As the Grandmaster’s words echoed through the ancient tomb’s penultimate layer, the very earth beneath trembled, rippling like the surface of a still pond. Within this mirrored plane, the figures of Wang Lin and his companions flickered into existence, as if submerged in the depths of a mystic well.

Wang Lin sought not a confrontation with the Grandmaster unless dire necessity dictated. His true foes were the Seven-Colored Immortal and the ancient wraith, Zhan Laogui. To add the Grandmaster to their ranks would be a burden too great to bear. Yet, the Grandmaster’s purpose was clear – to extinguish Wang Lin’s life.

Thus, Wang Lin was forced to embrace battle.

He held advantages, however. The combined might of Yun Yifeng, Tang Shan, and Tuosen had wounded the Grandmaster. Wang Lin’s own insightful deductions and the acquisition of the Golden Seal had shaken the Grandmaster’s spirit.

All these factors coalesced to create a fleeting opportunity. Now was the moment to strike the Grandmaster down. Crucially, Wang Lin had sensed the arrival of a third player, beyond the Grandmaster and Tuosen: the Daoist Lan Meng.

Wang Lin vowed that, with five souls united, they would surely confine the Grandmaster.

The Grandmaster, suspended in the air above the reflected well, his eyes burning crimson with murderous intent, no longer considered escape. He felt Lan Meng’s approach like a chilling wind.

“So what if Lan Meng arrives?” he snarled. “If they wish to see me fall, they will pay a terrible price! Time is fleeting; Zhan Laogui will soon pursue. They cannot hope to slay me before he arrives!”

As the earth, now transformed into a mirrored well, reflected the forms of Wang Lin and his allies, a sudden azure light burst forth. It spread across the mirrored surface, engulfing the land. In the distance, a swirling blue cloud parted to reveal the figure of Daoist Lan Meng.

“Senior Lan Meng,” Wang Lin’s thoughts raced, “can you bind the Grandmaster for three breaths?”

Lan Meng strode closer, nodding in response. With a flourish of his sleeve, the ground roared, the mirrored earth convulsing and fracturing. The illusory well shattered, its water exploding outward.

Azure light suffused the collapsing water, and with a mighty heave from Lan Meng, a curtain of pure cerulean energy arose, shrouding the heavens.

“Three breaths, I can grant!” Lan Meng declared, the blue aura around him intensifying. Instantly, tendrils of azure light shot forth, ensnaring Yun Yifeng and Tang Shan, pulling them into its embrace. Another tendril snaked around Tuosen, dragging him into the luminescent shroud.

The four figures vanished within the azure light, transforming into four arcane runes that pulsed with celestial energy. They hurtled towards the Grandmaster.

The Grandmaster’s face contorted in a mask of alarm. The events unfolded in a blink. As soon as Lan Meng appeared, the four runes bore down upon him. No matter how he dodged, he could not evade them. They were the essence of Lan Meng’s lifelong cultivation, a power capable of rivaling even those who had weathered the Xuan Tribulation.

Empowered by the combined strength of the others, the four runes shattered all resistance and slammed into the Grandmaster’s form.

Upon impact, the Grandmaster froze, his body enveloped in swirling azure energy, as if caught in a web of divine power. Though his movements were restricted, his cultivation remained formidable. In the instant of his imprisonment, golden light erupted from within, sheathing him like a gilded statue beneath the azure cage.

This golden armor would protect him from grievous harm during his brief confinement.

The first breath began.

Wang Lin hesitated not. In the instant the Grandmaster was sealed by the azure light, he stepped forward, appearing directly before his foe. He raised his right hand, manifesting the ghastly visage of a tormented soul, its spectral mouth agape in a silent scream. As Wang Lin’s finger pierced the azure barrier, it pressed against the Grandmaster’s brow, over the golden light.

“Dream Dao!”

The second breath began.

The Dream Dao, fused with the hellish vision, surged into the Grandmaster’s mind, bypassing his physical defenses to meld with his very soul.

Through this dreamlike intrusion, Wang Lin invaded the Grandmaster’s memories, establishing a connection to his soul. Yet, he did not attempt to alter those memories. Instead, he pointed towards the mountain shrouded in black mist.

“Sacrifice this soul to merge with Yisi’s form!” Wang Lin knew he could not best the Grandmaster on his own. He would instead wield a borrowed blade, the soul of Yisi.

As the third breath began, the mist-wreathed mountain erupted in a terrifying roar.

Simultaneously, the Grandmaster’s soul began to vanish from his body, as if being devoured by an unseen force. The Grandmaster shuddered, his eyes wide with struggle. A terrible shriek tore from his throat, and with a mighty lurch, the three breaths elapsed, and the four sealing runes vanished.

As the seals dissolved, Daoist Lan Meng, Yun Yifeng, Tang Shan, and Tuosen materialized from the azure light.

A harrowing cry echoed through the tomb as the Grandmaster tore free of the azure shackles. Clutching his head, he stumbled backward, his screams sending shivers down the spines of all who heard them.

