Upon the Celestial Ladder stood Wang Lin, his gaze descending upon the Vermilion Bird Star. A land estranged, its rivers and mountains reshaped, bearing little resemblance to the realms of yore.

A verdant carpet draped the land, a sea of emerald grasses swayed by the high winds, carrying the faintest whisper of floral fragrance upon the celestial breeze.

“How droll! They’ve made it quite fetching, haven’t they? Look, a mountain-effigy! Ha! Poorly wrought, I say! My mud-men possess more grace!” The Madman clapped his hands, his laughter echoing in the heavens.

Before them, a master and his three disciples stood in solemn reverence, offering obeisance to the stone idol. The Madman’s jesting words and boisterous mirth turned their heads in disdain, save for the elder, their eyes burning with contempt.

The mountain-effigy was none other than the very peak that anchored the Celestial Ladder, the highest bastion of the Vermilion Bird Star. By some arcane art, the mountain itself had been sculpted into a colossal statue. It depicted a robed cultivator, his left hand forming a mystic seal, his right gripping a colossal Sky-Cleaving Axe, his gaze raised heavenward, his countenance radiating an untamed majesty, as if to challenge the very heavens!

The Celestial Ladder met the world at the base of this mountainous effigy. Thus, all pilgrims arriving upon the Vermilion Bird Star would behold this immense idol first, and as they descended, the oppressive aura of the statue, amplified by the height, would grow stronger with each step, compelling them to an instinctive reverence.

The statue was a likeness of Wang Lin himself!

It was Wang Lin of the Cloud Sea, the First Warrior!

Yet, the statue’s face was veiled in a subtle blur, obscuring its features from easy recognition.

“This likeness,” the old master intoned, his voice echoing with the weight of ages, “commemorates the Venerable Feng’s victory in the Cloud Sea, when he felled the Fire Sparrow Clan’s ancient ancestor, the South Zhao Sage. He stood at the breach of the Sealed Boundary Array, a lone bastion against the invading hordes from beyond the realms, holding back ten thousand with his unwavering presence!” His words resonated through the group causing the three disciples to turn back and make their own obeisance to the statue.

“After the First Battle, the name of Venerable Feng echoed throughout the realms. When it was known that he hailed from this Vermilion Bird Star, we, the cultivators of this realm, driven by our own will and guided by mighty sages, with the blessing of Zhou Wu Tai, transformed the highest peak into a monument to Venerable Feng.” The old man’s voice reverberated with reverence.

Wang Lin watched the idol in silence, a gentle shake of his head betraying a quiet sorrow. He dimly recalled that this mountain once belonged to the Vermilion Bird Kingdom, a sacred place, now transformed beyond recognition.

He turned away, stepping forward, drawing the Madman with him, vanishing from the sight of the master and his disciples. As they receded into the distance, one of the younger disciples sneered.

“Such a coarse fellow, daring to defile the hallowed ground of Venerable Feng’s homeland!” His companions nodded in agreement, their gazes following Wang Lin’s receding form with disdain.

“Their insolence on the Vermilion Bird Star will not go unpunished. Mark my words, they will be driven from this land in disgrace!”

Wang Lin walked slowly through the sky, his gaze falling upon the land below, growing ever more alien. This estrangement filled him with a profound loneliness, as if the world had been remade, leaving only his heart unchanged. Yet, this constancy only served to highlight the disparity, making him feel ever more isolated and out of place.

“So much has changed… there is no feeling of home here…” Wang Lin murmured, his heart heavy. He strained to find some echo of the familiar, but his gaze swept across the land, finding nothing, nothing at all.

The myriad kingdoms of the Vermilion Bird Star had vanished, replaced by a unified realm. The disparate sects of old had coalesced into the Nine Great Sects of the present.

These Nine Great Sects now held dominion over the vast majority of the Vermilion Bird Star.

As Wang Lin traversed the land, he came upon the site of the old Soul Refining Sect. He still bore the kindly visage of old Duntian within his memory, but the place of the Soul Refining Sect was no more.

The mountain had vanished, replaced by a tranquil lake. Around its shores stood countless pavilions, pulsing with spiritual energy. Another sect had risen.

Here, Situ Nan had awakened, uttering his defiant decree that the heavens would not rain. The words still echoed in Wang Lin’s ears, but no trace of familiarity remained.

The land of the ancient Giant Demon Clan, too, lay transformed. It had become a vast grassland, dotted with nomadic peoples in simple attire, their bodies adorned with tattoos and simple garments, or their bodies bare, herding their flocks under the embrace of the sun and wind.

The herds were guarded by stout hounds, their barks mingling harmoniously with the lilting melodies of the shepherds.

“This… has changed as well…” Wang Lin lamented, lost in a wilderness of unfamiliarity. The Madman, for once silent, followed in his wake, sensing the profound solitude emanating from Wang Lin. A longing for home stirred even in his maddened heart.

