One by one, the droplets descended. Five, six… until the tenth crimson pearl, each a vibrant spark of life, strung together in a swift, unerring line emerging from the heart of the vortex, aimed with merciless precision at Wang Lin’s brow.

His eyes ablaze with a newfound fire, Wang Lin watched their swift approach, unyielding, unflinching. He suffered the scarlet tide to touch him, each droplet piercing his forehead like a brand, dissolving into the very essence of his being.

As the fifth drop melded into his soul, a cataclysmic tremor ripped through his flesh. Raw, untamed power surged from the blood, forcing him back several paces, his eyes burning with an inner light. A strength beyond his imagining clenched within his very bones, and he gripped his fists, relishing the potent surge.

Hard upon the heels of the fifth, the sixth drop followed, sinking into his brow, unleashing another torrent of power. All the blood within his veins boiled and churned, ravenously consuming the lifeblood, the very essence of the ancient one. As it coursed through him, particularly as it flooded his heart, his heartbeat thundered like a forge, a monstrous, guttural rhythm echoing in the void.

He staggered back again, a primal roar tearing from his throat. Agony, far surpassing the pain of the previous infusions, coursed through him. It was a tearing, rending pain, as if his very form was being unmade and then born anew.

Then came the seventh drop, whistling through the ether. At the moment of union, Wang Lin’s features contorted in unbearable agony. Veins bulged, thick and pulsating beneath his skin. His blood raged through his body, a frantic, impossible torrent that twisted his flesh in unnatural undulations. Even his bones began to glow with the same baleful crimson light as the blood within.

Within him, the blood of the ancient ancestor surged, a meager trickle at first, now rapidly swelling into a raging flood.

For the people of the Ancient Kingdom, as for the immortals, the richness of one’s blood was the measure of their nobility, the key to unlocking power undreamed of.

The union with seven droplets had elevated Wang Lin’s bloodline to a level rivaling all but the Emperor himself. Know that the Emperor was born of the purest line, a direct descendant of the ancient ancestor, and possessed an innate wellspring of that blood. He had become Emperor by merging with but six droplets.

Wang Lin, however, was born of nothing, of no recognized lineage. Yet now, the seven drops of ancestral blood that writhed within him had forged a bloodline comparable to that of the Emperor, though not quite equal to the divine heritage.

The Emperor was like the sun, Wang Lin but a star, a fundamental difference in essence. But even such a difference could be overcome. The eighth drop shot forth, and as it pierced his brow, a shuddering wave of potency crashed through Wang Lin’s form. The thundering within his bones intensified, and a fresh wave of agony, radiating from his very marrow, sent shivers through his trembling frame.

The ancestral blood, like the blood of immortals, changed the very core of one’s being, beginning with the marrow. Once the marrow was transformed, the blood it produced would inevitably follow, thus granting one the coveted lineage.

But such a transformation could not be forced from within. It required external pressure, a gradual reshaping, bit by bit. This force was the blood now coursing through Wang Lin, infused with the essence of the ancient ancestor. In its relentless flow, it seeped into every bone, permeating the marrow itself, twisting and reshaping, raising Wang Lin from the mundane to the noble, from the impure to the authentic!

The eighth infusion had brought him close, infinitely close, to the Emperor’s level, yet still it fell short by the smallest of margins. This final sliver, this nigh-imperceptible gulf, was obliterated with the descent of the ninth drop.

Nine droplets, now one with the very marrow of Wang Lin’s bones, had utterly transformed him, giving him a richness of blood surpassing even that of the Emperor. In terms of bloodline alone, Wang Lin had become the pinnacle of the Ancient Kingdom.

But this was not yet the end. A final droplet emerged, a soul-blood, bathing the cosmos in an eerie, violet light. This light thrummed with an alien power that instantly drew Wang Lin’s gaze.

He beheld the purple droplet, and a ravenous, ancestral hunger surged through his very soul. The violet blood flashed, and, in a surge of incandescent light, branded itself upon Wang Lin’s brow!

This was no mere infusion of blood, no simple strengthening of the lineage. This droplet invaded the very seat of his soul!

Richness of blood might grant him immense power, but it would not change the essence of his being. At his core, he was still just one of the Ancient Kingdom. The soul-blood, however, would transform his soul, elevate it to the realm of the Ancient One, making it superior to all others!

It would make him something truly greater than the Emperor, perhaps akin to the fourth son of the ancient ancestor himself!

At the instant of its fusion, Wang Lin was utterly lost, his eyes vacant, his body moving of its own accord. He drifted backward, until he settled against the arm of the crumbling altar, lying there, still.

The vortex in the heavens slowly dissolved, until nothing remained. The cosmos returned to its previous state, indistinguishable from what it was before. If there was a difference, it was in the eerie silence, a silence so profound as to be almost palpable.

The savage beasts of the region cowered in their lairs, too afraid to make a sound. Slowly, a terrifying pressure filled the void. Should he sleep for millennia, so too would the world be silent. Should he remain at rest, all sound would be banished from this place forever. This was the power emanating from his slumbering form, a power that encompassed all.

Wang Lin’s true body lay dormant, and his spirit, detached from his physical form, floated outside the altar, cross-legged and unmoving.