The Grandmaster’s soul was rapidly dissipating, sacrificed to some unseen power. The sight left Lan Meng and the others aghast.

Wang Lin spat blood, staggering back, his gaze fixed upon the screaming Grandmaster. His eyes held a cold and merciless gleam.

The Grandmaster, his eyes bloodshot, his mind consumed by agony, lunged towards Wang Lin, driven by a single, overwhelming desire.

“You have brought me such pain!” the Grandmaster roared. “I will kill you! I will kill you!” He rushed towards Wang Lin, his senses clouded, his sole purpose to end Wang Lin’s life.
“By the pact of Esi, forged in soulfire and shadow, I summon thee, spectral form, to rend the veil!” Wang Lin cried, each word a desperate incantation. He stumbled back, the taste of blood metallic on his tongue, and before the Lord of the Palm could strike, he wove arcane sigils with trembling hands.

As the last syllable escaped his lips, the distant mountain groaned and shattered. From its heart, a swirling darkness erupted, a ravenous tide that surged towards Wang Lin. So swift was its advance that it engulfed him entirely, swallowing even the charging Lord of the Palm within its suffocating embrace.

A veil of shadows descended, obscuring all from prying eyes. Within, two roars tore the night, one a familiar bellow of the Lord of the Palm, laced with unbearable agony, the other a primal shriek of unholy fury.

The tormented cries echoed within the swirling blackness, a cacophony of suffering and rage. None outside could fathom the horrors unfolding within, save that the Lord of the Palm’s lamentations grew ever more piercing.

Then, with a violent spasm, the swirling darkness spat out the Lord of the Palm. He crashed lifelessly upon the earth, eyes sealed shut, a broken husk of his former power.

Four figures – Lan Meng and his companions – watched, their gazes fixed upon the swirling darkness that still enshrouded Wang Lin. Slowly, the shadows began to coalesce, to solidify, revealing a figure cloaked in white – Wang Lin, standing defiant within the heart of the gloom.

But the darkness did not gather solely upon him. Instead, it coalesced to his right, forming a vague, crouching shadow. As the last vestiges of shadow flowed into this phantom shape, the darkness dissipated, revealing the true horror to all who beheld it.

Tang Shan gasped, her face drained of color, and stumbled backward, clutching at her chest. Even Yun Yifeng, a seasoned warrior, drew a sharp intake of breath, his eyes wide with terror.

Lan Meng and Tosen, though more composed, felt their spirits reel at the sight before them.

It was a Zhuru, a creature of ancient dread, its skin a sickly shade of purple-black. Naked and emaciated, it crouched upon the ground, its head utterly bald.

A tongue, impossibly long, stretched forth from its mouth, a fleshy whip seven feet in length, writhing upon the earth. But most terrifying were its eyes, twin pools of absolute darkness, capable of devouring all light, twisting the very air around it.

An aura of unimaginable savagery emanated from the creature, shaking the very foundations of the world!

This puppet, this thing of Esi, was an abomination, a demon ripped from the depths of the Yellow Springs. Though it remained crouched, it radiated a palpable wave of oppressive power, crushing the spirit of all who dared to gaze upon it.

Silence fell upon the battlefield, broken only by the rasping breath of the demonic Zhuru.

Wang Lin, though seemingly calm, felt his mind reeling. Within the swirling shadows, he had witnessed the Esi puppet’s savage dance with the Lord of the Palm, a dance that left even him shaken.

He quelled his inner turmoil with a deep breath. He knew the Esi puppet was not deeply bound to him; even its control was tenuous. To truly master it, he must offer it a constant stream of souls, fuel it with endless carnage.

“This… this does not entirely align with the description given by the Seven-Colored Immortal,” he mused. “According to his memories, upon its summoning, it should possess the power of one who has survived nine tribulations of the Xuan and reached the peak of the Void Tribulation’s initial stage.

“Yet, though undeniably powerful, it falls short of true Void Tribulation power. It seems to be at the level of one who has endured but a handful of the Xuan tribulations…” Doubt gnawed at him, a question for which he had no answer.

Across the desolate battlefield, Xuan Luo had watched since the moment the Esi puppet appeared. He recognized it for what it was.

“I sensed its presence before… a puppet spirit, twisted twice over… The Seven-Colored Immortal was indeed ruthless!” Xuan Luo shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips.

Wang Lin inhaled deeply and began to walk towards the Lord of the Palm, who lay unconscious nearby. As he moved, the demonic Zhuru followed, a silent shadow shifting between the realms of substance and mist.

He gazed down at the Lord of the Palm, his eyes closed, and a wave of complex emotions washed over him. Lord of the Palm… Lord of the Palm… Finally, with a flick of his sleeve, he banished the fallen lord into his storage realm.

“You possess a portion of your soul still, and I shall not slay you. You were once a thrall of that madman, so let him awaken and decide your fate.”