“Here did Feng Zun rise,” the aged one rasped, his voice like the rustling of ancient leaves, “This land is Zhao, of Suzaku, the true hallowed ground!” He gestured towards the border of Zhao with a gnarled finger, addressing his disciples with solemnity.

Before them, a shimmering barrier encircled Zhao, a radiant corona that wove a formidable ward around the entire kingdom.

This arcane weave served but one purpose: to bar entry to outsiders.

“Suzaku, even with petitions from the nine great sects, welcomes pilgrims from afar. Yet this place alone remains inviolate, forbidding all foreign cultivators from even a glancing step within. This decree was the unwavering will of Zhou Wutai, Lord of Suzaku, uttered during the great reshaping of this star.

All else could be touched, but Zhao, not a single blade of grass could be disturbed!” The elder spoke with unwavering conviction, his gaze fixed upon the shimmering wall.

His three disciples, their faces etched with reverence, bowed deeply towards the glimmering land of Zhao, towards the distant, misty peaks that hinted at the kingdom’s heart.

“Any who defy this sacred covenant, any foreign cultivator who breaches Zhao’s borders, shall face a dire reckoning!” A glint flashed in the elder’s eye, and he turned his gaze towards two figures descending from the heavens some hundreds of feet away – Wang Lin and the Madman.

His disciples followed his gaze, their initial curiosity quickly morphing into disdainful sneers as they recognized the newcomers.

“Though Suzaku be small, it seems the tiresome are never far away!” one hissed. “Such crude fellows, truly distasteful.”

The Madman, spotting the group of four, erupted in boisterous cheer, waving his arms wildly.

“Fair maidens! We meet again! Ha ha! Truly, fate binds us! Come, for the sake of our connection, the King bestows a boon!”

Wang Lin appeared deaf to the Madman’s pronouncements. His eyes were solely for Zhao, a blur of emotion washing over him, an unspeakable melancholy rising from the depths of his soul. He moved forward, drawn by an unseen force, slowly approaching the shimmering barrier.

The elder’s disciples bristled at the Madman’s vulgarity, their hands itching for retribution, held only by the presence of their master.

The elder frowned, and was about to speak, when a sudden alertness steeled his features. His eyes locked on Wang Lin, who drew ever closer to the Zhao ward, as if intent on shattering it.

A dark shadow crossed the elder’s face. Ignoring the Madman, he strode towards Wang Lin, his voice a thunderous command.

“Friend, this is Zhao, sacred homeland of Feng Zun. It is forbidden to outsiders! I implore you, respect this!” The elder’s words echoed across the landscape, startling even the Madman.

The Madman stared, wide-eyed. “Grandmother! You startled the King! You must atone! You startled me!”

Wang Lin remained oblivious. He saw no ward, no shimmering barrier. He saw only Zhao, the familiar land that had haunted his dreams, the land he had finally found. The sensation grew stronger with each step, eclipsing all else.

One step brought him to the very edge of the ward, triggering a ripple of energy that spread outwards, as if a colossal vortex were forming before him. The vortex spun faster and faster, until the wave of energy consumed the Zhao ward in its entirety.

“Halt, friend!” The elder’s face was a mask of alarm. He surged forward with blinding speed, seeking to stop Wang Lin’s transgression, for such an offense against Feng Zun’s homeland could not go unpunished!

But he was too late. Just before he could reach him, the vortex before Wang Lin reached its apex. As if guided by unseen hands, the ward was wrenched asunder, a gaping rift tearing through its radiant surface.

Without hesitation, driven by a yearning for home and a heart full of complex emotions, Wang Lin stepped through the breach and into Zhao!

He stood upon the familiar earth, the land of his birth.

A cold fire sparked in the elder’s eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, he snorted and plunged through the rift after Wang Lin.

“Such audacity! To break the ward and trespass within Zhao! You have wrought a great calamity! Ere long, punishment will be upon you. But while I yet draw breath, I will not allow this desecration of Feng Zun’s memory!”

The elder surged forward, seeking to apprehend Wang Lin.

The instant the ward shattered, nearly every powerful cultivator on Suzaku felt it. Faces twisted in a mixture of shock and rage.

“Dare trespass in Feng Zun’s homeland? A death wish!”

“I will see for myself who dares to rend the Zhao ward!”

Streaks of light shot forth from every corner of Suzaku, converging on Zhao. At the same time, nine figures emerged from the nine major sects, a palpable sense of dread accompanying their ascent.

The breaking of the Zhao ward was an event of profound significance, a grievous offense against Feng Zun himself, a transgression demanding immediate and ruthless retribution!

