Upon the Azure Peak, after Wang Lin’s departure, the Azure Ox Immortal remained, seated in lotus position at the summit, his gaze fixed upon the distant tapestry of heaven and earth. After a long while, he murmured words only he could hear.

“The Immortal Emperor has been freed from his slumber for but a few years, yet the Green Devil Continent grows restless… The deductions of the First Ancestor were largely correct… though with some slight deviations, and couched in a gentleness that ill suits these times…”

A wry smile touched the Immortal’s lips. “The aims of the Green Devil Continent mirror those of the Great Soul Sect… and of the Returning Unity Sect besides.” He spoke aloud, his voice resonating with an undercurrent of power.

“Lu Wenran!”

At his command, the air behind him shimmered, a watery ripple giving birth to the form of a middle-aged man. Clad in verdant robes, his countenance was unremarkable, yet an aura of mid-stage Empty Tribulation cultivation emanated from him. He stepped forth, bowed low with clasped hands, and spoke with reverence.

“Disciple Lu Wenran greets the Master!”

Without turning, the Azure Ox Immortal continued to gaze at the distant sky. “Did you encounter him within the Dan Sea?” he asked, his voice a low, resonant hum.

“On that day, I, alongside Ouyang Hui of the Returning Unity Sect and Senior Uncle Meng Zhanghai, clashed with the Green Devil Envoy within the Dan Sea. Following your instructions of old, Master, Senior Uncle Meng led us to feign defeat, escaping upon a cloud-ship crafted by the First Ancestor. Thus, I did not behold this individual.”

“In seven days hence, you shall journey with him to the third aperture of the Celestial Ox.” The Azure Ox Immortal closed his eyes.

“Disciple obeys.” The man’s face remained impassive, though a flicker of something unreadable crossed his eyes. He bowed again, then faded back into the void, his form dissolving into ripples.

Seven days dwindled to five with the passage of time. Within his secluded peak, Wang Lin remained sequestered, absorbed in the intricacies of Multi-Layered Illusion Arts. He refined all his alchemical materials, and before him now stood a black, billowing banner, crafted according to the methods outlined in the jade scroll.

This banner was no mere fabric, but a tapestry woven from countless melted materials, each thread meticulously interlaced. It possessed the semblance of cloth, but its true nature was far more complex.

It was not yet complete. It possessed only the framework, lacking the infusion of a death-soul, without which the Multi-Layered Illusion Arts could not be brought to bear.

Within his dwelling, Wang Lin’s eyes flashed with resolve. He reached out and grasped the banner in his hand, then strode forth from his self-imposed exile, the first time in five days.

He remembered the Azure Ox Immortal’s words: he had but seven days. With a mere two remaining, he must venture to the Ghost Peak of the Great Soul Sect, to claim a ghost and weave it into his banner.

His form vanished, reappearing outside the fiery mountain. He scanned the surroundings, then turned his gaze northward. According to the map of the Great Soul Sect he possessed, the Ghost Peak lay in that direction.

Without hesitation, Wang Lin surged forward, a blur of motion aimed at the Ghost Peak.

Far to the north of the Great Soul Sect, bordering the very edge of its territory, lay a forbidden ground. Shrouded in endless mists, it was seldom visited by disciples, save those escorted by their masters to seek out death-souls. Even core disciples of high cultivation sometimes came alone.

Within the Ghost Peak resided a vast store of death-souls, gathered over the ages. Though of low quality, they were readily obtainable, a necessity for a sect renowned for its illusionary arts. Without the Ghost Peak, the ghost banners of the disciples could not be completed.

Despite constant replenishment, the number of death-souls upon the Ghost Peak was never truly abundant. The Great Soul Sect had an insatiable appetite.

Many of these souls had been collected long ago, delivered as part of some long-forgotten task. Though time had passed, few had the strength to cultivate within their confines and endure the slow passage of the years.

The majority were sealed upon arrival, awaiting the touch of a disciple seeking to claim them.

On the twilight of the fifth day, under a sky heavy with foreboding, Wang Lin appeared before the Ghost Peak. He gazed upon the mist-shrouded mountain, its heart steeped in a chilling aura, its air heavy with the breath of the Yellow Springs.

Yet Wang Lin felt no discomfort. His cultivation, coupled with his past experiences, had given him familiarity with the Yellow Springs. He stepped forward without hesitation, entering the domain of the Ghost Peak.

As he drew near, the faint ripples of a protective enchantment washed over him, as if testing his right to enter.

Then, just as swiftly, the enchantment dissipated. Wang Lin strode into the heart of the Ghost Peak.

The Ghost Peak was a barren mountain, tall enough to pierce the very heavens. Devoid of vegetation, it was instead covered with countless burial mounds!

These mounds, a dense and unsettling tapestry, blanketed the entire mountain.

