From the depths of antiquity, a symphony unheard for ages echoes forth – the Nine Harmonies Unbound. This wondrous, legendary resonance, long relegated to whispered tales across the ancient lands, now bursts forth within the hallowed halls of the Daogu Imperial Palace!

A hundred thousand souls of the clan, their faces alight with fervent emotion, prostrate themselves before the spectral visage of their ancestral patriarch. He materializes above the grand hall, woven from the very fabric of the Nine Harmonies.

Even the Daogu Emperor’s sire, a venerable elder robed in royal hues, his arm lost to some forgotten conflict, kneels in awe. Yet, beneath his trembling frame lies not joy, but an abyss of stark terror.

“The Ancestor’s shade… conjured by this mortal?” The elder’s mind races. “These Nine Harmonies… I have never believed that they will be heard in my lifetime! Even among the royal line, none have ever possessed such power. His blood… it must be purer than our own!”

Xuan Luo stands unbowed, watching the ancestral specter with profound respect. Instead of kneeling, he offers a humble bow, his fist pressed to his chest.

The Daogu Emperor, meanwhile, stares with vacant disbelief, his eyes wild with a frenzied madness. He stumbles backward, fleeing the grand hall, until he stands beneath the open sky. There, he gazes upward, at the towering shade that gazes back down at him.

A tremor shakes the Emperor’s body, his very soul quaking with dread.

“Impossible!” he shrieks, retreating further, until he finds himself on the vast plaza. “I am the favored of the heavens! I am the Daogu Emperor, scion of the Ancestor himself!” His face drained of color, his sanity unraveling, he cannot accept this reality. He cannot bear the crushing weight of this revelation. Pointing a trembling finger at the specter in the heavens, he unleashes a desperate, broken howl.

Upon the plaza, save for Xuan Luo’s respectful bow, every member of the clan kneels in reverence. Even the members of the other two tribes, bound by ancient custom, follow suit. Only the Daogu Emperor remains upright, a solitary figure of madness, his screams echoing across the heavens.

“This cannot be! It is an illusion! A trick of the eyes! I am your descendant! My blood is the vessel for your return! I am the Daogu Emperor!”

He whirls, his pleas turning to frantic commands. “Rise, all of you! Are you blind? It is a lie! Stand up and face the truth!” His voice cracks, fueled by a desperate hope that their obedience might somehow shatter the illusion, might somehow restore his shattered world.

But his pleas fall on deaf ears. Each soul is transfixed by the ancestral vision, unable to rise, unwilling to break the sacred reverence.

For the ancient clans, fealty to the Emperor, the very foundation of their society, stems from a single source: the divine authority of the Ancestor. He who forged the three tribes, he who commands the unwavering loyalty and sacrifice of every clan member. In their hearts, the Ancestor is the supreme being, the embodiment of all that is good and just.

“Generals! Commanders! Rise, I command you! Can you not see it is a lie? A falsehood!” The Daogu Emperor, consumed by madness, throws himself upon one of the Eighteen Kings, kicking wildly.

Silence descends upon the plaza, broken only by the Emperor’s desolate cries. He is a lone figure, screaming into the void, his pleas ignored, his authority shattered.

“A lie… all a lie…” Terror consumes the Emperor’s eyes. He shudders, his gaze fixed on the towering shade above, his broken words lost to the wind. From the depths of the palace, Wang Lin emerges, cradling Song Zhi, her soul entwined with the lingering essence of Li Muwan.

He stands upon the threshold of the grand hall, his gaze sweeping over the kneeling masses. With a flicker of movement, Wang Lin ascends into the heavens, the woman he loves held securely in his arms.

At his ascension, the colossal form of the Ancestor seems to merge with him, emanating a palpable force, a terrifying presence that shakes the very foundations of the world. The kneeling masses tremble, their bodies wracked with awe and fear.

Wang Lin lowers his head, his silver eyes burning with a cold, implacable light. He looks down upon the wretched Daogu Emperor. As he gazes down, so too does the Ancestor, his own silver eyes mirroring Wang Lin’s, fixating upon the Emperor.

The Emperor’s screams die in his throat, his body swaying precariously. He stumbles backward, his teeth chattering, before unleashing another desperate cry.

“I am your descendant! I have not betrayed the clan! You cannot kill me!”

Wang Lin remains silent. He raises his right hand. The ancestral shade mirrors his action, the colossal hand rising in unison. With a gesture, Wang Lin points a finger at the Daogu Emperor. The shade in the heavens does the same.

