The fabric of Zhou Hai’s robe exploded in a crimson mist, a grotesque counterpoint to the inky palm print emblazoned upon his chest. He was hurled from the South Garden, and even as he flew, tendrils of vital essence, unseen and ethereal, snaked from his body back along the path of the dark hand, feeding into the attacker. With horrifying speed, Zhou Hai withered, his flesh collapsing inward, leaving him a grotesque parody of his former self, little more than animated bone.

The stolen life force, drawn by some unseen power, surged towards a wounded disciple of the Returning Origin Sect. The man trembled, the sickly blue pallor receding from his face, replaced by the healthy flush of restored vitality.

Zhou Hai crashed to the earth, a broken puppet. His face was the color of ash, his body spasming in pathetic convulsions. Stark terror shone in his eyes. A chilling silence descended, heavy and absolute.

From the ranks of the Demonic Thicket Path, Zhao Yu gasped, his eyes wide with shock as he stared, transfixed, at the South Garden. Instinctively, he stumbled back several paces. He had never imagined that the esteemed elder of the Returning Origin Sect possessed such devastating power.

A cold dread gripped him as he recalled his earlier, flippant remarks regarding Lu Yanfei. It wasn’t lust that motivated him, merely a habitual arrogance fostered by his travels through the five sects. He had found them all too eager to please, too easily manipulated.

“The Returning Origin Sect harbors such strength?” Feng Peishan, of the Dao Law School, echoed Zhao Yu’s fear, his pupils constricting to pinpricks. To so easily cripple Zhou Hai spoke of a cultivation beyond mortal comprehension.

“Who dares usurp the right to harm those of the Returning Origin Sect?” The voice, frigid as the heart of winter, resonated through the air. There was no thunderous pronouncement, no manipulation of the elements, merely a quiet certainty that cut through the heart like a shard of glacial ice, driving fear deep into the souls of Feng Peishan, Zhao Yu, and the broken Zhou Hai. The words hung in the air, heavy with an unimaginable pressure that mirrored the oppressive silence.

A soft, rustling sound rose from the South Garden as Wang Lin emerged, his hands clasped behind his back. His hair, black as a raven’s wing, drifted without wind. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned like twin suns, casting light that threatened to unravel the very essence of those who dared meet his gaze. In their depths, one felt the terrifying sensation of being drawn into a realm of illusion, a place where the boundaries of reality blurred.

It was a power beyond description, an understanding that transcended words. One felt instinctively that the fabric of existence itself rested upon this man’s will, capable of being unravelled or rewoven at his whim, a constant dance between truth and illusion, a self-contained cycle.

“The Dao of Intent!” Feng Peishan whispered, his face paling. He was the most accomplished among them, a core disciple of the leading sixth-tier sect, and he recognized the terrible truth at once: the elder of the Returning Origin Sect wielded the power of Intent.

What chilled him to the bone was that it was not a forced act of will, but a natural emanation of being. His very presence was an embodiment of the Dao, his words and actions infused with its power, surpassing even the manipulation of the elements.

The heart of their Dao Law School lay in the study of the Dao, and Feng Peishan recalled the words of his grand elder: “He who stands there *is* the Dao.” Instinctively, he recoiled, the grand elder’s pronouncement echoing in his mind.

“You?” Wang Lin’s dispassionate gaze settled upon the groaning figure of Zhou Hai, regarding him with the same indifference one might show an insect.

Zhou Hai shuddered, and as his eyes met Wang Lin’s, his terror escalated exponentially. The world around him dissolved into a phantasm. His assailant had become the very universe, and he himself, a mere speck of dust within its vastness.

His heart hammered in his chest, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. He could not fathom the depths of Wang Lin’s power, but he knew, with chilling certainty, that not even all the elders of the Five Venoms Sect, not even its Grandmaster, could inspire such profound dread.

Wang Lin averted his gaze, looking instead towards the heavens, his eyes settling upon Zhao Yu of the Demonic Thicket Path. “Or you?” he asked, his voice devoid of inflection.

