A low growl, like the rumble of distant thunder, escaped Wang Lin’s lips, “Chi Hun Zi…” His divine sense, now honed to a razor’s edge, pierced the veil of the New Immortal Realm, perceiving all within and without. He saw the sneering countenance of Chi Hun Zi, his arrogance a festering wound upon the serenity of the realm. He noted the younger man at his side, a faint echo of kinship in their shared blood. And beyond the borders of the Immortal Realm, he saw the ancient wards, once shimmering with celestial power, now consumed by a creeping tide of crimson corruption.

He judged the rate of the decay. Two days, perhaps, and the barriers would fail, leaving the Immortal Realm exposed to the ravenous hunger of the outside.

He remembered Chi Hun Zi from a bygone era, freed from his prison by Wang Lin himself. Though weakened then, Chi Hun Zi possessed a formidable strength that instilled a healthy respect. Now, however, with his power fully restored, blazing at its apex, the demon seemed but a scurrying insect beneath Wang Lin’s gaze.

An insect he could crush beneath a finger, and think nothing of it.

With another scornful exhale, Wang Lin took a single step forward, vanishing from the starfield of Luo Tian. As he disappeared, so too did the shimmering gateway, fading into the ether as if it had never been.

Wang Lin did not appear amidst the festering aura of Chi Hun Zi and his ilk. Instead, he stepped directly into the heart of the New Immortal Realm, a place he had not walked in many years. His arrival went unnoticed by every resident of the realm.

And certainly by those foul trespassers without.

The sky of the Immortal Realm was no longer the cerulean blue of memory. It had become a canvas of angry crimson, heavy and oppressive. Yet, beneath the tainted heavens, the grandeur of the realm persisted. Palaces, once gleaming white, now cast long, blood-red shadows. Mountains rose and fell in majestic waves, and rivers snaked through the land, their waters whispering secrets of the past. The Immortal Realm was a tapestry of beauty, slowly being unraveled.

Some places were familiar, echoing with the ghosts of his past. Others were strange, born of time and change.

Silent, Wang Lin raised his right hand and with a flick of his wrist, three figures materialized before him, brought forth from the void.

Xu Li Guo, Liu Jin Biao, and his sole disciple from the Realm of the Caves, Thirteen.

Unlike mortals, Thirteen showed only a fleeting flicker of disorientation upon arriving, his eyes glazing over as he took in his surroundings, but it was quickly replaced by perfect composure. He bowed respectfully to Wang Lin, and then stood silently at his side, a sentinel of unwavering loyalty.

To him, the Celestial Wasteland and the Realm of the Caves were irrelevant. He would follow his master to the ends of creation, and that was all that mattered.

Liu Jin Biao and Xu Li Guo, however, were a different breed. They exchanged shifty glances, their eyes darting about with a peculiar smugness. Wang Lin sensed a subtle arrogance emanating from them, as if they had returned from a great and wondrous land to their humble village.

Their faces practically screamed, “Do you even *know* where we’ve been? The Celestial Wasteland, that’s where! It’s HUGE!”

“You are home. Do as you please. I must speak with an old friend,” Wang Lin said, his gaze drifting towards the horizon. He took another step, and transformed into a streak of light, cutting through the sky.

The instant he entered the Immortal Realm, Wang Lin’s divine sense had swept across its entirety. He had seen much, including the forlorn figure of Mu Bing Mei.

She stood upon a windswept peak, her form as fragile as a fallen leaf. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth, and she sighed softly, her fingers tracing the cool steel of her crystal sword. A resolute glint shone in her eyes, the light of a difficult decision made.

She clutched the hilt of the sword tightly, her knuckles white, and glanced up at the blood-red sky. Then, with a sudden, desperate movement, she turned as if to flee. But as she turned, Mu Bing Mei froze, her eyes widening in disbelief. She stared at a figure standing a short distance away, watching her.

A young man in white robes, his hair the color of snow. He was a stranger, yet achingly familiar.

They stood there, gazing at each other, beneath the crimson heavens, with the mountain as their backdrop, the wind as their music, and the vast cosmos as their stage.

Wang Lin gazed at the woman before him, a tapestry of familiarity and alienation woven into her very being. A storm of emotions brewed within him, feelings that had haunted him for countless years.

He saw her as she had been, the bright-eyed girl of Heng Yue Sect. He saw her bathed in ethereal light in the Vermilion Bird’s Tomb, a vision of breathtaking beauty.

Those images shifted and fractured, ending abruptly with Wang Ping’s heart-wrenching scream in the starfield of Luo Tian, fading into bitterness and regret, until finally settling upon the memory of her as he had last seen her, before departing the Realm of the Caves.

That day, the Immortal Realm had wept a gentle rain. And through the rain, a woman clad in white had appeared, like willow catkins dancing in the wind, drifting silently through the downpour.

She held a silken umbrella aloft, sheltering her from the sky, and a halo of droplets seemed to radiate from her dark, cascading hair. She possessed a beauty so profound, so ethereal, that it stilled the very air around her. The only sound was the soft patter of the rain, whispering a forgotten magic, obscuring her in a veil of misty unreality.

