“Six more Binding Spikes remain. Continue if you dare,” the iridescent figure intoned, its voice echoing like a distant chime.

Wang Lin, his mind a storm of unanswered questions, quelled his doubts. With a deliberate motion, his right hand grasped the fifth Spike embedded in Qingshui’s abdomen. It lay precisely where a cultivator’s dantian, the seat of their vital essence, would be.

“This fifth Spike… it seals his very Core,” the figure’s voice whispered, resonating within Wang Lin’s mind.

The moment Wang Lin touched the Spike, Celestial Force and Ancient Dao power surged within him, threatening to tear him asunder. The merged energies flooded into his right arm as he gripped the accursed thing. With a guttural cry, he wrenched it outwards.

A thunderous crack echoed through the air as the Spike yielded, ripped free from its fleshy prison. But the effort shook Wang Lin to his core. Cracks appeared on his right arm, spattering his surroundings in a fine mist of blood. He staggered back, panting, until he had retreated several steps.

His eyes bloodshot, he forced himself forward, returning to Qingshui’s side. Agony etched itself upon Qingshui’s face, and stifled moans escaped his lips.

Without hesitation, Wang Lin reached for the sixth and seventh Spikes, embedded in Qingshui’s legs.

Before the iridescent figure could speak, Wang Lin roared. His arms blazed with golden light, the aura of the Ancient Dao swirling around him. Amidst the crimson splatter, he seized the two Spikes and, with a Herculean effort, ripped them free.

Even the stoic Qingshui could barely endure the pain. His jaw clenched, the scream that threatened to erupt was choked down into a rasped hiss.

Another thunderous crack split the air as the twin Spikes were pulled forth. Wang Lin staggered, a trickle of blood escaping his lips. The opposing forces within him reached a crescendo, twisting his features into a mask of agony.

“Not bad. Only three remain. But these final Binding Spikes will not surrender so easily. Should you succeed, I shall bestow upon you a gift,” the iridescent figure said calmly. With a sweep of its hand, it gestured towards the swirling rainbow mists above. The mists churned, and a booming sound reverberated as a massive, golden fruit slowly materialized, descending from the kaleidoscopic haze.

A slender vine still connected it to its ethereal source. The figure flicked a finger, severing the link, and the fruit fell free.

“This… is your reward.”

Wang Lin’s brow furrowed as he gazed upon the Dao Fruit. The iridescent figure evoked a similar feeling to when he faced Tian Yunzi in the past. He could not fathom its motives. Why would it allow him to save Qingshui, reveal secrets of the Ancient Dao, and then offer this gift?

This was no act of benevolence. There had to be a hidden purpose!

He averted his gaze from the Dao Fruit and focused on the eighth Spike, visible a few inches from Qingshui’s temple.

He could also see the two remaining Spikes, but extracting them would be a task of unparalleled difficulty.

Drawing a deep breath, Wang Lin slowly reached out towards Qingshui’s temple. The deliberate, unhurried pace of his action betrayed the gravity of the situation.

This eighth Spike, planted at the very nexus of life and death, confounded him. Had it been driven straight into the center of the temple, it would have been one thing. But it was angled, slightly askew, and for this, Wang Lin could see no reason.

“This eighth Spike… it does not seal, but unlocks his cycle of reincarnation,” the iridescent figure said, a cryptic smile playing on its lips as Wang Lin’s hand neared the Spike.

An inch from the cursed thing, Wang Lin paused. This Spike was different. While the others had left a good portion exposed, only two inches of this one protruded from Qingshui’s temple.

Two inches… so little to hold onto!

He hesitated, unsure of what might happen should he pluck it out. The location was perilous.

Slowly, Qingshui raised his head. Though his face was still contorted in pain, his eyes were clear. He gazed at Wang Lin for a long moment, then nodded.

His resolve steeled, Wang Lin seized the Spike. The moment his fingers closed around it, a whirlwind of fragmented memories erupted within his mind. Twisted visions, bursting forth like shards of glass, sent searing agony through his skull.

He could not decipher the flood of images. With a roar of effort, he yanked, and the Spike moved a mere four inches.

Qingshui bit down on his tongue, stifling a scream and forcing out only agonized hisses through clenched teeth.

The next few breaths felt like an eternity to both Wang Lin and Qingshui. The Spike was extracted inch by agonizing inch. Wang Lin’s face twisted in torment as the fractured memories drove him to the brink of madness. But his hand remained steady, slowly, inexorably, raising the Spike higher and higher.