Zhao Yu nervously licked his lips, glancing from the writhing Zhou Hai to Wang Lin. Instantly, his demeanor shifted to one of obsequious deference. “Junior Zhao Yu of the Demonic Thicket Path greets Senior,” he stammered, bowing deeply, his terror carefully concealed. He dared not meet Wang Lin’s gaze.

“Perhaps you, then?” Wang Lin’s gaze fell upon Feng Peishan of the Dao Law School. Feng Peishan’s face was ashen. He bowed, his voice a low, pleading murmur. “I beg Senior’s forgiveness.”

“You stated that any who dared impede your assault upon the Returning Origin Sect would suffer the consequences?” Wang Lin’s voice was cold, his gaze unwavering.

Sweat beaded on Feng Peishan’s brow. He dared not look into Wang Lin’s eyes. He felt a growing certainty that the slightest spark of anger from this man would obliterate him.

After a tense silence, Feng Peishan gritted his teeth and struck himself a blow to the chest. A sickening crack echoed through the air as he coughed up a mouthful of blood. His face drained of all color, and a tremor wracked his body as his spirit suffered a grievous wound.

“May this appease Senior’s wrath?” He did not wipe the blood from his lips, but offered a bitter smile.

Wang Lin’s expression remained unchanged as he turned his attention to Zhao Yu.

Zhao Yu offered a strained, mirthless laugh. If Feng Peishan dared not cross this man, how could he? Furthermore, he had not even seen Wang Lin move, yet Zhou Hai had been hurled away, crippled. Resistance, he knew, would be futile.

With a grimace, Zhao Yu followed Feng Peishan’s example, striking his own chest. He coughed up blood, staggered back, and bowed towards Wang Lin. “I beg Senior’s forgiveness,” he choked out.

The disciples of the Returning Origin Sect watched this display, their faces alight with fierce pride and burning reverence for Wang Lin. Li Xiangdong and the others shared the same fervent devotion.

“You may continue your search,” Wang Lin said, his voice flat.

“There’s no need—” Feng Peishan began, but Wang Lin cut him off.

“Finish your search, and then depart the Morrow Continent at once!”

“As you command,” Feng Peishan sighed. He knew that their actions had angered this elder of the Returning Origin Sect. He suspected that the reason they were not dead was out of consideration for the Sects they represented.

*If my elders learn that I have offended such a master of the Dao of Intent, the punishment will be severe,* Feng Peishan thought ruefully. *Even my Sect would not lightly cross such a powerful cultivator. The Grand Elder could defeat him, but not without substantial cost. Moreover, to so easily cripple Zhou Hai speaks of the ability to take a life at will, and spare one if there’s reason. To this man death or being spared is nothing more than whim.* He recalled his master’s parting words: “Be mindful, young one, for power beyond comprehension exists in this world. Tread carefully where you do not know the land.”
Grand Venerable Shuai Zun once proclaimed, “Beyond every mortal, a greater being exists; beyond the heavens, infinite realms unfurl. The Cloud Sea Starfield teems with ancient, nigh-omnipotent beings. Their abodes are ever shifting, yet some surely linger within the Fifth Order Starfields.” Each Fifth Order Sect, steeped in years of lore, might harbor those who departed long ago, their cultivation reaching unfathomable heights. Though nameless and obscure, these elders demand respect.

Thus, during this search, should you encounter such ancient ones, explain your purpose with utmost courtesy. Never provoke their ire.

Feng Peishan, bowing in deference, withdrew. Yet, after a moment’s contemplation, he meticulously scoured the Moro Continent. Finally, his disciples gathered as one. Supporting Zhou Hai, and accompanied by Zhao Yu and their respective followers, they swiftly departed Moro.

