Within the hallowed grounds of the Fire Sparrow Clan, Liu Jinbiao was ensnared by a myriad of spectral tendrils, his tormented cries echoing through the air. Xu Liguo, his mind fractured by terror, desperately summoned Wang Lin.

The figure wreathed in the seven-hued flames made no move to impede Xu Liguo, uttering instead but three words:

“Intriguing, indeed…”

The moment those words were spoken, a cataclysmic roar rent the swirling storm of swords that was Xu Liguo. It was as if a boundless force from the void itself had descended, finding its mark upon Xu Liguo’s location, drawn from the star-strewn sea above. With a sound like the tearing of iron, the storm was rent asunder, as if by two colossal, unseen hands that ripped it open. The tempest of blades split, collapsing into ruin, leaving a gaping rift in the sky above. Through this tear, where lightning danced and flames raged, stepped Wang Lin.

His hair was as white as winter snow, his robes as pure as moonlight. A savage light flickered in his eyes as he beheld the figure kneeling within the seven-hued flames. “Palm Sovereign!” he roared.

The iridescent flames blazed higher, and from within, the figure seemed to open its eyes, revealing two orbs of ancient wisdom that fixed upon Wang Lin.

“I recall… your name is Wang Lin!” a voice, faint and wavering, echoed through the heavens.

“It is,” Wang Lin affirmed, no longer concealing his identity, his face now contorted with a primal fury. He waved his right hand, conjuring the Thunder Diagram and the Nine-Colored Flames, which surged toward Xu Liguo, engulfing him and drawing him into Wang Lin’s storage space.

The Thunder Diagram roared, the Nine-Colored Flames licking hungrily, as it approached Liu Jinbiao. It coalesced into a gargantuan hand of thunder and fire, seizing Liu Jinbiao and wrenching him free from the grasp of the spectral tendrils, delivering him to the sanctuary of Wang Lin’s storage.

The specter within the seven-hued flames did not interfere.

“Well done…” the voice rasped, “I sense within you the echoes of Qinglin, Qingshui, and even Sima Mo… Knowing that I reside here, you dare to trespass, emboldened, perhaps, by the Old Vermillion Bird of this age… Or do you believe me so weakened by my ancient wounds that I am now vulnerable to your ambition?”

“Indeed!” Wang Lin’s eyes flashed with murderous intent, his savagery intensifying. He surged forward, toward the seven-hued flames, his left eye unleashing a tempest of the Nine-Colored Flames, a spectral inferno that crashed upon the target.

Simultaneously, his right eye flared with lightning, the Thunder Diagram reappearing, encircled by rings of nine-hued lightning, and within its depths, a fissure opened, leading to the ancient Thunder Realm. His left hand formed a mystical sign, and the air of the realm was instantly filled with the scent of verdant life. Illusory forests bloomed in the starry sky, and from within them arose the ancient Wood Spirit, roaring as it lunged at the seven-hued flames.

Crimson light surged forth, coalescing into a blood-red sword that hurtled toward the flames at Wang Lin’s command.

Furthermore, with a flourish of both hands, Wang Lin unleashed the full force of his cultivation, a wave of power that washed over the land, colliding with all that stood before him. All this unfolded in a blink of an eye, a whirlwind of action that saw Wang Lin unleash his full arsenal of spells and treasures upon the seven-hued flames.

The figure within the flames laughed, a sound tinged with ancient sorrow.

“Your assessment is correct; my wounds are indeed unhealed. However, your offering of the Celestial Sealing Treasure has ignited the hope of my recovery!” The figure raised its right hand, an appendage obscured from clear view, save for the faint glimpse of armor upon it.

“Since the dawn of my cultivation, countless have loathed me to their core, yet none have been able to bring me down… Though you are formidable, you are not yet worthy… I shall unleash but one art!”

The figure in the seven-hued flames raised its right hand, grasping at the sky. “This realm, this universe, can be seen as a well…”

As the words left its lips, the starry sky shuddered, and beneath them, ripples spread, a mist rising as the cosmos itself was transformed by an indescribable power into a vast expanse of water. From above, it was clear – the water was but the surface of a well. “Within this well lies all creation. Your spells, your treasures, even your very being exist within it…”

The star-strewn sky, now a tranquil surface of water, stilled, reflecting perfectly the world above. It mirrored Wang Lin’s flame storm, his Immortal Thunder Diagram, and the Ancient Wood Spirit… even the blazing figure of Wang Lin himself. It was an unsettling scene, for it was impossible to discern where reality ended and reflection began.

