In the annals of the Ancient Clans, but three hallowed Grand Shrines exist, each nestled within the imperial cities of the three bloodlines, enshrined beneath towering effigies of their forebears. Every Ancient, upon facing the trials of the Third Tribulation of Loss, makes pilgrimage to these shrines. Yet, they dare not venture deep, remaining upon the outer edges. Only those of imperial blood are granted the privilege to undergo their trial within the Grand Shrine’s depths.

Throughout ages past, few indeed have proven worthy to seclude themselves within the Grand Shrine. Even a Great Celestial Sovereign finds it a near impossibility, for the right to open these sacred places rests solely in the hands of each generation’s Imperial Sovereign.

Wang Lin stood in the heart of the Ancient Beginning Imperial City, beneath the colossal statue of the Ancient Forefather. Gazing up at the effigy that seemed to pierce the very heavens, he remained silent, lost in thought.

The statue mirrored that in the Ancient Dao Imperial City—a stoic figure, hands clasped behind his back, gazing upon the world with an air of disdain and contempt. When Wang Lin had first beheld this statue in the Ancient Dao Imperial City, before crossing the three Bridges to Heaven, he had felt little.

Now, however, the effigy stirred within him a different perception.

The disdain and contempt were but a facade. Deep within, Wang Lin perceived a profound sorrow—a sorrow directed towards himself, and perhaps, towards all living things.

“Who sculpted this effigy of the Ancient Forefather?” Wang Lin murmured.

“The Great Celestial Sovereign Gu Dao…” From beside him, Song Tian, also gazing upon the statue, spoke softly. “After the Ancient Forefather vanished, the Great Celestial Sovereign Gu Dao sought out three mountain peaks from parts unknown. With his own hands, he carved these likenesses and erected them within the three imperial cities.

“It is through this act that we, the descendants of the Ancient Clan, are able to remember the visage of our forefather, lest it be lost to the relentless march of time.”

Wang Lin nodded slowly. He knew that a race must possess a symbol, a focus for their hopes. Without this core of spirit, the clan would not long endure, fading away amidst the ages.

Clearly, the statue of the Ancient Forefather and the legends woven around it were the symbols of the three bloodlines. So long as the statue stood, so too would the Ancient Clan endure! The Great Celestial Sovereign Gu Dao, guardian of the entire Ancient Clan, had demonstrated his wisdom through this single act.

Beneath the statue, only Wang Lin and Song Tian stood, as if silently awaiting something.

After a time, a distant murmuring echoed from the direction of the imperial palace. A beam of somber light shot skyward, hurtling towards them, encircling the statue of the Ancient Forefather in rings of darkness.

At the statue’s base, between the Forefather’s feet, an arched gateway was carved into the massive stone. The gate was sealed, but with the dark rings swirling around it, a thunderous rumble emanated from within, and the gateway began to slowly open.

“Brother Wang, the Grand Shrine opens. I shall not enter. May fortune be with you!” Song Tian clasped his hands in farewell.

Wang Lin gazed at the opening gateway, his expression grave. Whether Li Muwan would attain the right to enter the Divine Realm of Primordial Ancients rested upon his success in this Third Tribulation of Loss and whether he could obtain two more drops of Soul Blood.

Returning Song Tian’s gesture, Wang Lin took a deep breath and strode towards the Grand Shrine.

His pace was unhurried, but each step was firm. He moved steadily until he stood before the fully opened gateway. Without hesitation, he stepped within.

The instant he crossed the threshold, the Grand Shrine’s doors began to close. A scant half-incense stick later, they slammed shut with a deafening boom.

The rings of somber light around the statue faded, transforming once more into a single long rainbow that flew back towards the imperial palace and vanished.

Song Tian stood there for a long while, sighed softly, and turned away.

Most members of the Ancient Beginning bloodline witnessed the rings of light swirling around the Forefather’s statue, but few knew of Wang Lin’s entry. The Imperial Sovereign of the Ancient Beginning had forbidden any discussion of the matter, and slowly, it was forgotten.

The Ancient Beginning bloodline continued much as before. However, the more observant among them noticed that Prince Jidu, who had previously been abroad, now resided permanently within the imperial palace.

Ten years later, the eldest prince, once considered a likely heir, was enfeoffed as a king and departed, his glory dimmed, to guard the borderlands.

Five years after that, Prince Chiman, who had once seemed the most likely candidate for future Imperial Sovereign, was also enfeoffed as a king and left the Ancient Beginning Imperial City. Over the next fifteen years, one by one the princes were similarly enfeoffed and departed. Now, after thirty years, only Prince Jidu remained in the imperial city!

During these thirty years, Prince Jidu remained quiet, maintaining little contact with the outside world from within the palace. His path to becoming Imperial Sovereign had been decided, and he no longer needed to act in secret. He simply needed to do his part, and success would be assured.

Thirty years later, when all his brothers had been enfeoffed as kings and sent away, the members of the Ancient Beginning bloodline realized who the future Imperial Sovereign would be.

