The voice of Chong Xuanzi echoed, laced with regret and sorrow for his departed master: “Yan Leizi, the events of that bygone era were not as they appeared…” With a complex gaze lingering upon Yan Leizi, he turned and departed.

The star-strewn void was still, untouched by any natural breeze. The winds that stirred were born of artifice, of sorcery. Even now, the tempest left in the wake of Long Panzi rent the crimson glow within the rift, shattering the myriad seals and revealing the Seven-Colored Realm to Wang Lin.

With each pulse of chromatic light, a maddened roar echoed from the fissure, a primal cry of beastial fury, thick with bloodlust and slaughter.

Wang Lin, however, remained calm. He regarded the Seven-Colored Rift, and after a long moment, turned his gaze upon Yan Leizi.

Yan Leizi’s eyes remained fixed upon the distant figures of Chong Xuanzi and his companion. His gaze burned with a deep-seated hatred.

The ancient feud between Yan Leizi and Chong Xuanzi was shrouded in mystery to Wang Lin. Yet, the lengths to which Yan Leizi had gone after fleeing to Luo Tian, the devastating war he ignited between Luo Tian and the Alliance, spoke volumes of the enmity between them.

“This is a burden I cannot bear for you…” Wang Lin murmured, for he understood the power of hatred, a force that could drive a man to utter madness.

Yan Leizi remained silent, and after a long while, withdrew his gaze. He bowed to Wang Lin, speaking in a low voice: “The matter between Chong Xuanzi and myself is a personal one, Revered One. Let it not trouble your heart. The greater good must prevail. I understand… Should I perish in this coming war, all shall be forgotten. Should he fall, then too shall it end…”

“But, should we both survive, then the day of reckoning will dawn.” Yan Leizi concealed the venom in his heart, a practiced skill honed over countless years. He had endured for eons, and a few more years of patience mattered little.

He could never forget the events of that fateful time. He and Chong Xuanzi were once the closest of comrades. At Chong Xuanzi’s behest, he and his beloved companion had joined the ranks of the Cultivation Alliance.

The three often shared their wisdom. Yan Leizi admired Chong Xuanzi’s vast knowledge and sagacious insights, and willingly took counsel from him. Chong Xuanzi, in turn, treated him with the utmost respect. Theirs was a bond like that of noble men, pure and unwavering, yet with the passage of time, it had ripened like fine wine.

Yet, all had changed with a single, terrible event. Yan Leizi often awoke in a cold sweat, haunted by a single, horrific scene burned into his memory. His fists would clench, and a stifled roar, born of fury and shame, would escape his lips.

He wished to forget, but the memory was too deeply entrenched, a festering wound in his soul. A thorn embedded deep within his flesh, now festering and corrupt, its decay staining his very being, a lifelong torment!

Wang Lin shook his head in silent pity. “Enough. If you can harness the power of the Black Dragon of Incense, then a great fortune awaits you. I must now enter the Seven-Colored Realm, where peril abounds. Do not follow.”

Yan Leizi nodded, bowing his farewell to Wang Lin. He turned and walked away, his form stooped, radiating a weary sorrow, a lonely desolation.

As Yan Leizi receded into the distance, Wang Lin turned his attention back to the rift. The feud between Yan Leizi and Chong Xuanzi was a deeply personal matter. Wang Lin would not pry, nor did he desire to know its true cause.

Though shrouded in the mists of time, the tale must have been a painful one, like water held in a palm. Though it slips away, the chill remains, stifling the warmth and spreading throughout the body…

In silence, Wang Lin turned towards the Seven-Colored Realm. His steps were deliberate, each stride firm and unwavering. He did not look back, nor did he falter. With three paces, he entered the second chromatic realm he had ever known!

Chromatic light filled the space, bathing everything in a kaleidoscope of hues. The land was strangely alluring, its beauty capable of ensnaring the unwary.

Rainbows everywhere!

Standing beneath the sky of the Seven-Colored Realm, Wang Lin gazed around. This realm was unlike the one he had entered long ago. Though mountains rose everywhere, they were arranged with a purpose, forming a colossal array!

Nearly ten myriad mountains comprised this formation, arranged in a manner that inspired both awe and dread.

Each peak was an integral part of the array. The mountains near the center were exceedingly majestic. Deep within the array, a mountain pierced the heavens themselves, shrouded in chromatic mists, revealing only half of its true form.

