“Well now, look who’s crawled out of the woodwork,” boomed a voice that echoed from the heavens, laced with playful mockery. As all heads turned skyward, a figure descended, wreathed in ethereal flames that danced and flickered before vanishing the instant his feet touched the ground. It was the Ancient Vermilion Bird.

Behind him, emerged the figure of Wang Lin.

The moment Wang Lin appeared, the eyes of those skilled in the Dao of Pills fastened upon him.

The first gaze was that of Si Mozi, whose eyes were as cold as glacial ice, radiating a palpable intent to kill.

The second was softer, tinged with a wistful longing and a hint of bewilderment. It belonged to the woman shrouded in azure light, one half of a father-daughter pair.

The third was cast by the handsome youth who munched languidly on a peach. A flash of keen intelligence sparked in his eyes, his lips twisting into a knowing, ambiguous smile.

Wang Lin remained composed, his gaze sweeping over the assembled throng. It lingered for a moment on the father and daughter bathed in blue, a flicker of complex emotion crossing his face before it vanished.

“Junior greets Dao Sovereign Lan Meng,” Wang Lin said, clasping his hands in respectful address.

Dao Sovereign Lan Meng smiled serenely and nodded. “I confess,” she said softly, “I underestimated you.”

The acquaintance between Wang Lin and Dao Sovereign Lan Meng took the Ancient Vermilion Bird by surprise. His expression was peculiar as he glanced at Li Qianmei, who stood beside the Dao Sovereign, then chuckled and turned his attention to Si Mozi.

“What are you staring at, whelp!” the Ancient Vermilion Bird bellowed, his ancient eyes blazing. “You got a problem with me, old bird? Want a piece of this? Come on then, if you’ve got the guts, I’ll give you the thrashing you deserve!” He lacked all pretense of seniority, his gaze burning into Si Mozi as he crooked a beckoning finger.

Si Mozi’s face paled. He knew this was the First Young Lord of the Fallen Land, a figure of immense renown, practically the right-hand of the Great Emperor. The Long Revered Society had long studied this old coot, and he was notoriously difficult to handle.

“Senior’s cultivation reaches the heavens,” Si Mozi stammered, hastily clasping his hands. The murderous glint in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a forced humility. “Junior… junior is no match.”

“Hmph, too chicken to fight me, but you dare provoke my junior, and with such impudent words! A beating is what you deserve!” The Ancient Vermilion Bird took an instant dislike to Si Mozi. With a snort, he raised his hand and flicked it dismissively.

No grand spell or arcane artistry followed, yet the expression on Cloudfall Grand Scribe’s face turned ashen as she hastily retreated a few steps. Si Mozi’s pupils constricted to pinpricks as he roared and began weaving hand seals. But before the spell could fully form, a deafening explosion ripped through the air.

Si Mozi stumbled backward, his hands trembling almost imperceptibly. His face was deathly white, and a wisp of phantom flame erupted from within him. He retreated three paces, and with each step, the burning power within him intensified threefold.

At the third pace, Si Mozi shuddered violently, coughing up a mouthful of blood. His eyes widened in horror.

“Senior abuses his power, attacking me before so many fellow cultivators! What is the meaning of this?!” Si Mozi’s face flushed with anger, but the moment the anger flared, the phantom flame around him intensified, as if feeding on his rage and turning it into an even more devastating conflagration.

Si Mozi spat out blood again. Cloudfall Grand Scribe rushed forward, pressing her jade hand to his back, channeling some arcane art to stabilize him. Though his color returned slightly, he remained unnaturally pale.

“Abuse my power, eh? You know what abuse of power is? You used your Third Step cultivation to force my cub to a fight. Don’t you go telling me about abuse of power, I can do whatever I want!” Though the Ancient Vermilion Bird had cultivated for eons and was normally gentle with Wang Lin, he had risen to fame as a volatile, hot-tempered champion. Hearing Si Mozi’s words now, his eyes widened in fury, and he took a swift step forward.

He moved with such speed that neither eyes nor minds could follow. In a blink, the Ancient Vermilion Bird stood before Si Mozi, his right hand rising in a lightning-fast slap that landed squarely on Si Mozi’s face.

A resounding crack echoed as Si Mozi staggered backward, a groan escaping his lips. His left cheek swelled instantly, turning a gruesome shade of purple.

Cloudfall Grand Scribe, who stood behind Si Mozi, paled, and she stumbled back, her voice strained, “Senior, please desist! My Long Revered…”

“Silence, you wench! One more word and you’ll feel my hand as well! This old bird is going to have some fun abusing his power!” The Ancient Vermilion Bird snarled, silencing Cloudfall Grand Scribe with a single, menacing glare.

Si Mozi had barely retreated a few steps when the world seemed to blur around him.

“What are you, you little maggot, daring to insult my boy by calling him a bastard?! You’re the bastard, and your whole family are bastards!” With each word, the Ancient Vermilion Bird advanced, and the second slap landed with a crack.

Si Mozi coughed up blood, staggering backward. His anger soared, but the moment it flared, it was consumed by the flames within him, eliciting a pained cry as he desperately suppressed it.

“If my boy’s a bastard, then am I a bastard as well? How dare you insult me!” The Ancient Vermilion Bird roared, pursuing relentlessly.