In that instant, Wang Lin found himself frozen in mid-air, as did all his summoned powers, as if their souls were trapped in the watery mirror. Wang Lin felt acutely that the figure within the starry water was a reflection of himself, a sensation both mystical and undeniably real.

“This is my spell… ‘Moon in the Well.’ Though the well itself is devoid of moonlight, and what appears to be a moon is but a reflection of that which shines above, I have transformed this into an art of earth-shattering power!”

As the words echoed, the figure within the seven-hued flames lowered its right hand, casually reaching toward the watery surface below. Ripples spread, and in that instant, the reflected image of Wang Lin was plucked from the water, not as a mere illusion, but as a struggling, living being. However, this Wang Lin’s eyes were filled with a savage madness.

Wang Lin’s heart constricted with dread.

“I found the moon’s reflection in the well to be beautiful, and desired to possess it. Now, I do.” The figure in the seven-hued flames retracted its hand, clutching the seized Wang Lin within its palm.

“He is you!” The seven-hued flames roared, revealing, within its heart, a figure with a pale face and eyes as calm as still water – a handsome man, possessed of an ethereal bearing. He did not look at Wang Lin, but fixed his gaze upon the Wang Lin he held captive.

“Behold, to kill you is a simple matter…” The man wore a strange suit of grey armor that seemed to have grown upon his body, inseparable from his flesh.

*Moon in the Well* had captured a soul.

“It seems you are indeed grievously wounded…” Wang Lin spoke, his voice betraying none of the previous savagery, but instead, only calm. The middle-aged man, grasping the captured Wang Lin, started slightly, a glint of surprise flashing in his eyes.

Under the effects of the *Moon in the Well* technique, all reflected beings should be robbed of their physical power and unable to speak! Yet Wang Lin’s words rang clear in his ears.

As Wang Lin spoke, he stepped forward, raising his right hand, and with a flick of his wrist, a Vermillion Bird feather appeared. Unleashing it, a wave of earth-shattering flames erupted, engulfing the sky, transforming it into a sea of fire. The roar of the flames was deafening, their intensity raging. The middle-aged man clenched his right hand, crushing the captured Wang Lin, who screamed in agony as his body shattered, ceasing to exist. Wang Lin staggered, his face paling, but he did not falter. Raising his right hand, he pointed at the sky, and, intoning the incantation passed down by the Old Vermillion Bird, he cried: “I, sixth generation Vermillion Bird, invoke the inheritance of feathers! Summon the ancestral spirit of my Vermillion Bird clan from the ancient Taikoo Realm to descend upon this world!”

The heavens roared in response, and the middle-aged man leapt to his feet, his eyes flashing, as a cold voice echoed:

“I underestimated you. You prepared yourself to such an extent before even arriving, replacing your true soul with that of a demon. Well done! Well done!”

Wang Lin remained silent. Before arriving, he had merged with the soul of Tian Yunzi, unleashing a frenzy of calculations as he had done before his battle with Suidaozi, for he sensed a faint yet undeniable sign.

That sign was one of life-or-death crisis, a crisis linked to the soul. Wang Lin’s life was one fraught with peril, and his survival hinged upon his cunning and caution. If he dared to plot against the wounded Palm Sovereign, he must prepare completely, even planning his retreat. As a precaution, he had erased the consciousness of an ancient demon soul and exchanged it with his own, making it his true soul.

The technique of *Moon in the Well* was indeed overbearing and devastating, but what it had captured was the ancient demon soul, not Wang Lin’s own. To replace one’s soul with that of a demon was something only a God of the Ancients could achieve. Any other, even those with superior cultivation, would have been crushed by the spell! Yet the Ancient Demon and the Ancient God shared a common source, allowing for the flawless substitution. Further still, the Palm Sovereign was severely wounded and had underestimated Wang Lin, or his plan would have failed. Even in failure, Wang Lin had prepared a means of escape, for he was never one to act recklessly.