“Hao Dao,” Wang Lin speaks, his voice resonating with the power of the ages. “By the hand of the Ancestor, I grant you death!” These are the first words he has spoken since the Ancestor’s shade appeared. As he speaks, a blinding silver light erupts from the Ancestor’s gigantic hand, a single, searing beam hurtling towards the Daogu Emperor.

“No!” The Emperor’s face becomes a mask of terror, his final, desperate plea ripped from his throat.

“Great Daotian Lord, save me! Father, save me! Ancestor, save me! Grand Tutor, save me!” The Daogu Emperor’s desperate pleas reach the heavens and descend into the earth.

Deep beneath the Imperial Palace, within a chamber sealed by countless ancient runes, a purple coffin lies dormant.

Within the coffin rests a withered husk, an ancient being resembling a skeletal figure, yet still adorned in imperial robes. It snaps its eyes open, revealing a flicker of apprehension and hesitation, but does not intervene.

Above, the silver beam descends upon the Daogu Emperor. A flash of violet light erupts, attempting to shield him, but the silver light pierces it effortlessly, shattering the purple shield into fragments. The beam pierces the Daogu Emperor’s brow.
The Crown Primogenitor of Dao, his visage shattered in a crimson bloom. His very form, once regal, now dissolved into a thousand fragments, each shard succumbing to oblivion, until naught remained of the emperor.

Even his spirit, his essence, was extinguished by the silver thread, utterly erased from existence. Thus perished the Crown Primogenitor, within his own palace, before the horrified eyes of his kin.

In the grand hall, a robed elder, prostrate upon the stone, had quailed at the Crown Primogenitor’s desperate plea. He yearned to intervene, but the spectral finger of the Ancient Ancestor held him captive, rendering him powerless to save the sovereign.

With the casting of the spell, Wang Lin’s face grew ashen. The ethereal image of the Ancestor, which dominated the heavens, began to fade. Yet, as it dissolved, Wang Lin’s gaze snapped upward, fixed upon a barren mountain beyond the Celestial City of Dao!

The true architect of Wan’er’s soul’s torment was not the fallen emperor, but rather a mysterious Imperial Advisor of Dao, glimpsed by Wang Lin within the divination jade of the Grand Soul Sect Elder. This figure was cloaked in a familiar, iridescent aura.

It was this Advisor who had stolen Li Muwan’s vital spirit from the realm of caves. This Advisor who had gifted the soul to the emperor, directing him to seek brides fit for its assimilation.

It was the Advisor who orchestrated this cruel game, the emperor merely a pawn in some grand design. Wang Lin had gleaned this truth from the images within the jade, but had suppressed his rage, for his heart was consumed by fury.

Now, with the Crown Primogenitor slain, Wang Lin would seek out this Advisor, to discern if he was, indeed, the one he suspected, the one he… dreaded!

Though the Advisor’s presence was veiled from Wang Lin’s senses, in this moment, fueled by the burning of his ancestral blood and the ethereal apparition of the Ancient Ancestor, he perceived a subtle death-essence emanating from the slain emperor, drawn into the earth, and ultimately drawn to the desolate mountain.

Through the eyes of the Ancestor’s shade, he beheld a vast cavern within the mountain, a colossal array of ancient runes swirling within, and at its heart, a hidden figure!

He knew, with chilling certainty, that this was the puppeteer, the enigmatic Imperial Advisor!

As the ancestral phantom flickered toward oblivion, silver light ignited in Wang Lin’s eyes. He raised a hand, and with a surge of power, cast a finger toward the mountain beyond the floating city.

In his mind’s eye, he recalled the formidable ancestral technique he had witnessed within the jade given by Prince Jidu.

The fading Ancestor phantom mimicked his movement, its own spectral hand descending in a thunderous strike, even as its form dissolved into nothingness.

The heavens themselves convulsed around the barren mountain, as if a section of reality had been severed and compressed with crushing force.

A deafening roar echoed through the heavens as the mountain trembled, erupting in a blinding display of kaleidoscopic light. The light shifted and pulsed, desperately resisting the force of Wang Lin’s ancestral technique.

The clash of energies shook the very foundations of the realm, its tremors reaching even the imperial palace. A fissure cleaved through the mountain, exposing the colossal array within!

Yet, the ancestral finger, diminished by the radiant defense, dissipated in a final burst of energy.

Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed. With a flick of his sleeve, he seized Song Zhi and ascended into the heavens. The celestial head and the emperor’s spirit were already safely reclaimed within his possession.

But as he turned to depart, a guttural roar reverberated from the depths beneath the palace.

“The crime of regicide cannot be forgiven! You must return the celestial spirit and the emperor’s head!”