In those bygone days, Suzaku was a cultivation star, little more than a forgotten ruin. The Fireburn Kingdom, once a beacon of power, could only boast a handful of Nascent Soul cultivators amongst its denizens…” The woman clad in violet robes held a distant gaze, her eyes clouded with memory. Though she had long departed Suzaku, its echoes reverberated within her mind, an indelible tapestry woven with the threads of the past.

As she spoke, the clamor of the tavern faded, replaced by an enraptured silence. Nearly all within the inn, driven by an unseen force, drew closer, their faces alight with wonder.

“Suzaku, cradle of the Ascendant… ‘Tis where he first breathed, where he toiled and bled, before ascending to the heights he now commands,” murmured a middle-aged scholar, his voice laced with reverence.

“I am a daughter of the Fireburn Kingdom,” the violet-robed woman continued, “But calamity befell our lands, forcing us to seek sanctuary within the Xuanwu Nation. Yet, refuge was denied, sparking a war between our kingdoms.” The specter of clashing steel and the scent of burning flesh seemed to flicker within her eyes.

“Ma Liang… Perhaps he truly was the Ascendant. Even then, a mere Foundation Establishment cultivator, his brilliance shone forth. Whispers tell of hundreds, his peers in cultivation, falling before his hand.” Her voice, soft as the whisper of the wind, wove its way through the tavern.

The words hung heavy in the air, and a murmur rippled through the crowd.

“A Foundation Establishment cultivator slaying a hundred of his own kind? It cannot be!”

“Nay, mortal minds cannot comprehend the Ascendant’s might!”

“If he possessed such power even in his youth, no wonder he defied the heavens themselves in the Battle of the Cloud Sea!”

Amidst the rising tide of voices, a figure in white parted the tavern curtains and entered. The newcomer scratched his nose before approaching a black-clad cultivator, a warm smile gracing his lips. With a gentle gesture, he pressed the man back onto his seat, preventing him from kneeling.

“Master…” The black-robed cultivator, who was none other than Thirteen, trembled with emotion. The sudden appearance of Wang Lin had shattered his composure, leaving him reeling in disbelief.

For the white-clad youth was indeed Wang Lin himself.

Having concluded matters in the Seven-Colored Realm of Zhaohe, Wang Lin sought to return to Suzaku, to pay homage to his departed parents and to refine the fundamental essences of Karma, Life-Death, and Truth-Falsehood.

Chance had led him to this place, drawn by the intertwined aura of Thirteen and the ancient demon’s fragment.

He gazed upon the man Thirteen had become, a tide of warmth washing over him. He recalled their first encounter in the Land of the Demon Spirit, the unwavering resolve etched upon the young man’s face, the unyielding loyalty that had persisted for over a thousand years.

*”He grows more like I was in those days,”* Wang Lin mused, a sigh escaping his lips. Thirteen’s aura of cold detachment echoed his own days on Suzaku.

Thirteen inhaled deeply, about to speak, but Wang Lin shook his head. Instead, he remained silent, the fire of unwavering devotion blazing in his eyes.

To him, Wang Lin was more than just a master; he was a benefactor. His life had been irrevocably changed by this man, a debt he could never hope to repay, not even in death.

He was Thirteen, the loyal and unforgiving.

“His trail vanished during that conflict. Yet, I recall a final meeting, just before he was to leave the Fireburn Kingdom…” The violet-robed woman spoke softly, silencing the whispering crowd.

None noticed the white-clad youth who had entered. All were captivated by the woman’s tale.

“I later heard whispers that he had saved a woman named Li Muwan, fleeing a Core Formation cultivator, and sought refuge in a perilous place on Suzaku… A place called… the Sea of Devils.” The woman’s voice faded, carried away on the currents of memory.

As he listened, Wang Lin raised his wine cup, savoring the liquid as the years flowed before his eyes. A smile graced his lips as the image of Li Muwan flashed through his mind—her desperate eyes, seeking salvation in the face of the pursuing Core Formation cultivator.

Thirteen refilled his master’s cup.

“A Core Formation cultivator? Humph! Does that wretch still draw breath? To dare hunt the Ascendant! Were he to live, his cultivation must surely be stunted. Even if the Ascendant deems him unworthy of notice, I myself would rend his soul from his flesh!”

“Aye! To provoke the Ascendant is to provoke all cultivators within the Four Star Domains!”

“Tell us, good Mistress Zhou, what name did that vile wretch bear?”

“Alas, I cannot recall… Afterward, I never saw the Ascendant again. Centuries later, I heard whispers of a cultivator named Wang Lin, who rose to prominence on Suzaku. He was a native of the Zhao Kingdom, who, during his Foundation Establishment stage, incurred the wrath of a Yuan Ying cultivator surnamed Teng, leading to the slaughter of his entire clan.” The violet-robed woman shook her head, her voice hushed.

Many within the tavern heard this tale for the first time, and a solemn silence descended. They could only imagine the heart-wrenching pain the Ascendant had endured, a burden few could bear.

