The Wheel of Rebirth… What is it truly? I once believed it to be simply the heavens, but its meaning is far deeper. Wang Lin trod the celestial dome, thoughts of Zhou Ru, Situ Nan, and the Madman swirling in his mind.

“The Madman’s path may not be rebirth, but the choices of Zhou Ru and Situ… these are echoes of the wheel.” They did not choose to leave, but to weave themselves into this tapestry, bound by threads of affection and longing.

Zhou Ru could not bear to abandon her mortal parents and kinship. Situ could not forsake the soldiers who followed him through life. As Situ himself declared, each cycle of rebirth is a life, laden with attachments, how can one sever them so easily?

“This… this is the power of the Wheel.” It holds one captive within its grasp, or perhaps, fosters a refusal to escape.

A veil of confusion clouded Wang Lin’s eyes, yet within that haze, flickered hints of understanding.

“The Wheel is the heavens, but also a mirror. The reflection within… that is rebirth.”

The fog of confusion receded, clarity dawning in Wang Lin’s gaze. His comprehension of the Wheel, nurtured by Zhou Ru and Situ, drew closer to completion.

“I wonder at the choices of others…” Wang Lin sighed softly, gazing into the distance before continuing his journey.

Upon the Immortal Clan lands, within the Northern Province, nestled a dense forest amidst a range of mountains. The area emanated danger, a narrow pass cutting through the mountains like a thread of the sky.

There stood a cavern dwelling, isolated save for the birds and beasts. Yet, since its appearance years past, no creature dared tread near.

Within, the cavern radiated a decadent opulence, illuminated by countless moonstones. The brilliance, however, only amplified the chilling silence that permeated the air.

At the heart of the cavern, a cultivator sat in lotus posture.

The cultivator was young, resembling a scholar of sorts, but possessed a disproportionately large head, making his body appear frail and ill-fitting.

His expression was grim, his breath filling the cavern with an aura of dread.

“Big Head…” The cultivator was startled, and his eyes snapped open. Without hesitation, he spat forth a beam of green light, a monstrous centipede whose screech echoed through the cavern. It lunged towards a white figure that had materialized within.

Wang Lin’s expression was curious. The centipede, reeking of foulness, bore down upon him. He raised his right hand, tapping the creature’s head. The centipede froze mid-air, suspended in place.

The Big-Headed cultivator reeled in shock. He had tempered the centipede within his nascent soul. Even cultivators of higher cultivation would be ensnared, giving him time to flee or strike again.

Yet, this interloper had effortlessly halted it, the nature of his power remaining a mystery.

“Ma Tao, must you pursue me relentlessly!” The Big-Headed cultivator cried, his form erupting in a cloud of mist as he attempted to flee.

“Ma Tao?” Wang Lin paused, tapping the mist with his right hand. A beam of crystalline light pierced the vapor, striking the fleeing cultivator’s brow.

The Big-Headed cultivator shuddered, his eyes filling with confusion. Memories, long dormant, surged through his mind. As this occurred, Wang Lin summoned the power of the surrounding mountains, concentrating it within his right hand to form a miniature sword.

This sword, forged from the power of heaven and earth, a manifestation of Wang Lin’s art, was a treasure beyond measure!

With a flick of his wrist, the sword shot towards the mist, lodging itself into the wall. Wang Lin gazed upon the misty figure stirring with awakening memories, his eyes softening with tenderness. With a wave of his sleeve, he conjured a torrent of heavenly power, forming pills that cascaded into a gourd placed nearby. Then, Wang Lin turned and departed.

The mist gradually dissipated, revealing the Big-Headed cultivator, his expression a mix of confusion and bewilderment. He sat in silence, staring at the empty cavern. After some time, he looked up and murmured,

“Master Chan…”

He noticed the awe-inspiring sword, the gourd brimming with potent pills. Tears welled in his eyes.

Elsewhere in the Northern Province, a group of several dozen figures streaked across the sky as trails of light. A beam of crystalline light flashed from the distance, vanishing amongst the astonished cultivators.

Unbeknownst to them, as the light faded, it slipped into the brow of a crimson-robed child within the group.

The child shuddered as long-forgotten memories stirred to life.

The cultivators exchanged puzzled glances. After a brief discussion, they resumed their journey. Hours later, as they rested on a mountain peak, the confusion faded from the child’s eyes, replaced with complexity and astonishment.

“I am…” Hong Shan Zi…” The child looked to the heavens, a smile slowly forming on his lips. He inhaled deeply, gazing upon the land with burgeoning excitement.

In the Eastern Province, within the small Nanni Province where Wang Lin once briefly trod, lay a modest sect, its members numbering only in the thousands. The location of their mountain gate was far from ideal, with a weak concentration of spiritual energy.

