Each time Wang Lin sought to mend his ravaged form with the ancient power of his godhood, the madman’s cursed ichor would thwart him, deepening his wounds and setting his inner self into a tempestuous upheaval.

The agony was a torment beyond reason, a descent into madness. Had Wang Lin succumbed to oblivion, it might have been a mercy, but consciousness remained his cruel companion. He had awakened long ago, only to find his very being steeped in the lunatic’s vile essence.

This blood pulsed with a force of immeasurable purity, an energy unlike any Wang Lin had encountered in his long existence. Only in the ancient tomb, within the spectral visions cast from that fateful chair, had he glimpsed a comparable might. It was the power unleashed by the ancient god, Gu Ye Mo, as he wielded his divine arcane, that forbidden art which defied the very heavens.

Yet, this potent blood resisted Wang Lin’s grasp, remaining a hidden torrent within him, a tide contending with his own ancient power. Slowly, inexorably, it intertwined with his bones, his blood, forging a sinister union.

The bone, the very wellspring of blood, became the battleground. This alien ichor, born of madness, seeped into Wang Lin’s marrow, forever altering the course of his lineage.

For bloodline is naught but the essence held within the bone. To corrupt the marrow is to rewrite destiny itself. Should this vile alchemy succeed, the blood that flowed in Wang Lin’s veins would be pure, noble, like that of the madman.

This nobility, this…elevation, whispered to Wang Lin in silent echoes, emanating from the alien blood. It was an aura that could command worship from the very stars. To Wang Lin’s horror, his very soul trembled as the ichor invaded him, as though it were an existence infinitely beyond his own comprehension.

Such a thing was as coal is to the heavens.

And as this impure blood flowed, so too would Wang Lin’s flesh undergo a dreadful metamorphosis, a transformation from mortal man to something…other.

Awake and aware, Wang Lin reeled at the revelations granted by this profane gift. He glimpsed the madman’s forgotten power playing across his very being, echoes that crashed upon his soul like a thousand thunderbolts.

The madman, Qiu Zhong, babbled and raved, his words like waves crashing upon the shore of Wang Lin’s sanity.

But all this was overshadowed by the agony that gripped his very essence. The pain surpassed even the trials of the Ancient God Star Calamity.

His body was frozen, eyelids sealed, and his very soul was encased in the crimson prison.

Yet, amidst this torment, a thread of hope emerged. From the bow clutched in his right hand came a melody of triumph, a warmth that offered momentary respite.

He felt, with mounting certainty, that the bow and he had become one, bound by the thread of blood itself.

He understood, then, that the bow, once aloof to him, had now acknowledged the dark destiny unfolding within. It did not claim Wang Lin, but the twisted lineage which was now his.

“My blood, it is so very…flippity-floppity… ah, I remember now! A little pixie named Flippity-Floppity gave me something to eat…” The madman, sitting by Wang Lin’s side, paused in his ramblings, his eyes clouded with confusion.

After a long moment, he shook his head and withdrew his hand from Wang Lin’s mouth, licking his fingers with an expression of pure pleasure.

“My blood, even I love it so… I mustn’t give it to just anyone! My brother told me so. A single drop of my blood can…can do what again?

Little Red, where are you? I’ve been here for ages, and you haven’t come to find me! Just you wait, when I get home, I’m going to eat you!”

The madman, his thoughts swirling with increasing anger, stood and circled Wang Lin several times. Finally, he stopped and glared at him, rage darkening his face. Seeing that Wang Lin’s body had failed to heal, remaining the incomplete form he had found it in, the madman was incensed.

“Why is it so hard to grow a body?! So hard?! If it were me, I’d be done already! How many years has it been? Are you stupid or something?!”

The madman’s rage built, and he kicked Wang Lin several times before, as if that was not enough, began to stomp upon him, jumping up and down like an infuriated ape.

“My brother said it, my clan’s blood can heal any wound! I gave you so much, and you still can’t grow a body, you, you, you!!!” The madman leaped away, his glare piercing. “I don’t believe it! Just you wait!” He muttered, raising his right hand and striking his chest with great force. As his hand met his flesh, a strange sigil shimmered into existence, imprinting itself upon his very being.

The madman staggered, his face flushing with unnatural color, then spewed forth a torrent of blood, drenching Wang Lin’s form.

