‘Twas nigh a perfect mirror of himself!

This flamboyant youth, reveling in verse and raising a cup high in joyous drink, bore a visage that mirrored Wang Lin’s own with uncanny precision!

The sole distinction lay in the etching of time. Wang Lin, though cloaked in the guise of youth, carried the weight of near two millennia upon his soul. A subtle aura of ages past clung to him like mist.

Yet this wine-bibing youth exuded vitality and raw life force. He appeared, by all accounts, a mortal man barely past thirty summers!

Wang Lin, rooted to the spot, watched as the boat drew ever nearer. He saw the youth set down his goblet and, with a flick of the wrist, wipe away the remnants of wine from his lips.

“Ah, my lord’s poetry is truly without compare! In my humble estimation, such verses are fit only for the heavens, rarely to be heard in mortal realms! A masterpiece, a marvel!” A manservant, appearing some forty years of age, stood behind the youth, his face awash with admiration as he spoke.

“Nonsense, you fool! These are verses from the ancients! Your words would have it that I, myself, crafted them,” the youth chuckled, a smile playing upon his lips as he tapped the manservant with a fan plucked from the low table before him.

The manservant merely grinned, unfazed. He glanced about, then sighed, “My lord, our coffers are dwindling. To charter this vessel upon the waterways of Su City is no small expense. Four days have already passed! Would it not be wise to hasten towards the capital?”

The youth shook his head. A servant refilled his cup, which he raised and sipped. He was about to reply when he froze, his gaze snapping upwards to fix upon a figure standing on the bridge ahead.

Upon the bridge stood Wang Lin. A silent, potent connection forged between their eyes in that fleeting moment.

The youth visibly trembled, his countenance shifting. Astonishment bloomed in his eyes. Gently, he placed his cup down and rose to his feet. Bowing respectfully towards Wang Lin upon the bridge, he called out, “Honored friend, would you deign to join me for a cup?”

The tremor within Wang Lin’s soul began to settle. A strange light ignited in his eyes. With a single stride, he launched himself forward, his body floating like a wind-borne leaf, landing softly upon the deck of the boat.

The forty-year-old manservant gaped, his eyes bulging from their sockets, unable to believe what he had witnessed. His astonishment stemmed not only from Wang Lin’s effortless leap, but also from the uncanny resemblance he bore to his lord!

Landing upon the vessel, Wang Lin offered no greeting. He simply seated himself across from the youth.

The youth scrutinized Wang Lin for a long moment, his wonder growing with each passing second. The likeness was truly remarkable. After a pause, he sat down and instructed his servant to provide another cup.

Presently, the manservant produced a clean goblet and placed it upon the low table, filling it with wine. As he poured, he could not help but steal glances at Wang Lin, inwardly marveling at the phenomenon before him.

“Honored friend, your appearance bears a striking resemblance to mine. I have traveled far and wide, and have met many souls, yet never have I encountered such a likeness. May I be so bold as to inquire as to your name?” the youth asked, a curious smile gracing his lips.

Wang Lin remained silent, lost in contemplation. He lifted the cup and drained it in a single draught.

Undaunted by the lack of response, the youth took up the wine pot and refilled Wang Lin’s cup himself.

The gentle murmur of water against the hull drifted into the air as the boat glided beneath the stone bridge, heading further down the river. The musicians continued their performance, but their audience remained lost in silence.

Wang Lin drank cup after cup, the turmoil in his mind swirling into a chaotic vortex. The wine tasted like ashes in his mouth.

“What is the meaning of this… Within the Refinement of Men during this trial, why has such a person appeared…? Not only does he share my appearance, but even his very soul…” Wang Lin frowned, draining another cup.

The youth maintained his smile, saying nothing. But his manservant, with a discreet roll of his eyes, muttered under his breath,

“This is Su City’s aged Osmanthus wine, mind you! Quite expensive, it is…”

As dusk descended, a chilling breeze swept across the river, rustling through the boat. The dancers and musicians had long since departed, leaving only Wang Lin, the youth, and his manservant.

The moon slowly ascended, bathing the world in its silvery light. The river shimmered with reflected moonlight, its surface rippling in the wind, creating a scene of ethereal beauty.

The manservant’s patience was clearly wearing thin. He glanced repeatedly at the sky, then, unable to contain himself any longer, tugged at the youth’s sleeve and winked suggestively.

The youth merely smiled and shook his head.

The manservant sighed, whispering, “My lord, if we continue much further, we shall incur additional fees for the vessel… And the wine is nearly gone…”

“Drink from mine,” Wang Lin said, his troubled thoughts slowly receding. With a flick of his wrist, he produced a wine gourd. It did not contain Dragon Blood wine, but neither was it ordinary. It was a concoction that, when consumed by mortals, could grant longevity and sharpen the mind.

Seeing Wang Lin conjure the gourd from thin air, the manservant’s eyes nearly popped from his head. Fear washed over him, and he dared not utter another word of complaint to his master.

Pouring a cup for himself, Wang Lin placed the gourd upon the table. He raised the cup, took a sip, then gazed up at the heavens and spoke softly, “This…this is Zhao, is it not?”

The youth, still reeling from the display of Wang Lin’s powers, took a deep breath and nodded.