Finally, the last inch of the Spike slid free from Qingshui’s temple. As the tip cleared his skin, blood streamed from Qingshui’s lips. He collapsed, falling away from the mountain top, into Wang Lin’s waiting embrace.

His head lolled on Wang Lin’s shoulder, his body limp and weightless. Only a faint whisper reached Wang Lin’s ears.

“Thank… you…” And with that, Qingshui lost consciousness.

“Shige…” Wang Lin whispered, discarding the bloody Spike. Tears welled in his eyes as he held Qingshui close.

“Well done. But the final two Binding Spikes will prove far more challenging. However, no matter, take him and be gone from this place.” The iridescent figure waved a hand, and the Dao Fruit hurtled towards Wang Lin.

“Since it was promised to you, take it.”

Supporting Qingshui, Wang Lin caught the Dao Fruit, giving the iridescent figure one last, searching look before tucking the fruit away and hurrying from the kaleidoscopic realm.
A profound unease clung to Wang Lin regarding the Chromatic One. He could not fathom the purpose behind its actions.

In the pregnant silence before his departure, Wang Lin paused. He turned, gazing back at the distant, seven-hued form.

“Why?” Wang Lin’s voice was a rough rasp, a sound torn from his throat.

“He is but a pawn in a game, a token you sought to rescue, so I deigned to let you take him,” the Chromatic One’s voice echoed, tinged with amusement. “As for the ‘why’… I seek to observe whether this spirit cultivator, born under the auspices of Creation within this realm, might unveil a marvel akin to the War-Source brat… perhaps, through this transformation, I shall find that which I seek…”

“What is it you seek?” Wang Lin’s brow furrowed, unable to decipher the enigma.

“Should fate grant you an encounter, you shall know.” The Chromatic One smiled faintly, and with a sweep of its hand, Wang Lin found himself helplessly drawn backward.

Astonishment flickered in Wang Lin’s eyes as he was inexorably propelled from the Chromatic Realm.

“Are you a Celestial Sovereign?” he demanded in a final, desperate question as he was thrust out.

“I am… and am not…” the haunting answer echoed, and the world dissolved before Wang Lin’s eyes. He found himself standing amidst the stars of the Kunxu Starfield. Before him, the rift leading to the Chromatic Realm contracted, vanishing without a trace.

Freedom was restored to his limbs, yet the events remained etched within his mind. He grasped at fragments of understanding, yet was swallowed by greater confusion.

“What does it seek…? If the War-Source brat it spoke of is the old War Ghost, then what wondrous transformation has befallen him…?”

The possibility that this change would lead the Chromatic One to its desire gnawed at him. Silently, Wang Lin retreated, casting a final, complex glance at the spot where the Chromatic Realm had vanished, before melting away into the cosmos.

“Qing Shui’s plight… merely a game?” A cold light flickered in Wang Lin’s eyes. He cradled the unconscious Qing Shui, and appeared on a desolate world just beyond the perimeter of the Alliance Headquarters.

No cultivators trod this barren star. No spiritual energy flowed through it. Only savage beasts roamed its surface. Yet, for Wang Lin, it was the perfect sanctuary to lift the seal from Qing Shui.

Within a secluded valley, Wang Lin sat in the lotus position, gently laying Qing Shui before him. He inhaled deeply, seeking to suppress the forces of rejection that raged within his body, but his efforts bore little fruit. He could only endure the throbbing torment, finding fleeting moments of respite.

Within his flesh, countless barbs seemed to have taken root. Though invisible to the eye, their constant presence was a torment that screamed with every breath.

Rescuing Qing Shui had come at a terrible price.

Yet, were he given the choice again, Wang Lin would not hesitate. He would act with the same unwavering resolve, even if it defied reason, even if it seemed the height of folly.

He had waited long years to rescue Qing Shui, for his cultivation had once been far too meager, offering no chance of success.

Now, armed with greater power, he possessed a sliver of hope. To delay further, to wait until his odds improved, to await ascension to the Third Step, or the attainment of greater power, would risk Qing Shui’s very existence.

A man who calculates every risk, weighing every advantage, will never understand the true meaning of *qing* – of love and duty.

He knew the danger, and yet he persisted! Had their roles been reversed, Wang Lin was certain Qing Shui would have chosen the same path; he would have risked everything to save Wang Lin!

That, in itself, was enough.

It was a simple truth, a direct choice, yet so few in this world could muster the courage to embrace it. Life was precious, but there were moments when something else outweighed survival.

Those who held to this belief were growing ever rarer.

Wang Lin was no paragon, no detached cultivator. He was a creature of flesh and blood, a man who felt deeply, driven by powerful affections.