“If I still walk the path of life… I will return,” Wang Lin said softly, his voice barely a whisper. He watched as the woman before him intertwined with the echoes of his past, the past slowly dissolving within the present.

Mu Bing Mei struggled to comprehend the vision before her. She stood frozen in place, mesmerized. Wang Lin’s image, clad in white robes and crowned with snow-white hair, sank deeper and deeper into her heart, melding with her memories, ultimately dissolving into her soul.

Faintly, she seemed to see the boy from Heng Yue Sect, thousands of years ago on Vermilion Bird Planet, the only one amidst the adoring throng who hadn’t been blinded by her beauty.

She saw him again in the Vermilion Bird’s Tomb, the cold, unyielding figure she had sought to impede.

And then, in the starfield of Luo Tian, she saw the man who had cried out in anguish and despair when he had learned of the actions of her spirit-divided self, his eyes filled with unbearable sorrow.

Ultimately, her mind settled upon the day of his departure from the Realm of the Caves. The rain had fallen that day, heavy and relentless, as if the heavens themselves were weeping.

In the downpour, his figure had been unfamiliar, achingly so, piercing her heart with a sharp, sudden pain. And then, in the depths of that pain, his aloofness had softened, and she knew it was because of the pain of parting, and the knowledge that this farewell might be the last.
“If I were still of this world, I would greet you…” Mu Bingmei bit her lower lip, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Since Wang Lin’s departure from the Realm of the Caves, she had never felt so vulnerable.

Wang Jing gazed upon the exquisite beauty before him, a gentle smile gracing his lips. With a soft sigh, he stepped forward, standing beside Mu Bingmei as they both stared at the crimson sky.

“After leaving the Realm of the Caves, in the lands of the Immortals and Devils, there was always a phrase I wished to say to you. Now I have returned, and there is one to hear these words,” Wang Lin spoke softly, his gaze fixed on the heavens.

Standing beside Wang Lin, Mu Bingmei murmured a quiet agreement. Her heart pounded in her chest, still struggling to believe this reality, unsure what to say.

The words, unbidden, brought a potent wave of nervousness, a sensation rare for the Kunxu Saintess, the Immortal Saintess, a woman of unwavering strength. Only Wang Lin, it seemed, could stir such disquiet within her.

Perhaps Wang Ping, too, held such power.

Her right hand gripped her sword, while her left hand unconsciously clenched the hem of her sleeve, her fingers pale.

“Willow Eyebrows…” Wang Lin turned his gaze from the bloody sky, meeting Mu Bingmei’s eyes, speaking in a gentle tone.

“No… do not speak. I do not wish to hear!” Mu Bingmei’s heart leaped within her. Her face drained of color as the sword clattered to the ground, her body reeling backward. She appeared utterly helpless, fragile as if a mere breeze could scatter her to the winds.

Her beautiful face was marred by sorrow, the tears accentuating a plea for mercy, impossible to ignore.

“I do not wish to hear, Wang Lin, I…” she repeated, her voice trembling, “I do not wish to hear…” More tears streamed down her face, each drop a testament to her anguish, soaking into her garments.

Wang Lin observed Mu Bingmei, her vulnerable state, her eyes filled with confusion and helplessness. He sighed softly.

“I have returned not only to see old friends but also to bring closure to this matter between us. I have found a way to resurrect Wan’er, and upon my next departure, I shall restore her to life.”

Mu Bingmei wept, her sharp mind already grasping the meaning of Wang Lin’s words. Her face, pale and drawn, betrayed a bitter understanding.

“Willow Eyebrows, let the past remain in the past,” Wang Lin said gently. “I bear responsibility for the mistakes of the past, too… Let us leave all of this in our memories, sealed away. You once expressed a desire to meet Wang Ping…”

“I have returned to fulfill this wish. Wang Ping also needs a mother. I shall use the power of dreams. Within that dream, you, I, and Ping’er shall experience a cycle of rebirth, bringing this to an end… Let Ping’er see his mother, let you have no regrets, let me… have no regrets either.” Wang Lin spoke softly, his gaze fixed on Mu Bingmei.

Silence hung in the air, heavy and profound. After a long while, Mu Bingmei wiped away her tears, looking at Wang Lin with a complex expression, and nodded slightly.

“Accompany me in a dream of mortality, experience a century of reincarnation, and end everything… Then for that time, you are my husband, yes?” Mu Bingmei murmured.

Wang Lin closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he nodded.

A smile, tinged with tears, bloomed on Mu Bingmei’s face. She stepped forward, reached Wang Lin, and embraced him, resting her head against his chest.

Wang Lin gently returned the embrace, the delicate fragrance of her being intoxicating.

This was, in truth, their first real embrace, their first time abandoning the complexities of their hearts, ready to use a century of reincarnation to end the strange affection, a mistake or a twisted fate.

The two stood on the mountaintop beneath the crimson sky as time ebbed away. One day later, the crimson of the sky intensified, and small cracks appeared, as though it was about to collapse. Wang Lin took Mu Bingmei’s hand and headed away from the mountain.