“Junior did not…” Si Mozi gasped, his mind reeling. But his words could not keep pace with the Ancient Vermilion Bird’s movements. In an instant, the old bird was upon him, his right hand rising yet again.

Another resounding slap landed, making the previous mark on Si Mozi’s left cheek look even more grotesque. He spat out blood, mixed with a few dislodged teeth, and was launched through the air like a projectile.

“Hmph! Dare to insult me!” A hint of killing intent flickered in the Ancient Vermilion Bird’s eyes. Had he not intended for Wang Lin to use this opportunity to establish his authority, he would not have stopped at mere slaps but would have extinguished Si Mozi’s life without hesitation.

This Ancient Vermilion Bird had even dared to bait dragons. His cultivation was terrifying. Si Mozi may have attained the Third Step, but he was a mere fledgling. Anyone else, even with the Vermilion Bird’s power, would have hesitated, especially considering that Si Mozi had the Long Revered Society standing behind him.
But the Ancient Vermillion Bird held no truck with such considerations. One thought, and one alone, burned within its breast: to affront the Vermillion Bird Clan was an unforgivable sin! Though the offender’s cultivation might surpass its own, the Ancient Bird cared not a whit, for a progenitor of ages past would surely rise to defend the bloodline.

For the Vermillion Bird Clan, the shield of kin was a sacred inheritance, ingrained into the very marrow of their bones.

Wang Lin, beholding this spectacle, wore a faint smile. In the heart of this aged bird, he perceived echoes of virtues long past – the clarity of a spring stream, the steadfastness of the Fifth Generation Vermillion Bird Emperor.

Such was Wang Lin’s nature, simple in its essence. Kindness shown to him was returned tenfold – like the unwavering devotion of Situ Nan, the cherished memory of Qing Shui, the revered figure of the Vermillion Bird Emperor, and even the presence of Duntian before him…

The combatants vying for the position of Elder of the Fallen Star Assembly had ceased their struggle, retreating to the perimeter. Tens of thousands of cultivators from the Land of the Fallen, their faces etched with reverence, gazed skyward. Even the dozen or so envoys of the Great Emperor bowed their heads in respect.

Those others who occupied the heavens above offered no word of protest.

Having delivered several resounding slaps, the Ancient Vermillion Bird turned from the spectacle, approaching Wang Lin with regal disdain. It spared not a glance for the dishevelled Si Mozi or the sullen visage of Great Elder Yun Luo.

“Esteemed guests, your presence upon the Emperor Star gladdens my heart greatly. Though some of the elder sort have declined to attend, it matters not. Today, you shall bear witness! Witness the trial of the Third Young Emperor of our Land of the Fallen!”

With a sweeping gesture, the Ancient Vermillion Bird drew Wang Lin forward, then pointed to the lithe youth.

“Young one,” it boomed, “you know the Daoist Blue Dream, so I shall not introduce him. But gaze upon this lad devouring peaches. Though his appearance belies his age, he is an ancient being. You may have heard whispers of him: one of the Five Venerable Ones of the Ancient Stars, the Daoist of Mystic Sound!”

Wang Lin’s face remained placid, though his inner spirit stirred. The name of the Mystic Sound Daoist was known to him. Yet, gazing upon the being, he perceived no outward sign of profound power. He offered a respectful bow.

The fair youth chuckled, nodding in acknowledgement.

“And there is this venom-tongued old codger whom you should know. He is not among the Five Venerable Ones, but his power is no less formidable. He calls himself the ‘Wilds Artisan,’ and his mastery of poison is infamous!” The Ancient Vermillion Bird pointed towards an elder garbed in animal hides, seated cross-legged atop a monstrous lizard-beast.

The elder’s eyes flickered with an unnerving gleam. He uttered not a word, yet a voice, as if emanating from the very depths of his being, echoed forth.

“Old Bird, I came here not for some paltry witnessing, but to clash with you once more! Still, the lad is not without merit. Take this, as protection!” The hide-clad elder flicked his right hand, severing the tip of his index finger’s nail. The shard shot towards Wang Lin.

A flash of obsidian light, and the splintered nail hovered before Wang Lin.

The Ancient Vermillion Bird’s eyes had narrowed at the epithet “Old Bird,” but upon seeing the nail, its face broadened into a delighted grin. “You little poison-worm, you are generous indeed!” it bellowed.

“Take it. It contains the essence of the little poison-worm’s venomous arts. Use it to wound your foes – a potent weapon it shall be.”

The Ancient Vermillion Bird raised its right hand abruptly, pressing it down upon the arena a thousand leagues below. In a thunderous voice, it proclaimed, “The Elder Selection of the Fallen Star Assembly is postponed! Let the Trial of the Young Emperor commence!”

The sound reverberated like the wrath of the heavens. The ground trembled, and a chorus of cracking and groaning rose from the arena. Then, a dragon-turtle’s earth-shattering roar tore through the air. The colossal beast, glimpsed before in Wang Lin’s divine ability, emerged from the arena, its massive carapace rising in jagged segments.

The monstrous turtle spanned a thousand leagues, a grotesque colossus whose very appearance etched itself indelibly into the minds of all who beheld it. As it materialized, a wave of force pulsed outwards, driving the tens of thousands of surrounding cultivators back, their faces alight with fanatical reverence.

The behemoth roared, lifting its mountainous head to fix its gaze upon the Ancient Vermillion Bird.