Wang Lin’s gaze, a ponderous weight lifted from the very heavens, slowly descended. His final glance fell upon the Gates of the Ancient Gods, those nine pillars rising from the churning, cerulean sea that separated the Ancient and Immortal clans.

Yet, even with his newfound power, standing as he was upon the second Sky-Stepping Bridge, the Ancient God realm remained indistinct, veiled in a power far surpassing his own.

He gazed long upon the tempestuous, wind-whipped ocean, and at last, closed his eyes. As his lids met, his vision vanished from the Immortal Continent.

When he opened them once more, he stood again within that strange, uncharted space, upon the colossal second Sky-Stepping Bridge. But looking down, Wang Lin realized he no longer stood at its head, but rather at its tail.

It was as though all that had transpired was but a fleeting moment within the act of crossing the bridge, an ephemeral dream, indistinguishable from reality.

He beheld the Sky-Stepping Bridge, and further on, the third, the fourth… until the ninth. Beyond the ninth bridge lay hazy, indistinct forms, impossibly distant. The more he looked, the more his heart ached with that vastness, as if each bridge represented an insurmountable peak, beckoning him to halt at its base.

This notion, once born, swelled to encompass his entire being. A voice, soft as the rustling of leaves, whispered in his soul, urging him to turn back, to abandon this path, to never set foot upon the remaining seven bridges.

Wang Lin stood at the edge of the second bridge, one step away from completing his crossing. But that final step seemed forever beyond his grasp.

Time flowed, an endless river, yet Wang Lin remained fixed, his face serene, though a soft sigh escaped his lips. He raised his right foot, placed it down, and stepped off the second bridge, completing his passage across the Sky-Stepping Bridge!

“A test of the self…” he murmured. Had his heart not been resolute, had he not possessed a defiant spirit and a burning desire to protect what was dear, he would have faltered at this very step. “Wang Lin” whispered to himself, as he moved towards the distant Sky-Stepping Third Bridge.

The third bridge seemed both impossibly far and tantalizingly close. He walked for three days, yet it remained distant. He walked for another three, with no progress. Three days more, and still the bridge lingered far away, yet also nearby.

On the ninth day, Wang Lin halted. He stood, silent, before lifting his head, his eyes gleaming with an inner light. He slowly closed his eyes.

He would not use his sight, nor his divine sense, but rather, he would seal his perceptions, ignoring the direction of the third bridge. Instead, he would blindly take steps, relying on nothing but instinct.

Step, step, step… On the ninth step, a chorus of birdsong filled the air, and a gentle warmth filtered through his closed eyelids, painting his irises with light.

The fragrance of rain-soaked earth filled his nostrils, mingling with the familiar scent of wood shavings and the sharp tang of tobacco.

He paused.

“Tie Zhu, how goes your studies?”

“Tie Zhu, you must study hard! Next year is the county exam, and your future depends on it. Don’t end up like me, stuck in this village for life, alas.”

“Enough, you’re always nagging him! I say, our Tie Zhu will pass with flying colors!”

It was the voices of his parents, echoing after thousands of years, so real, so tangible, they transported Wang Lin back to his peaceful village, lost in the mists of time.

Wang Lin stood, unmoving, listening to his parents’ voices, tears streaming down his face. A voice within urged him to open his eyes, to see his parents once more.

But a deeper awareness held him fast. To open his eyes now would mean failure on the third Sky-Stepping Bridge.

“The first bridge merges the laws of heaven and earth with divine sense. The second tests the gaze of the heavens and requires introspection…” Now Wang Lin understood the purpose of the self-examination, the hesitation at the end of the second bridge.

This third bridge was a crucible of the heart. If his spirit remained true, he could walk it, unflinching as his life flashed before him.

But to open his eyes would force him to confront his demons, to face his past head-on, diminishing his chances of success.

His parents’ voices persisted. Wang Lin wept, but without hesitation, he opened his eyes. He saw the familiar house, the yard, the table laden with food.

He saw his father, aged and weathered, tapping his pipe on the ground, his stern gaze softened by love.

He saw his mother, emerging from the house with a steaming dish, a few silver strands peeking through her dark hair.

To others, she may not have been beautiful, but to Wang Lin, she was the most beautiful, a haven in his heart.

He gazed upon them, upon the familiar scene, knowing it to be an illusion, yet needing to see it. And as he looked, it faded, dissolving into nothingness. He knew it was false, but he needed to witness it.

When it had completely shattered, Wang Lin stood at the base of the second bridge, a vast distance from the third.