After a time, the Snowfield Kingdom appeared before them. The once-pristine white expanse, draped in shimmering silver, was gone.

The snow had long since melted, and in its place stood a dense, verdant jungle, bearing no resemblance to its former self. The ancient cities lay buried beneath a tapestry of green, reduced to ruins swallowed by the ages.

Buried with them was the singular mortal city, the setting of Wang Lin’s bygone memories, which chronicled Wang Lin’s first hundred years, along with the traces of a mortal child named Zeng Niu, as the years turned him into a man.

Gazing upon the jungle below, Wang Lin’s heart ached with an indescribable sorrow. He felt a growing sense that this was no longer his home…

This Vermilion Bird Star held no familiarity for him.

Only memories remained, like a wanderer returning home after long years of exile, only to find his homeland transformed beyond recognition. The estrangement brought tears to his eyes, a hollow grief within his heart, and a crippling sense of loss… of home.
Wang Lin had returned to Suzaku Star before, witnessing changes, but none so drastic, so utterly transformed, as this. The shift was sudden, leaving him reeling, unable to adapt. He dared not unleash his divine sense, to grasp the totality of Suzaku’s new form, to seek out the Kingdom of Zhao, the graves of his parents…

He feared stumbling upon more of the unfamiliar, more of the chilling emptiness that echoed his solitude, the loneliness of a man adrift in memory, without a true home.

He dreaded gazing upon the cave at Xiūmó Sea where he once dwelled with Li Muwan, the cozy valley where they shared tender moments. He feared even these vestiges of warmth had been swept away.

Gazing down at the sprawling forests, Wang Lin silently descended, seeking something intangible. He pushed aside the dense foliage, and sunlight struck his eyes as he beheld the shattered remains of a city.

Small creatures darted among the crumbling walls, scurrying through the overgrown ruins of houses. Startled by Wang Lin’s arrival, they fled into the undergrowth.

He walked through the ruins, a flicker of familiarity tugging at his mind, a sense of recognition threatening to coalesce. But it shattered as quickly as it arose, dissolving before a vast, yawning pit. The chasm had obliterated the street he once knew, swallowing his nascent memories.

He stood there, lost in thought, then sighed and turned away.

He went to Xiūmó Sea, but the sea was gone. Though the mists had long vanished, a vast basin had remained. Now, it was filled, a mountain range serving as the headquarters for one of the Nine Great Sects.

The cave where he and Li Muwan had lived was gone, of course. Wang Lin hovered in the sky, a sharp pain piercing his heart. He had wished to glimpse the cave, to see the colossal dragon’s corpse, to visit the place where Li Muwan had left behind a drop of her lifeblood.

Disheartened, he turned.

Unconsciously, he found himself drawn to the valley that once held such warmth, where Li Muwan slowly aged by his side, where Zhou Ru had grown up.

But even this had been erased, replaced by a sprawling inland sea, beautiful and serene, yet it dealt Wang Lin a deeper, more cutting blow.

“It’s gone, too…”

Suzaku Star’s myriad transformations had rendered it far more beautiful than before, yet it was a beauty only of the surface. This Suzaku Star was not the one Wang Lin desired!

The world knew only that it was the land of his ascension, a place they sought to turn into a sacred ground. They did not understand that such a sacred ground was hollow, not what Wang Lin craved…

All of this was merely superficial dust. Wang Lin was not one to care for outward appearances, for the fleeting glory of fame. He was a simple man, a humble cultivator who remained unchanged even after becoming a Venerated One.

He yearned only for a home, a place where he could find peace, where he could quietly reminisce. He wished to find even a sliver, the smallest fragment of the familiar, to imbue his two thousand years of cold cultivation with warmth. Only a touch of warmth… But now, that warmth was a luxury. He searched, but everywhere he went, he found nothing.

Alone, desolate, Wang Lin turned, gazing at the Madman who trailed behind him. He spoke softly, “Why has it become like this?”

“This King thinks it’s quite beautiful, hehe…” the Madman cackled, grinning foolishly.

Wang Lin was silent. He looked up at the sky, and after a long moment, he sighed. He took a step forward, leading the Madman away from the site, to the one place he most dreaded to visit… his true home, the former Kingdom of Zhao!

In the sky, Wang Lin gazed down at the Kingdom of Zhao, his eyes blurring with unshed tears.

“It’s not like…” Before the world, he was the Venerated One, revered by countless cultivators. But at this moment, he was merely a traveler returning home, an old, weary man longing to see a familiar face. Below, in the Kingdom of Zhao, a group of four cultivators, one old and three young, had also arrived.

“This place,” the aged voice echoed, “is where the Venerated One spent his childhood…”