“He returned to the Zhao Kingdom and committed an act that shook Suzaku to its core. Blood flowed in rivers… Veritable rivers of crimson. The Yuan Ying cultivator and his entire lineage were wiped from existence, not a single soul spared.”

“He showed no mercy, unleashing the full fury of his vengeance. All who bore the blood of the Teng family were extinguished… Rumor has it that the skies above Zhao were stained crimson…” Though her voice was gentle, the listeners felt as if they were standing amidst the carnage, tasting the bitter tang of hatred and retribution.

They could almost hear the triumphant roar that echoed across the blood-soaked land, the cry of a man finally avenged, his vengeance complete.

Wang Lin remained silent, taking measured sips from his cup, his eyes clouded with a hint of sorrow. Thirteen quietly refilled the cup each time it emptied, similarly lost in thought as he heard his master’s tale for the first time.

“Now that is what I call a just revenge!”
“That Core Formation cultivator of the Teng clan deserved his fate, it is true, but to eradicate his entire lineage…” A murmur of dissent rippled amongst the gathered cultivators.

“Hmph! Until you have been touched by the尊, you cannot fathom his grief, you cannot comprehend the utter despair of losing one’s entire family! What 尊 did in his time, I find no fault with!” The woman in violet robes declared, her voice echoing over the low murmurs.

Wang Lin drained his cup in a single gulp. Setting it down, he gazed into the distance, a yearning tightening his chest. He longed for home, for his parents, to offer them a handful of earth in remembrance.

“Let us depart,” Wang Lin announced, rising to leave the inn. Thirteen dropped several spirit stones upon the table and followed close behind.

“The stories of 尊, I have only heard in passing. He was once poised to become Lord of Vermilion Bird, yet he chose to abandon that path… Here, on Vermilion Bird, a statue stands in his likeness, a silent guardian…” The violet-robed woman was speaking softly when, as if sensing a presence, she whirled around, her gaze drawn to the inn’s entrance.

Her eyes swept past Thirteen, lingering on Wang Lin’s departing figure. “That man… he seems familiar…” As Wang Lin pushed aside the curtained doorway, he glanced back, his eyes meeting those of the violet-robed woman. A faint smile touched his lips, and with a gentle shake of his head, he stepped out into the day.

Thirteen followed, and together they vanished from the inn.

The violet-robed woman staggered, rooted to the spot. Her mind was consumed by the white-clad man’s smile, a visage growing ever more familiar, overlapping with the image etched in her heart.

“It… it is him…” Her thoughts reeled, disbelief warring with dawning recognition. Her mind blanked, save for the smile, growing clearer and more vivid, threatening to burst forth from her very soul.

“It is him!”

“Sister, what is wrong?” A maiden in rose-colored robes, noticing her companion’s frozen state, gently nudged her. Following her gaze, she saw only the gently swaying curtain.

Not just her companion, but other cultivators in the vicinity also turned their heads, finding nothing but the faint tremor of the curtain.

“Nothing…” The violet-robed woman, Zhou Zihong by name, instinctively tucked a few stray strands of azure hair behind her ear. After a moment of silence, she resumed recounting the tales held within her memory, a wistful smile playing on her lips as she wove her story, the image of Wang Lin’s backward glance and smile forever imprinted in her mind.

Upon the highest peak of the market star, the wind howled, as if trying to sweep the land into the embrace of the heavens. There, atop the summit, stood Wang Lin, facing Thirteen, who knelt upon one knee.

“Master, Thirteen desires to remain at your side forever!”

“Thirteen, you are the first disciple I ever claimed, and the one who has walked beside me longest,” Wang Lin said softly, his gaze upon Thirteen filled with kindness.

Thirteen nodded, his eyes reflecting a deep affection. Wang Lin was more than just a master to him; he was as a father.

“But a fledgling must spread its wings and face the storm alone, to truly understand the vastness of the heavens. To become a celestial Peng, soaring above the clouds, one must first weather the tempest… In this, you have done well…” Wang Lin rested a hand on Thirteen’s shoulder, speaking with gentle conviction.

“But Master…” Thirteen began, only to be silenced by Wang Lin’s raised hand.

“Thirteen, a disciple of Wang Lin must not be the kind to only gaze at the heavens while shielded from the elements. A disciple of Wang Lin must possess a heart that defies the very heavens, a resolve strong enough to shake the earth! ” Wang Lin fixed Thirteen with a steady gaze.

“A disciple of Wang Lin must be like a dragon amongst men, soaring through the nine heavens, so that, revered by all, he can proclaim to the world, ‘I am the first disciple of Wang Lin!'”

“Master!” Thirteen cried, his face alight with emotion, nodding vigorously.

“Of course, if anyone dares to mistreat you, then I, your master, will not allow it! From this day forward, you shall bear the title of my first disciple and forge your own path, the path that is Thirteen’s alone!” Of all his disciples, Wang Lin had invested the most care and emotion in Thirteen. As he spoke, he raised his hand and gently struck the crown of Thirteen’s head.