His parents were mere mortals, beyond resurrection or reincarnation. Rebirth was the best fate for a mortal. But their memory, their influence on him, was eternal, indelible, more precious than his life.
Perhaps, were Wan’er to appear before me, knowing it a false vision, I know not if I could keep my eyes closed…”

But the visage of my parents… even knowing it a cruel illusion, I would open them nonetheless. “Wang Lin murmured, his voice barely a breath.

“Who dictates that to traverse the gauntlet of memory, to face the phantom horrors conjured from within, one must needs keep their eyes shut, deny their existence, and cleave only to the unwavering path of the Dao?

Who decrees that only through such staunch adherence to the Dao can one hope to survive the Third Bridge…?”

“And by what right is it claimed that this is the only passage?” Wang Lin’s eyes flashed, a flicker of defiance igniting within.

“Kin, love, friendship… these are the treasures of my life, the anchors that bind me. Why should I blind myself to their light? I shall open my eyes and behold all that is presented, and in doing so, unlock my Dao, embrace all that I am!” Wang Lin inhaled deeply, a newfound resolve hardening his features. He stepped forward, resolute.

Nine paces onward, and his parents materialized before him, their forms etched with love and concern. Nine more paces, and he saw Mu Bingmei, Li Qianmei, and Li Muwan, their ethereal beauty a poignant echo of the past. Again, nine steps, and Wang Ping stood there, the innocent boy he had left behind. The child clutched his hand, his grip both fervent and sincere. “I cultivate to stand by your side, Father,” he declared. “I cannot bear to see you walk this world alone. If solitude is your fate, then I wish to be the shadow at your back, a constant presence by your side.”

Wang Lin saw Situ Nan, the roguish benefactor; Qing Shui, the steadfast friend; Duntian, the ambitious schemer; and Old Vermillion Bird, the ancient protector. He gazed upon them all, his eyes sweeping across each familiar face, unyielding in their openness. He continued his journey, his heart swelling with gratitude and a deep understanding.

Dätóu, Red Butterfly, Qing Shuang, Zhou Yi, and countless others manifested, each a flickering ember of memories that illuminated the tapestry of his life.

As he walked, Wang Lin made no attempt to stifle the emotions that surged through him. Tears streamed down his face, laughter bubbled from his throat, pain ripped at his heart, and sorrow enveloped his soul. Step by step, he walked, unaware of the passage of time or the length of his journey. When he finally stepped onto the Third Bridge, the phantoms and visions vanished as if they had never been. He stood at the bridge’s terminus, a sigh escaping his lips. He glanced back at the path he had traveled, a long moment stretching into an eternity, before turning and striding off the bridge.

In the distance, the Fourth Bridge beckoned, a silent promise of trials yet to come. Beyond that, far into the ethereal mists, the Ninth Bridge shimmered faintly, its secrets still veiled. Wang Lin strained his senses, catching only fleeting glimpses of figures within the haze, two forms intertwined, their identities shrouded in mystery.

Carrying the echoes of a lifetime of memories, the lingering scent of tears, laughter, and sorrow, Wang Lin moved forward. Days blurred into one another until, at last, the imposing form of the Fourth Bridge filled his vision.

This bridge dwarfed all that had come before, a colossal structure looming within the strange space. A palpable pressure emanated from it, a suffocating weight that pressed down on the surrounding air.

Wang Lin studied the bridge, his expression pensive. He raised his foot to step forward, but the instant his foot touched the bridge, it passed straight through, finding only empty air.

At that moment, the Fourth Bridge shuddered violently, its solid form dissolving into motes of scintillating light. These fragments swirled around Wang Lin, coalescing into a vortex that seized him with irresistible force. He was pulled in, swallowed whole, and vanished from sight.

Simultaneously, in the Immortal Astral Continent, within the Ancient God Sect’s ancestral lands, in the Luo Zhu County of the Twelve Territories, in the secret chamber of the Ji Du Palace, Wang Zhu, meditating in a seated posture, snapped open his eyes.

His gaze was clouded with bewilderment, the confusion lingering for an extended period. The Slaughter True Body within him had achieved complete integration, its presence now inextricably entwined with his own. There was no overlapping shadow, no hint of separation.

Behind him, the ethereal light of the origin floated serenely. Before him, the soul of the Immortal Emperor burned within the flames of his spiritual essence. The chamber was silent, save for the rasp of Wang Lin’s quickening breath.

“The Skyward Path, the Void Annihilation Dao, the Undying Soul, the Adoration of the Multitude…” Wang Lin inhaled deeply. “Of the Nine Skyward Bridges, I have crossed but three. At the Fourth Bridge, I have faltered…” He looked up, his gaze hardening with renewed determination, the previous disorientation fading into the background.