“I have plenty of blood to spare! Now grow a body and play with me!”

That single torrent dwarfed the trickles that had preceded it, as vast as a river compared to a stream. This blood shimmered with gold, a pure, concentrated power. As it splashed upon Wang Lin, the man convulsed.

Every hair on his body stood on end as he desperately absorbed the ichor into his flesh. In moments, every drop was gone.

The surge of tainted blood ignited a storm within Wang Lin. It clashed with the Ancient God’s power in a savage battle, while some portion was siphoned to his marrow, commencing the vile metamorphosis.

With the release of that blood, the madman became haggard and pale, his breath ragged. He stared, wide-eyed, at Wang Lin, but soon his features contorted with an even greater fury.
“Not healed yet?! You… you… you wait ’til this King has rested! Just you wait!” The madman sputtered, collapsing to the side. He did not assume the lotus position of a healer, but merely sat, his breath slowly returning to a semblance of calm. Then, with a sudden lurch, he rose and stalked towards Wang Lin.

“Curse my ancestors!” he roared, his voice thick with desperation. “This King’s blood is only potent when freely given from Jiang Kui’s very core! Even if drained by force, it’s worthless! I refuse to believe you won’t regrow your flesh!” With another bellow, he slammed his right hand against his chest, thrice in quick succession.

A torrent of blood erupted from his lips, painting his face a ghastly white. He stumbled back, coughing up a second mouthful of crimson, swiftly followed by a third, which splattered forth in a gruesome rain.

The three bursts of blood transformed into a crimson cloud, hurtling towards the unmoving form of Wang Lin!

“Damn you all!” The madman’s eyes were bloodshot, consumed by an obsession that even his own brother could not dissuade. With a primal growl, he bit down hard upon his tongue, unleashing a jet of pure lifeblood that struck Wang Lin directly.

This final crimson dart, his essence made manifest, was infinitely more precious than any ordinary blood. As it left his body, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he crumpled to the ground in a heap, unconscious from the devastating loss.

Even in his fading moments, he mumbled, “This King’s blood is… invaluable… Went a bit far this time… So dizzy, head’s spinning… Little Hong, come here and massage… massage…”

Wang Lin’s body was now awash in blood. As if possessing sentience, the crimson liquid surged towards him, greedily burrowing into his flesh through every pore.

The sheer volume of blood, especially the lifeblood essence, unleashed an indescribable pressure as it entered Wang Lin’s form. Within him, the power of the Dao Ancient and the strength of the Ancient God trembled, crushed under the weight of the newcomer. Yet, they did not fully merge, maintaining a fragile separation.

Nevertheless, with the Dao Ancient power suppressed, the invading blood surged towards Wang Lin’s bones, plunging into the marrow with terrifying speed.

This was not the tentative dance of earlier attempts, but a complete and immediate assimilation. Wang Lin shuddered violently as crimson points erupted across his skin, his own blood forced out of his body in a desperate exodus.

As the marrow absorbed the new essence, fresh blood began to form, imbued with the madman’s power. In that instant, a noble aura, unlike any other, exploded outwards from Wang Lin!

This was the aura of one destined to stand above all cultivators, an essence before which even the heavens would bow.

Within his closed left eye, the nine-colored flames roared, their light visible even through his eyelids. But as they burned, the new blood born from Jiang Kui’s marrow flowed forth, and the nine-colored storm shattered, transforming into countless embers that swiftly coalesced once more.

A single, golden flame materialized!

This golden fire pulsed with the essence of the universe itself, yet it was not a Dao flame. As it appeared, the thunder diagram in Wang Lin’s right eye roared. But the newly formed marrow-blood surged forth and the diagram shattered, along with the nine accompanying bolts of lightning that had long danced around its edges.

In the wake of their destruction, a golden streak of lightning blazed within the pupil of Wang Lin’s closed right eye!

Gold. All was gold! Not a deep, opulent gold, but a pale, nascent hue, yet one that would strike terror into the hearts of those who knew its secret!

Gold, the color of Immortals! A true Immortal!

A golden flame in his left eye, golden lightning in his right. If Wang Lin were to open his eyes in this moment, every cultivator who gazed upon his pupils would be swept away by a wave of indescribable dread!

They would feel the weight of an unearthly power, unleashed from the depths of Wang Lin’s very being!