A seed of doubt lingered within Wang Lin, unsure if his words would bear fruit. Even he, himself, walked in shadow. After a long while, he picked up the solitary pellet from the ground, held it in silent contemplation, then tucked it within his tunic with a sigh and turned away.

Alone, he wandered across the vastness of planet Suzaku, unbound by a single mountain or valley. He traversed countless peaks and forded endless rivers, carrying the enlightenment gleaned from the world and the weight of his thoughts to realms unknown.

Years spun into a tapestry of seasons. Wang Lin swallowed the pill, and it gifted him with tireless vigor, empowering him to fulfill his yearning for a life of wandering.

He slept beneath the open sky, his pillow a craggy rock. He rested by the riverbanks, his campfires mirroring the stars. He saw countless faces, strangers marked by kindness and cruelty, by bewilderment and obstinacy.

He encountered bandits and highwaymen, but upon each encounter, his mere presence radiated an aura so profound that it quelled their malice.

He, Wang Lin, could silence immortals with a single word. What power, then, did common brigands hold against him?

With each passing year, Wang Lin’s face weathered and creased, but his eyes burned ever brighter. Within them lay the distilled essence of wisdom and understanding, transforming his very being, elevating his thoughts to new heights.

He journeyed to countless cities, witnessing the triumphs and follies of men. Even the grand capitals held no sway. Before emperors and nobles, Wang Lin’s presence, his words, commanded a silent reverence.

He gazed upon monarchs basking in earthly glory, yet in his eyes, they were no different from the humblest peasant.

They were all equal.

Some sought to end his life, but their malice withered before the intangible force that emanated from him, leaving only awe and retreat.

In the kingdom of Wu, within the heart of the palace, a thousand soldiers stood poised to strike at the Emperor’s command, ready to bind Wang Lin and claim him as Wu’s most esteemed scholar.

But with a gentle smile and a shake of his head, Wang Lin turned and departed. Thunder roared in the heavens, the skies swirled in turmoil, yet not a single soldier dared hinder his passage. They simply bowed in unison as he disappeared into the storm.

In the kingdom of Sun, the Sun Emperor, surrounded by his court, escorted Wang Lin for a thousand li.

In the barbaric lands of the Tian Gou, he faced a nation of brutes. Yet upon his departure, he left behind a populace touched by enlightenment, numbering in the tens of thousands.

As he walked, the name of the Grand Scholar Wang Lin echoed across planet Suzaku, stirring a storm of recognition that grew with each passing day.

Throughout his journeys, he beheld countless mountains, each summit offering a broader vista of the heavens. He encountered immortals and mortals, faces both familiar and strange.

Upon Suzaku, the realms of cultivation were divided into countless sects, many nestled within towering peaks or verdant valleys. Yet, some clung to existence in the most desolate corners of the world.

Whenever a mountain called to him, Wang Lin did not seek it out. Guided only by his heart’s yearning and his communion with the world, he would find his way to the gates of each sect.

Fortified by barriers of varying strength, none could truly impede his progress. He simply walked through, each footfall sending tremors of astonishment through the ranks of cultivators.

Even the elders, secluded in meditative trances for decades, would awaken, startled by the vast, untamed energy radiating from him.

Wang Lin arrived with serenity and departed with grace. He sought only to observe the mountains, to contemplate the landscapes, to absorb the wisdom of the world. All else held no particular significance in his eyes.

Gradually, even within the realms of cultivation in Zhao, the name of Wang Lin, a mortal scholar, began to spread. Cultivators learned that upon Suzaku walked a sage, whose wisdom inspired reverence, even amongst those who commanded the elements.

They revered not his strength, but his thoughts!

“Cultivators, mortals, all are merely fleeting souls adrift in the grand tapestry of existence…” These words of Wang Lin lingered in every place he visited.

Many a cultivator sought his counsel, finding inspiration and enlightenment in his words, grasping new understandings of the world and glimpsing the potential for transcendence. Even those who had surpassed the stage of Transformation felt their very souls tremble in his presence.

Years turned into decades, and twelve years passed in the blink of an eye.

In those twelve years, Wang Lin had traversed countless lands. Unknowingly, his name had spread far beyond the places he had visited.

Twelve years ago, he had left Zhao alone. Now, twelve years later, he still walked alone upon the face of planet Suzaku.

One day, in the heart of winter, as snow swirled around him, Wang Lin arrived at the capital city of a kingdom unknown to him. Its expanse was vast, dwarfing Zhao three times over.

This city he had visited in his dreams. Standing outside its gates, with snowflakes swirling around him, a flicker of longing crossed his aged features.

He tightened the fur cloak around his shoulders and stepped into the city.