Yet, what truly made the sight so unsettling was the figure seated atop each of the ten myriad mountains.

They did not breathe or cultivate, but wailed in agony! The collective lament formed a heartrending symphony of despair.

The sound, inaudible outside the Seven-Colored Realm, pierced directly into the soul, like the cries of ten myriad tormented spirits, shaking the very fabric of reality.

Each of these cultivators, impaled by sharpened spikes erupting from the earth, their bodies pinned in place. Far from meditation, they were bound there by force, their flesh pierced by cruelly erected barbs.

Each raised their head, their vacant eyes staring blankly at the sky, uttering wordless cries.

Blood flowed endlessly from their bodies, trickling down the spikes and onto the mountain, as though their life essence could never be exhausted.

The blood from each mountain was minuscule, a tiny stain on the vast landscape. Yet, nothing could withstand the passage of time. With the relentless flow of years, even the smallest trickle of blood would accumulate… so long as the captive cultivators lived, and so long as their bodies continued to produce blood…

Tendrils of red smoke rose from each peak, twisting towards the highest mountain, disappearing into the chromatic mists.

Ten Myriad Mountains, Ten Myriad Masters!

Half of these ten myriad cultivators bore markings upon their brows, revealing them as Outsiders. The other half were clearly members of the Alliance, frozen in place for countless eons.

A stench of blood permeated the Seven-Colored Realm, staining even the most beautiful chromatic light with a ghastly hue.

Countless wraithlike phantoms drifted aimlessly among the ten myriad mountains, chanting fragments of scripture.

Corpses, animated but vacant, wandered aimlessly, unable to escape the confines of the ten myriad mountains. Their clothes were tattered, their eyes empty.

Wang Lin observed all in silence, and after a long moment, stepped forward, entering the ten myriad mountains. The instant he set foot inside, a restriction was triggered. The endless wails ceased abruptly.

The eyes of every cultivator seated atop the peaks, previously vacant and skyward, snapped towards Wang Lin, locking onto him with fierce intensity! The lamentations ceased. Confusion left their eyes, and they were replaced with a burning malice, focused entirely on Wang Lin.

The gaze of ten myriad tormented figures converged upon Wang Lin, and he momentarily halted.

Simultaneously, the drifting shades ceased their chanting, their empty eyes fixing upon Wang Lin.

It was as if Wang Lin’s arrival had shattered the existing balance, as though a living man had suddenly appeared amongst the dead. The intrusion was abrupt and unwelcome.

“Blood… blood…” In the sudden silence, a raspy whisper echoed through the mountains. The sound came from the nearest peak, emanating from one of the Outsider cultivators.

The whisper spread, growing louder and more frantic. All of the cultivators began to repeat the same word.

“Blood… blood…” The eyes of the ten myriad cultivators turned crimson, their minds consumed by an insatiable craving. They stared, unblinking, at Wang Lin, and the whispers grew into a chorus of desperate roars.

Suddenly, a cultivator atop one of the peaks coughed up blood, which erupted into a crimson mist. Within the mist, countless specters flickered.

In rapid succession, other cultivators began to vomit blood, filling the space above the ten myriad mountains with a spreading crimson haze.

Wang Lin’s eyes flashed with a cold light. He hesitated for a moment, and then, without faltering, charged forward, his speed shattering the void itself. With the thunder of his passage, Wang Lin shot through the mountains like a bolt of lightning.

He moved with blinding speed, escaping the nascent crimson haze before it could fully coalesce, penetrating deeper into the ten myriad mountains, towards the highest peak.

In the blink of an eye, Wang Lin arrived before the highest mountain. The sight that awaited him stole the air from his lungs!

From this vantage point, he saw that the ten myriad mountains were not connected to the earth at all, but were supported by a gargantuan, petrified Xuan Wu turtle. The ten myriad mountains were nothing more than the spines of this gargantuan beast!

Or perhaps, the mountains were not mountains at all, but rather the thorny protrusions upon the back of this immense Xuan Wu!

The Xuan Wu was so massive that it occupied nearly the entire Seven-Colored Realm. Upon its distant, fearsome head, sat a lone figure. He appeared middle-aged, but an aura of ancient history radiated from him. He sat there, unmoving, devoid of life.

His body seemed fused with the Xuan Wu. Piercing through his skull was a spike jutting from his crown, a three-inch barb that arose from beneath him. It had pierced through his body, shattering bone and exiting through the top of his head.