Outside the disrupted ward, the elder’s three disciples stood dumbfounded. They watched as Wang Lin entered and their master followed, unsure of what to do.

The Madman, however, clapped his hands, a wild glint in his eyes, and charged towards the rift.

“Ha ha! Fun! Fun!” In a flash of golden light, the Madman plunged into the breach.

The elder’s disciples hesitated, exchanged worried glances, then steeling their resolve, surged through the rift after him.

Wang Lin gazed upon the familiar landscape, his memories coalescing, his gaze drawn to the peaks of Heng Yue, to the pavilion erected two thousand years prior. The profound sense of belonging only intensified.

“Heng Yue Sect…” A bitter smile played on Wang Lin’s lips. He took a single, deliberate step, a ripple of energy washing over him, and then, he vanished.

The elder arrived just in time to witness Wang Lin’s disappearance, his face darkening, his eyes widening in disbelief.
“An inch-shrinking stride! His cultivation was already beyond my ken, yet he commands the very art of spatial distortion! But this is the hallowed homeland of the Venerated Sealer, guarded by mighty cultivators. Even with such power, he shall not escape righteous judgment…” The elder’s eyes flashed, his divine sense unfurling as he stepped forward, ripples of power emanating from his feet – he, too, wielded the forbidden stride.

Beneath the peaks of Heng Yue, beyond a verdant thicket, once lay a humble village.

That village had transformed. It was now a sprawling city, named Huang Zu, the City of the Imperial Ancestor. Wang Lin knew this from his previous return, yet within this city, one aged dwelling remained, untouched by the passage of time, immutable as the stars themselves.

This humble house was his home of yore…

Surrounding the dwelling was a spacious courtyard. Upon its eastern edge stood an ancient grave, lovingly restored by his kin, silently awaiting the return of its wayward son.

The house was empty, the silence profound.

Into this stillness, Wang Lin’s form materialized within the courtyard, kneeling before the grave. The veil of his eyes parted, revealing twin streams of tears that flowed without end.

Childhood memories, unlike before, did not surge forth. Only an all-consuming weariness and the sight of his parents’ grave brought forth a torrent of grief. A profound sorrow settled upon him, yet within it, a sense of peace bloomed.

Here, it seemed, his heart truly belonged, finding solace in its origins.

Nothing had changed. Everything was as it had been, as he remembered it. Here, he was home. Truly home.

He raised a trembling hand, tracing the characters carved upon the tombstone, the names of those he held dearest. The tears flowed ever faster.

Had he not returned to Suzaku Star to pay homage at his parents’ grave? Had he not longed to offer them a handful of earth from their ancestral lands?

He had returned to Suzaku Star because his parents rested here…

Suzaku Star held half a lifetime of memories, the aching yearning for his mother and father, all that made him who he was. In moments of weariness, when he gazed at the heavens, it was this place that haunted his dreams.

Leaves have roots, and upon falling, return. Souls have ties, and lament the loss of kin.

“I would forsake all else… if only you lived… if only I could be reunited with Wan’er, with Ping’er… if only we could be a family again…” Seldom had Wang Lin wept so openly, so unreservedly.

He truly missed his parents, a yearning that pierced him to the very core.

His anguished cries echoed through the still air, lingering and spreading like a pall.

All men have parents. The pain of their absence, though seemingly dulled by the passage of time, lay buried deep within the bones, etched upon the soul. Who could truly forget?

As the years marched on, this sorrow burrowed deeper still, until, when finally unleashed, its power could shake the heavens and cleave the earth!

Man possesses emotion, and it is this that defines him as man!

“You dare trespass within the sanctuary of the Venerated Sealer!” A ripple tore through the sky above the humble house, and the elder strode forth, his face contorted with rage. He revered the Venerated Sealer, and none would violate his sacred homeland.

Yet, as he arrived, his eyes fell upon Wang Lin, kneeling before the grave, tears streaming down his face, his sobs tearing at the elder’s own heart. The words of condemnation died in his throat.

He faltered, his mind reeling. He knew this place. He knew who lay interred within that grave. He knew that only one man in all the heavens held the right to kneel here, to weep with such unbridled anguish!

Then, he heard the words whispered by the figure at the grave, and a tremor ran through him. His eyes widened in disbelief.

“Father, Mother… Tie Zhu has returned to see you…” Wang Lin caressed the tombstone, and in his mind’s eye, he saw them standing before him, their faces filled with loving kindness. Their warm gazes reached across two thousand years, undimmed by the passage of time.