His boots crunched upon the accumulating snow as he made his way down a quiet street. The shops lining the road were largely empty. Yet, the familiar scene evoked images from his dreams that seemed to coalesce with his reality.

“Clang, clang… clang…” The distant sound of a hammer striking metal drew his attention. Wang Lin’s weathered eyes fell upon a smithy in the distance.

Within, a robust man, stripped to the waist, his muscles glistening with sweat, hammered at a glowing piece of iron.

Despite the falling snow, the smith seemed unaffected by the cold, his hammer rising and falling in a rhythmic dance.

Beside him, upon a small stool, sat a boy of eight, his face flushed crimson despite the thick cotton padding of his clothes. He watched the smith with rapturous delight.

“Da Niu…” Wang Lin blinked, his vision blurred for a moment. He shook his head gently. The boy was not Da Niu, the boy from his dreams.
“Old traveler, you’ve lingered in the cold far too long. Come in and warm yourself by the hearth.” The burly smith, his brow glistening with sweat, set down his hammer and offered Wang Lin a smile as wide and warm as his forge.

Wang Lin paused, a flicker of surprise then a mirroring smile gracing his own face. He nodded and stepped into the smithy. A wave of heat washed over him, coaxing the clinging snow from his worn garments.

“Xiuniang, fetch a tankard of warmed wine!” The smith, now draped in a thick leather apron, guided the elder man to a stool near the fire. He settled beside him, his movements careful despite his size. “You’re not from these parts, are you, Grandfather?” he inquired, his voice a gentle rumble.

“I passed through many years ago. I am merely traveling this way again,” Wang Lin replied, his voice a soft rasp, his gaze sweeping over the familiar, comforting clutter of the workshop.

A lad, perhaps seven summers old, sat nearby, his bright eyes fixed on Wang Lin with open curiosity. He scampered away at the sound of his mother’s voice, returning moments later with a comely woman carrying a steaming flagon. Her eyes, filled with quiet compassion, met Wang Lin’s as she poured him a generous measure. “The weather bites deep, old one. Drink deep and warm yourself. Do you seek kin in these lands?”

Wang Lin smiled, a silent thank you, and raised the cup to his lips. He sipped, then drained it in a single draught.

“Ah, Grandfather, you taste the quality of the Zeng family brew, eh? Hah! My forefathers were vintners, not smiths. It was only with me that the forge took flame!” The smith chuckled, raising his own tankard in a hearty salute.

The forge roared, casting dancing shadows on the walls, a stark contrast to the swirling snow outside. The chill wind, banished from within, howled impotently against the stout wooden door.

Wang Lin sat, the warmth of the fire and the wine blurring the edges of reality. Was this a dream, or a fleeting moment of respite? He could not say.

As the snow began to abate, Wang Lin rose to take his leave. The smith, moved by the old man’s apparent frailty, pressed a flask of wine upon him for the journey.

Dusk deepened as Wang Lin walked on, the snow-covered ground reflecting the meager light, illuminating his path far ahead. He walked, and behind him, the smithy’s candlelight painted a long, wavering shadow beneath the moon.

The brief respite seemed to clarify something within him. He continued his journey across the world of Vermillion Bird, through lands both strange and familiar. Fifteen years had passed since he left Zhao, and Wang Lin, now past seventy, walked with a stoop, the weariness of ages clinging to him like a shroud. Yet his eyes burned with an inner fire, a captivating light that held the weight of consequence, of life and death, of truth and illusion. Not even his former master, Su Dao, had possessed such an aura.

In the summer of his fifteenth year, in a nameless kingdom, a relentless rain hammered the land. Wang Lin stood beneath the eaves of a roadside pavilion, gazing at the downpour. Through the shifting curtains of water, he glimpsed a distant horizon – a vast, immeasurable sea.

That sea, a barrier between continents, was his ultimate destination. Beyond its churning waves lay other kingdoms, and there, in a distant land, awaited a woman, a love lost in the tapestry of dreams. He sought only a glimpse, a final farewell.

Rain lashed down, obscuring the world in a gray, watery haze. Wang Lin closed his eyes, listening to the drumming rhythm.

In that instant, a figure materialized in the downpour. A woman, radiating a chilling aura that froze the very rain around her into shimmering ice crystals.

She cradled an infant, swaddled in thick blankets, untouched by the storm, sleeping peacefully.

She halted before the pavilion, a woman marked by time, yet still possessed of a haunting beauty, now masked by an icy severity.

“Are you the scholar, Wang Lin?”

Wang Lin opened his eyes, his gaze meeting hers. He nodded, his expression serene.

Both were sheltered from the rain, the woman by the pavilion’s eaves, the area around her by the storm, now a wall of glittering ice.

“I come from the Land of Snows, to ask you a question.” Her voice was as cold and distant as her origin.