Since the Immortal Clan’s Grand Empyreans and Emperor issued decrees urging all sects to prepare for war, an undercurrent of unrest swept through the land. Such small sects could no longer remain aloof and needed to ally with larger sects in order to survive.

War loomed, and it was unlikely that such a small sect could survive the coming Immortal Ancient battle.
Shen Bao, the venerable Patriarch of his order, possessed a cultivation of considerable height. Yet, a profound unease gnawed at his heart. The path ahead was veiled in shadow, and he knew not if his sect, forged in sweat and sacrifice, could weather the coming storm of ages.

He had clawed his way to this position, becoming the head of his house with no small measure of struggle. He would not surrender it lightly. Yet, the path before him seemed reduced to a singular, perilous choice: allegiance.

But the object of that allegiance, and the manner of its giving, held within them fates most dire. Moreover, the elders within his own halls were fractured, their opinions on this crucial matter diverging like rivers at odds.

As Shen Bao wrestled with these weighty concerns, a figure appeared at the foot of the mountain. Clad in robes of pristine white, with hair as white as winter’s first frost, a youth named Wang Lin ascended the slopes, each step purposeful, until he stood before the gates of the sect.

Wang Lin sought out Shen Bao, and after hours of intense counsel, he departed.

As Wang Lin left, Shen Bao stood upon the temple steps, gazing into the heavens. A profound bewilderment clouded his eyes, but slowly, like the sun breaking through storm clouds, it hardened into a steely resolve.

Throughout these days, Wang Lin sought out those familiar faces from a bygone age within the Cave Realm. To some, he offered the key to unlock memories long dormant, echoes of a former life. To others, he granted the choice to remain veiled in their present existence.

Yet, whatever their final decision, Wang Lin ensured their safety, leaving behind artifacts of power, tokens of a shared past, a connection to that ancient, nascent sect known only as the Seven Paths.

Across the lands of the Heavenly Square Continent, stood the Sun and Moon Sect, the greatest of them all. Boasting a legion of ten thousand souls, it reigned supreme in the realm and stood as one of the Nine Sects and Thirteen Houses of the Eastern Lands.

Through the ages, the Sun and Moon Sect had witnessed the rise of many prodigies, but none could rival the brilliance of a woman named Qing Hong. Her innate talent was a phenomenon unseen in millennia!

Centuries ago, she joined the ranks of the Sun and Moon Sect, and in that brief span of time, she ascended to the third step of cultivation, reaching the apex of Nirvana Shattering. The final threshold to spiritual transcendence loomed just beyond her grasp.

This extraordinary rise was due, in no small part, to the Sect’s unwavering support, but it also spoke to the unparalleled worth they saw in this woman named Qing Hong.

The Grand Elder of the Sun and Moon Sect, a being of golden尊 power, said to be nearing the strength of the Heavenly尊, though she had not yet challenged the 天尊涅地, took the woman as her personal disciple. Every few years, the Grand Elder emerged from her secluded chambers, offering guidance to the young woman. For a time, she even brought her into her sanctum for shared cultivation.

Within the Sun and Moon Sect, Qing Hong was revered as a living saint, an object of awe and adoration. Her breathtaking beauty only amplified her appeal, turning her into the object of countless disciples’ desires.

Yet, she remained aloof, a figure of ethereal grace, and in these many centuries, she had never chosen a partner. Her very elusiveness only fueled the flames of adoration, especially amongst the sons of elders and the disciples who dared to believe they were worthy of her affections.

On this day, Qing Hong emerged from her secluded meditation. Outside, a tempest brewed, and thunder reverberated through the heavens, threatening to unleash a deluge. The echoes of thunder unsettled her, as though some momentous event was on the verge of unfolding.

Standing outside her sanctuary, she gazed upon the turbulent sky and the vibrant blossoms struggling against the wind and rain. A flicker of bewilderment crossed her face.

A lone butterfly, beautiful and fragile, emerged from the distance and fluttered around her face.

She had a love for red. And she had a love for butterflies. Every member of her sect knew the first but none were aware of the second.

Gazing upon the dancing butterfly, the beautiful maiden’s inner turmoil seemed to increase. As with other reincarnated souls, misty phantasms occasionally manifested in her dreams.

She often felt a profound disconnect, an unsettling sense that she did not belong to this reality. This sense of estrangement only magnified her inherent coldness, setting her apart from all others.

Thunder rumbled, and the rain descended in torrents, blanketing the world and merging with the mountain winds to form an impenetrable curtain.

She was dressed in a crimson gown, and from afar, she resembled a red butterfly, dancing alongside its flesh-and-blood companion in the tempestuous wind and rain.

“Hong…” a voice called.

A voice, soft, gentle, and alluring, resonated at her back.