In the depths of his unconsciousness, Wang Lin dreamed. It was not a dream of the Dream Dao, for it was indistinct, blurred at the edges of perception. Within it, Wang Lin saw a figure.

He was a man of unremarkable appearance, yet his frame was colossal. He stood as if the very world was beneath his feet. His eyes, heavy with disdain, scanned the landscape.

“If I will that the heavens should fall, then the heavens shall fall. If I will that the earth should shatter, then it shall. If I will that all mortals should perish, then none shall dare defy me. If I will that the heavens shall be without immortals, who shall dare to exist!”
Before the dawn of time, before the cosmos breathed, I was. I am Gu, born before existence, yet even then, there existed beings of ascended power, beings who dared to enslave me. These… *Immortals*. They sought to bind my will. Now, they shall face my wrath, and I shall unmake them!

Should I fall in this endeavor, let it be known that those who follow in my line, my children and their children, shall wage eternal war against these Immortals! Generation upon generation, a sacred oath, until the very notion of Immortality is purged from the heavens!

But will I fail? Never!

Nine drops of my very essence, my soul-blood, I bequeath unto my three sons. Let them lead the myriad tribes of Gu, and when the celestial alignment of Nine Curves and Three Phases is complete, they shall await my return, the awakening of my heir… the birth of my legacy.

To follow the path is to be mortal. To defy is to ascend to Immortality. To defy Heaven, one becomes Immortal. To defy the Immortals… one becomes Gu!

The dream faded, shattered by the simple words of a mortal man, words that reverberated within Wang Lin’s very being. He opened his eyes upon the altar, the echo of those pronouncements still ringing in his ears.

Upon his brow, eight ancient stars of the Gu pulsed with violet light, a slow, deliberate dance. Within his eyes, the stars of Demon and Spirit flickered with similar violet hues.

The violet, the soul-blood… the ancient soul of Gu now flowed within Wang Lin!

He slowly rose, gazing into the starlit void. After an age of silence, an aura of utter dominion erupted from him – a defiance of Heaven, a disregard for Earth. An unyielding declaration: “Though the heavens wither, I shall not! Though the cosmos crumbles, I shall endure!”

This very audacity, this unbridled will, was the essence of the Gu – the defiance incarnate.

In that moment, Wang Lin was forever changed. He was no longer who he had been.

He sat upon the altar, his gaze sweeping across the starscape, lingering upon his scattered fragments of self, and finally settling upon the colossal arm of Ye Mo that rested beside him. His eyes narrowed, burning with newfound power.

Within that limb surged an unimaginable force, a power capable of rending the very fabric of existence. This was the raw, untamed might of the right hand of Dao Gu Ye Mo!

Wang Lin’s right hand slowly rose, hovering above the ancient limb. As his hand descended, the twenty-four stars upon his brow and within his eyes spun with blinding speed, their violet light flooding his being, channeling directly into the arm of Ye Mo.

Instantly, the gargantuan limb shuddered, an echo of resistance, a desperate struggle against assimilation. Though Wang Lin possessed the inheritance of Dao Gu Ye Mo, that inheritance was incomplete. To fully merge with this power would be no simple task.

But this trial was meant for the Wang Lin *before* the Crimson Sky Trial. Now, imbued with the blood of antiquity, his lineage purified by nine drops of the Ancestor’s essence, such a challenge was naught but a fleeting obstacle.

“Ye Mo,” Wang Lin spoke, his voice a low murmur, as if speaking to the shade of the deceased, “Give me this arm.” His tone was calm, devoid of emotion, yet as the words left his lips, the violet light surrounding the twenty-four stars intensified, unleashing an aura within his soul that would have sent even the living Ye Mo reeling in terror.

This power surged through his right hand, and as it pressed down once more upon the arm, a resounding boom echoed through the void. The arm’s resistance crumbled, its struggle subdued. Slowly, it diminished in size, until with a final flash of ethereal light, it was completely absorbed into Wang Lin’s right hand. In an instant, his hand was irrevocably transformed.

Compared to his left, Wang Lin’s right hand was now coarse and scarred, etched with countless intricate runes, infused with a chilling, steel-blue tint. A single glance was enough to inspire dread.

He raised his right hand, holding it before him, his expression serene as he gazed upon it. After an age, he lowered it, clenching his fist. Then, with a savage motion, he thrust it towards the void.

“Tear the Heavens!”

As the words were uttered, the stars trembled. Wang Lin’s right hand ripped through the void, the heavens collapsing in its wake. Behind him, a spectral image of the colossal arm materialized, mimicking his actions. With a thunderous roar, a colossal rift tore open before him, shattering layer upon layer of reality.

Such power, such a devastating tear in the fabric of existence, would have shattered the mind of even a nascent Celestial Sovereign! Even a seasoned Sovereign would be forced to retreat in terror!

The altar upon which Wang Lin sat shuddered violently, emitting waves of energy as it desperately resisted the aftershocks of this earth-shattering act.

Wang Lin lowered his head, studying the altar with a curious gaze. A strange light flickered in his eyes.

“This altar,” he murmured, “It holds secrets…”