A pervasive chill settled over the land. Closing one’s eyes, one could almost hear a cacophony of unheard screams, a subtle sensation that permeated the very air.

Wang Lin walked among the mounds, sensing the presence of death-souls, each one sealed, though some pulsed faintly with a loosening of their bonds.

He moved in silence, his divine sense sweeping forth as he ascended the mountain. The higher he climbed, the fewer death-souls were contained within each mound, until, as he neared the summit, he saw a tomb unlike any other.
Upon that rise stood a tomb, weathered and ancient, its headstone bearing words long since blurred by the ceaseless march of ages. It exuded an aura of沧桑 (cāngsāng – vicissitudes of life) and decay, as though it had witnessed epochs beyond reckoning.

Kneeling at the foot of the tombstone was a woman cloaked in white, her silken hair flowing down her back like a waterfall of moonlight. She wept softly, her sobs echoing across the desolate landscape.

The sound of her sorrow pierced the veil of 王林 (Wáng Lín)’s consciousness, stirring a deep empathy within him. Silence reigned save for her lament, and a chilling wind whispered through the gnarled trees, lifting strands of her hair to dance in the spectral breeze.

He paused, his ascent of the peak halted by the sight of her grief. He observed her, his expression serene and unreadable.

Slowly, the weeping subsided. The woman seemed to sense his presence, yet she did not turn.

“This…this is my tombstone,” she whispered at last, her voice a fragile echo that seemed to drift from a distant shore. It was faint, ethereal, barely audible above the mournful sigh of the wind.

“I see,” replied 王林, after a long moment of contemplation.

At his words, the woman flinched, as if struck a physical blow. She hesitated, a silent struggle playing across her unseen face, before ultimately remaining still.

“You…you can see me? You can hear my tears?” she breathed, her voice barely more than a sigh.

“I can,” 王林 answered calmly. In truth, he possessed the ability to perceive the spectral forms of all those who lingered in this place, a power inextricably linked to his mastery of life and death.

Life and death: two sides of the same coin, similar yet fundamentally different.

“You are not the one I await… nor am I your salvation,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the weathered inscriptions on the tombstone.

王林 raised his gaze beyond her, towards the summit of the peak. There, nestled amongst the windswept crags, were seven or eight more burial mounds, their presence radiating waves of malevolent energy. Around them swirled wisps of dark vapor, coalescing into lingering spirits. Two or three of these were particularly dense, strong enough to be crafted into a mid-grade ghost sail.

These were the finest souls to be found on Ghost Peak.

“I cannot find my body. All I can find is this marker,” the woman wept anew, her tears a silent torrent.

王林 resumed his climb, intending to bypass her and claim the more potent spirits at the summit. Yet, as he took a few steps, the woman’s sobs intensified, tinged with a desolate despair.

“Where is my body? Where is my home? My family… where are they?” Her voice echoed in 王林’s heart, causing him to falter.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Forgotten…” she choked, shaking her head in misery.

“Henceforth, you shall be called 昆虛 (Kūn Xū),” 王林 decreed. He spun around, raising his right hand in a swift, decisive gesture. In that instant, the woman vanished, leaving behind only the forlorn tombstone.

Before long, 王林 descended the peak. He had not chosen the powerful, tormented spirits of the summit, but instead, this spectral woman. Though her essence was only sufficient to craft a low-grade ghost sail, her plaintive cry – *”Where is my home? Where are my family?”* – had resonated within him, stirring a forgotten echo in his soul.

The process of infusing the soul into the sail was swift and efficient. In a single day, it was complete. With the spectral woman’s essence now bound to it, the ghost sail underwent a profound transformation, its color shifting to a haunting, ethereal white.

From within the white canvas, the sound of soft weeping could occasionally be heard, a mournful echo that conjured an image of a white-clad woman weeping in the desolate wind.

As dusk fell on the seventh day, a jade slip, swift as a shooting star, pierced the layers of protective enchantments and floated before 王林, who sat cross-legged within his cave.

“王林, hear my command,” the voice of 青牛 (Qīng Niú) Old Ancestor echoed from the slip, reverberating through the cave. “Journey to the Third Celestial Bovine Aperture and stand guard…”

The jade slip settled before 王林, immobile.

王林 opened his eyes, his gaze serene. He took the slip and scanned it with his divine sense, allowing the information to flood his mind.

The Great Soul Sect, through countless generations of its forebears and vast expenditure of time, had discovered seven key locations within the Celestial Bovine Continent. These locations corresponded to the seven essential acupoints upon the body of the celestial bovine that had become this land.

Within these seven apertures, the power of the Celestial Bovine could be harnessed to create formidable formations and enchantments, providing countless benefits to the cultivators of the continent.

The Great Soul Sect, as far back as its founding ancestor, had foreseen 王林’s arrival, and the impending invasion from Green Devil Continent. They would not be caught unprepared!