Only when they pierced the protective barrier and entered the void did Feng Peishan and Zhao Yu breathe easier. Zhou Hai, though revived somewhat by elixirs, could barely maintain flight. His face remained pallid, reflecting lingering terror. “Zhou, friend,” Feng Peishan inquired, his voice heavy, “describe in detail how this venerable senior acted upon entering the Southern Garden.”

Zhou Hai, still haunted by the brush with death, fell silent for a long breath. He spoke in hushed tones, “The senior’s cultivation… at least a Shattered Nirvana Mid-stage. I witnessed no physical blow, but upon crossing into the Southern Garden, I felt unimaginable celestial power coalesce, forming a palm print that struck my chest.” He lowered his gaze to his torso, where the mark remained, a patch of impenetrable darkness.

“Was it a venomous attack?” Zhao Yu interjected.

Zhou Hai shook his head. “There was no trace of poison upon him, nor did it feel like the work of the Venomous Vine Mother. Furthermore, she lacks the power and presence I sensed. I secretly observed the Gui Wu Sect disciples. Their reverence and pride seemed genuine. This Senior Wu… he is, indeed, an elder uncle of the Gui Yuan Sect.”

“Indeed,” Feng Peishan concurred. “Had this senior been connected to the Venomous Vine Hag, or known of the alchemical formulas and jade tablets, he would have acted differently. He would have remained hidden, emerging only after our search was complete. Given his cultivation, such concealment would be effortless. He certainly wouldn’t have injured Zhou Hai only to demand a price from you and me.”

Zhao Yu nodded, recalling the earlier events with lingering trepidation. “This elder ancestor of the Gui Wu Sect possesses power that even our Sixth Order Starfields would hold in reverence. Thankfully, we only inflicted injuries, not death. Had we crossed that line…” He glanced at Zhou Hai, whose silence was laced with chilling apprehension.

“Before our arrival, we encountered members of the Violet Path Sect, their destination seemingly the Gui Yuan Sect,” Zhao Yu continued. “Their intent hinted at a longstanding grievance. However, Lu Yuncong of the Violet Path Sect has bitten off more than he can chew this time!” He chuckled, a hint of malicious glee in his voice.

“Lu Yuncong is not one to be underestimated,” Feng Peishan cautioned softly, seemingly reluctant to dwell on the man. He continued, his tone decisive, “Enough. Let us proceed with greater caution from now on. We will journey to another continent.” The three transformed into streaks of light, leading their sect disciples toward the distant stars.

“One whom the Grand Elder deemed worthy of attention is no simpleton… and the origins of this Lu Yuncong are shrouded in mystery…” Feng Peishan mused, shaking his head within the radiant stream, casting aside further thoughts on the matter.

Wang Lin’s gaze swept back from the celestial horizon. Before acting, he had weighed the consequences. His time on the Desolate Continent had been fleeting, and though he had diverted the initial pursuit, traces remained.

These faint threads, he could not erase, for lack of time. And, most importantly, the more he attempted to conceal, the more apparent the traces would become.

“So be it. My priority lies in bolstering my cultivation. If discovered, I shall simply venture into the Wind Immortal Realm ahead of schedule!” Through the memories of the Venomous Vine Hag and his time within the Gui Yuan Sect, Wang Lin knew that the Wind Immortal Realm of the Cloud Sea Starfield required no key. Its entrance stood open year-round in the northern reaches of the Eighth Order Starfields. However, few within the Cloud Sea dared to delve too deep, content to scavenge the periphery.

“The Wind Immortal Realm… I prepared it as a final gambit for Tuo Sen…” Wang Lin’s eyes flashed with a cold light. The importance he placed upon the Wind Immortal Realm drove him to experiment with the beast-taming techniques gleaned from the Venomous Vine Hag. If successful, Wang Lin’s chances of survival within the Wind Immortal Realm would increase exponentially.

Furthermore, the Beast Refinement Grounds were warded by Wang Lin’s own divine sense barrier. Only one with mastery exceeding his could perceive its true nature. And with a mere thought, all within would be utterly destroyed, eliminating any chance of discovery.