Slowly, Jidu began to connect with the hidden powers and authorities that belonged to each generation of Imperial Sovereign. With his imperial father, he would, in the remaining seventy years, slowly complete the passing of the torch.

This was a ritual observed by all three bloodlines before the succession of a new emperor, a period of peace.

As all this unfolded, Jidu maintained one habit: almost every morning, the first thing he did was to look towards the Grand Shrine, watching it silently.

He did not know when he would see his sworn brother again, but this habit remained unchanged. Many of Jidu’s followers later noticed this habit, but were greatly confused. Even those who secretly tried to find out more could not get anywhere.

Slowly, with the passage of time, this habit became a secret.

Besides this habit, in these thirty years, Jidu did not forget the request of Wang Lin. He sent many powerful experts from the clan to Blackrock City where they quietly protected a woman named Song Zhi.

Over these hundred years, Song Zhi no longer resembled the woman she once was, the passage of time etched upon her face. She never knew that, in Blackrock City, including the city lord and many hidden experts, their life’s mission was because of her existence.
The years, like a phantom breeze, left no trace. Two decades had spun by, and on this day, marking the fiftieth year since Ji Du had first entered the Ancestral Shrine, the entire Shi Gu lineage prepared a grand ceremony.

This was no coronation, but a celebration of marriage. Ji Du had chosen a descendant of Song Tian, a maiden named Song Yu, to be his bride.

Song Yu was cherished by Song Tian, one of the few amongst his lineage granted the privilege of hearing his teachings firsthand.

The ceremony lasted for months, drawing kinsmen and royals from the other two tribes. From the Dao Gu lineage came a middle-aged man, whose visage, had Wang Lin beheld it, would have revealed a striking resemblance to Ye Mo.

He was a scion of Ye Mo’s line.

As the grand ceremony concluded and the guests began their departure, on a night bathed in silver moonlight, Ji Du, hand in hand with his wife, approached the Ancestral Shrine.

The moon’s soft glow fell upon the statue of the Ancient Ancestor. Silence reigned. Ji Du led his bride, a question in her eyes, towards the Shrine. Ten paces from its ancient doors, he halted.

He gazed at the shrine, lost in contemplation. At length, he knelt in silent reverence. His wife, though puzzled, offered no word, and joined him in kneeling before the Shrine.

“Song Yu,” Ji Du spoke softly, “We do not bow to the Ancient Ancestor.”

The maiden started in surprise.

“We bow to my adoptive father.”

“Adoptive father?” she asked, her voice laced with wonder.

“Adoptive father, Ji Du takes a descendant of Song Zun as his wife. She shall be the Empress of the Shi Gu lineage. Today, I bring her before you, to pay our respects!” Ji Du’s voice was filled with heartfelt reverence and sincere respect.

He would never forget that all he had achieved, all that was now his, was a gift from Wang Lin. Had it not been for Wang Lin, he would never have ascended to the throne.

And perhaps, even the woman beside him would not be his wife, but a prize for Chi Man.

“Adoptive Father, fifty years hence, Ji Du will be crowned Emperor. I pray that on that day, I will see… my Father.” Ji Du whispered, bowing towards the shrine.

His wife seemed struck by a sudden realization. Her eyes, now focused on the shrine, held a flicker of astonishment. She faintly recalled a whisper passed down by her ancestor, Song Zun, a name uttered only once.

When that name was spoken, Song Tian’s expression had been a blend of complexity, lament, and a hint of admiration.

“Wang… Wang Zun…” the maiden breathed.

Ji Du remained silent, kneeling in supplication. After a long while, he rose, and taking his wife’s hand, departed in silence. But as he stepped beyond the shrine’s shadow,

a voice echoed from within its depths.

“On the day you become Emperor, your Father will be there.”

Ji Du froze, whirling to face the shrine. A smile bloomed upon his face.

Within the heart of the shrine, Wang Lin sat cross-legged. His body exuded the scent of decay, ravaged by time. He appeared as a withered husk, a remnant of bone.

But his eyes still burned with an undimmed light.

“The Ancient Tribe’s Three Destructions and Seven Calamities… In the Cave World, I successfully weathered the Second Destruction and Fourth Calamity. I even passed the first Calamity of the Third Destruction.”

“The Ancient Tribe’s Third Destruction… First Calamity: Ancient Vein’s Celestial Blood!

Second Calamity: Ancient Path’s Threefold Spirit!

Third Calamity: The final trial, The Ancient Ancestor’s Blessing!” Wang Lin murmured, gazing at a stone tablet. Upon it was inscribed the entirety of the Ancient Tribe’s Three Destructions and Seven Calamities.

After a time, Wang Lin closed his eyes. The echo of that voice, heard when he overcame the First Calamity of the Third Destruction, resonated once more within his mind, as a drop of Soul Blood Tiger was revealed:

“If I wish the Heavens to fall, then they shall fall! If I wish the Earth to shatter, then it must shatter! If I wish all life to perish, then none dare remain alive! If I wish the Heavens to be without Immortals, then who shall dare to exist…”