“Are you…are you an immortal, elder?”

“You spent your childhood in a mountain village. Your father is Wang Tianshui, a carpenter. He’s the eldest son… Your mother is Zhou Ying Su, from the village of Zhou. She spent a few years studying at the village school and she taught you to read when you were a child…” Wang Lin murmured, cradling his cup.

His words struck the youth like a thunderbolt. He sat there, completely stunned.

Wang Lin sighed, setting down his cup. With a complex gaze, he looked upon the youth and said, “Live the life you have chosen…”

With those words, Wang Lin rose to his feet. He looked up at the moonlit sky as everything around him dissolved, reforming itself in a burst of clarity.
He strode towards the river’s edge, a single step transforming into an ascent toward the heavens. As if treading an invisible staircase, he receded into the distant sky.

Upon the vessel, his attendant shuddered, collapsing against the railing, terror etched upon his face. Dumbly, he watched Wang Lin’s retreating figure, his voice a trembling whisper, “Truly… truly a celestial being… My lord, a celestial being indeed! Your dreams were true!”

The young nobleman, dazed, stared skyward. After a long silence, he exhaled deeply, glancing down at the wine flask upon the table. A profound bewilderment clouded his eyes.

High in the heavens, Wang Lin gazed down upon the world below. He knew its form intimately. This land, in truth, was an echo of Zhao, of the Vermillion Bird Star itself.

“This trial of mortality… I entered with my soul, believing the test to be an inquiry of the Dao, like that of the Star of Heavenly Fate. Yet, I find this place not a test of the Dao, but of the heart’s demons…”

Wang Lin sighed, a complexity swirling in his eyes.

“Have I grown weary of the path of cultivation? Or how else could I conjure a phantom soul living an alternate life…” Silence cloaked him.

“Unlike the Dao inquiry of the Star of Heavenly Fate, this time, I am keenly aware of my existence, aware that all this is illusion, aware that I have entered with my soul, and more importantly, aware of my purpose… I must ignite the Incense of Mortality…” He raised his head, a hint of indefinable melancholy clinging to him. In that fleeting moment of clarity, when the world’s fabric seemed to shift, he understood the location of the first Incense of Mortality and how it must be ignited.

Were he to wish it, he could light the first incense at this very moment.

“But… before I ignite this incense, I wish to gaze upon them… once more… her…” A wisp of loneliness, tinged with an unyielding sorrow, flickered in Wang Lin’s eyes. He knew it was all false, all born of his soul, a mortal illusion. Yet, he could not help but treat it as truth, yearning to catch a glimpse of what had become his most sacred taboo, the serpent’s scale none dared to touch… her.

“Only a single glance, then I shall ignite the Incense of Mortality…” Wang Lin stepped forward, vanishing without a trace.

Upon the Great Emperor Star, the gazes of tens of thousands of cultivators were fixed upon the illusory, colossal tortoise. Beneath the first incense, a figure stood motionless, hand resting upon it.

A gentle breeze stirred, ruffling the figure’s long hair and flowing robes.

Old Vermillion Bird’s eyes betrayed a growing anxiety as he watched the figure, his concern deepening.

“Why is it taking so long…? Given this child’s cultivation, he should have completed the ignition of the first incense long ago. I anticipated no more than two quarters of an hour, the burning of an incense stick’s worth of time. Yet, almost an hour has passed, which equates to almost half a day within! Could it be that after thousands of years of cultivation, this child still cannot see through it, and his soul has returned to his homeland!”

Si Mozi, a hidden smirk playing on his lips, fixed his gaze upon the incense shadow, inwardly musing, “He shows weakness with the very first incense. That little cur is doomed to fail this trial. And when he does fail, before the eyes of so many cultivators, this so-called First Young Emperor will lose all face…”

The Grand Secretary Yun Luo furrowed her brow, her right hand, concealed within her sleeve, moved through a faster incantation. It seemed her calculations were reaching a critical juncture.

Suddenly, Old Vermillion Bird’s gaze sharpened. Not only him, but the majority of the gathered cultivators clearly saw, from the eyes of the white-robed figure, his hand resting on the first incense, his eyes closed, two glistening tears slowly, relentlessly, streaming down.

“A soul returning home… If the soul grieves, it will return to the body, manifesting as falling tears… A fine Trial of Mortality, indeed…” The Azure Dream Daoist’s eyes lingered upon the tear tracks, a soft murmur escaping his lips.

Within the mortal illusion, Wang Lin stood at the foot of Mount Hengyue, gazing upon the village before him, then turning away. A single tear traced its path down his cheek.

In the Fire Desolation Country, at the Luo River Sect…

Within the rear mountain’s alchemy chamber, a maiden, barely blossomed into womanhood, frowned, her hopeful eyes fixed upon the smoking furnace before her and the frowning middle-aged woman beside it. “Master,” she whispered, “Wan’er has failed again…”

“Alright, alright, always making that pitiful face. Go to the medicinal peak behind the mountain and gather some water-moon grass for me. I’ll see if I can salvage this batch of pills,” the middle-aged woman scolded, glancing at the girl.

The maiden, a picture of adorable guilt, stuck out her tongue and, with a burst of joyful energy, scurried out of the alchemy chamber.