punished!” he roared, leaping into the air. With frantic gestures, he unleashed a torrent of spells, arcane energies crashing upon the unmoving form below, the crumbling world shuddering beneath the onslaught. Days blurred into weeks as the lunatic wove increasingly bizarre incantations. Any sane witness would be driven to madness by the sight.

“Little Peach Blossom, face my wrath!” he screamed, raising his hand. The heavens trembled as a massive, ethereal palm manifested, plummeting towards the corpse. The spell, however, possessed little potency, dissipating harmlessly upon contact. Yet, its form radiated an aura of righteous power. It was the Spirit Binding Seal, a sacred art of the Ascendant imparted to the Divine Sect. But the madman’s execution was, in some bizarre way, even purer than that of the Ascendant himself!

“Silver Sprite, witness my fury!” he howled, thrusting a finger skyward. Miraculously, the sky transformed into a vast, inverted umbrella, anchored by a single colossal pillar. It was, without question, a gargantuan parasol!

“Burning World Parasol, descend!” With a wave of his hand, the spectral umbrella shrunk, landing in his grasp. He lunged, attempting to impale the corpse, but the spell, despite its appearance of might, possessed no true power, vanishing instantly upon touching the lifeless flesh.

“Old Man Li Guang, meet my arrow!” The madman laughed, raising his hands as if grasping a bow. Though no bow was present, a shaft of pure arrow energy materialized from thin air, hurtling towards the prone figure of Wang Lin.

“Rainbow Maiden, your husband has been driven away by my brother! I say, yield to your King! I, too, possess the arts of the seven colors!” He raised his right hand, and in an instant, a swirling vortex of polychromatic light erupted, forming a colossal, grinding wheel.

Time flowed onward as the lunatic continued his unending soliloquy, weaving spells the likes of which had never been witnessed within the realms of mortals and immortals alike.

Only after days did the madman cease his furious display, panting and exhausted, a semblance of contentment upon his face.

“Good, good. Your King’s magic grows stronger!” With a self-satisfied nod, he rose once more and shambled to the corpse. In its hand, clutched with a death grip, lay a bow. The string was snapped, one end still fastened to the bow, the other fused with the corpse’s very flesh.

The madman rubbed his hands together, grasped the bow, and strained with all his might, his face reddening with effort. He leaped and strained, roaring and howling.

“Curse these ancient ones! Even in death, an ancient grip. What was that? Ancient ones? Li Guang’s bow?”

The madman paused, puzzled. After a long moment of contemplation, he blinked and shook his head. “Ancient… it sounds familiar. Hateful…” After an eon of silence, he shrugged and sighed. He knelt down, stared at the corpse, bit his finger, and placed it in the corpse’s mouth.

“Drink! Drink deeply! Hasten your regeneration, and then speak with me.” It was an action he’d repeated every day since first finding the body, he would feed it his blood.

“Your king’s blood is a precious thing. That Li girl begged for years, and I only offered a single drop. And there was that… What was her name? Little Scarlet, remind me?

Oh, it was that saint of the clan, the one that was stolen. If she hadn’t looked so sorry for herself I wouldn’t have bothered.

One drop of my blood is more valuable than even the saints!”

“I’m out of food… Little Crimson, go and fetch fruit from the pool, from the family of Ink, just take the 10,000-year dream fruit, that’s the one! If they don’t give you it, then tell them my brother will take it by force!”

As the madman rambled, he remained oblivious to the truth. The corpse, once rapidly healing, now slowed with his blood. It would even stop its progression, instead reversing the process, worsening the injuries.

Deep within the corpse, there was a force that rejected the blood, like two opposing entities, warring for dominance. And yet, among the turmoil, there was also a faint, faint spark of amalgamation.

This corpse was Wang Lin.

The blood of the madman battled the power of the Ancient God. They would consume the other or be consumed. And among the chaos, something shifted within Wang Lin. A transformation, changing his blood.

A change from mortal man to Xian.

Furthermore, that bow, brought in by Li Guang, unclaimed since his death, the old ghost did not believe any living would ever tame. There was a great and dreadful change taking place. If only the old ghost was here to see it, to be struck with disbelief.

The snapped string, lodged deep within Wang Lin, was being molded by the blood. Following the string, the blood would eventually seep throughout the bow.

There was a thrill coming from the bow, an excitement Wang Lin could feel. After an eternity of nothing, it had finally found a master!

Furthermore, the bow could feel it, the blood within Wang Lin was greater than anything it had felt before, greater than its master. Like water to wine.

The madman stared off into the heavens, speaking to himself.

“It’s raining… Little Crimson, come and massage my shoulders…”

“Go and tell my brother that I am too tired to cultivate today, I want to go out to play… Tell him not to come looking for me, I’ll return when I’m good and ready, if he drags me back, then I will disown him!”