The old man seemed unnoticed by Wang Lin, who knelt before the weathered headstone, his fingers tracing the cold, damp stone. A chill seeped into his hand, yet it bloomed into a warmth that stirred his very soul.

Tears cascaded down his cheeks, each drop a liquid offering that soaked into the hallowed earth, as if to nourish the spirits of those interred within – his parents.

The icy stone, the heartfelt warmth, the tear-stained face, and the soaked earth – in that moment, Wang Lin seemed to meld into a single entity with the graves of his mother and father. An indescribable essence permeated the air.

High above, the old man watched, his mind reeling as if struck by thunder. A tremor shook his frame, for a possibility, a wild, exhilarating guess, had taken root in his mind.

Who else could kneel before this grave, shed tears upon it, utter the words “Father, Mother,” but the Sealed Lord himself!

A soft, ethereal glow emanated from Wang Lin, enveloping the headstone. Oblivious, he remained kneeling, tears streaming as he gazed upon the names etched into the stone.

But the old man gasped, for at Wang Lin’s left side, a translucent figure materialized. It was a woman, frail as a wisp of smoke, long hair obscuring her face, yet radiating the same profound sorrow. Silently, she knelt beside Wang Lin, her gaze fixed on the grave. From afar, they seemed a loving couple, paying respects to their parents.

Then, on Wang Lin’s right, another figure appeared: a young man, barely twenty, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Wang Lin. And beside him, a third specter emerged, a woman, her features mirroring the same grief as the others. Together, they knelt before the grave, a vision of a family united in sorrow.

The scene was both tender and bittersweet, stirring a strange ache within the old man’s heart.

A cry echoed through the heavens, and a madman, laughing wildly, descended, pursued by the old man’s three disciples.

They arrived above the old house in an instant.

The disciples roared their anger, but their master silenced them with a flick of his sleeve, drawing them close. One glance from his piercing eyes was enough to quell their shouts, though as they lowered their heads, they saw Wang Lin kneeling at the grave.

The madman, finding no pursuit, scratched his head, then landed in the yard beside the old house. He circled Wang Lin, a perplexed look on his face, as he caught glimpses of the three spectral figures beside him.

Wang Lin remained oblivious, caressing the headstone as if it were the aged faces of his parents.

The heavens grew dim as the sun began to set. A surge of power pulsed through Zhao Country’s protective array. The Grand Magicians of the Vermillion Bird Star, who had sensed the disturbance, appeared as streaks of light that pierced the array and flew towards Wang Lin.

The somber sky was torn by streaks of rainbow light, revealing the ranks of cultivators, who paused in mid-air, dumbfounded by the sight of Wang Lin kneeling at the grave.

Some were native to Vermillion Bird Star and recognized Wang Lin. The presence of Wang Lin at a place like this made their minds stir with an understanding they couldn’t deny!

“Sealed Lord!”

“Wang Lin!”

The shocked cries spread like wildfire, sending tremors through the ranks of the newcomers.

The old man’s disciples were speechless. They couldn’t fathom that the person travelling with a madman and spoken of with such dismissiveness was the Sealed Lord himself!

Their minds blank, they stood in stunned silence.

A crimson cloud surged from the horizon, bearing an old man in red robes, his face etched with stern lines. Though aged, the face of Zhou Wutai was still recognizable.

The Lord of Vermillion Bird Star stood watching Wang Lin, his face a mask of wistful remembrance. Silence reigned as he spoke a single sentence.

“You… have returned…”

Wang Lin did not look up. After a long silence, he finally whispered,

“I have…”

Zhou Wutai, his body bearing the weight of ages, walked over and bowed before the grave.

“Leave us to be. I would have a moment of peace with him.” Zhou Wutai surveyed the sky. There were many masters here, but Zhou Wutai held authority as Lord of the Vermillion Bird Star. His words carried more weight than his cultivational level.

The gathered cultivators suppressed their excitement, bowed deeply to Wang Lin, then to the grave, before respectfully turning and departing.

Many of these cultivators had come from far and wide to become voluntary protectors of the Vermillion Bird Star.

The old man left, his three disciples still in disbelief.

Soon, only Wang Lin, Zhou Wutai, and the madman remained. The madman, finding the scene tiresome, wandered off to lean against the courtyard wall and closed his eyes.

“How long do you plan to stay this time?” Zhou Wutai finally asked, breaking the silence. He sat beside Wang Lin, produced two jars of wine, and placed them by the grave.

Wang Lin sat silently, his hand still caressing the headstone. His spectral companions slowly faded away.

“Not long…” Wang Lin said, picking up a jar and raising it to his lips.

The wine carried a familiar taste, a memory from over a thousand years ago.

“It’s Tseng family wine. I saved a lot, hoping to get drunk with you again,” Zhou Wutai said softly.

“I took Tseng’s child as my disciple… He would be happy if he knew you were here.” Zhou Wutai said, taking a sip of the wine.

Wang Lin nodded, thinking of the gifted child Tseng Niu.

“Thank you.” Wang Lin said.

“Thank you for what? You made me the Lord of Vermillion Bird Star. I just couldn’t stop the change in it. After you became the Sealed Lord, so many people came to make this place a sacred ground, but I could only protect Zhao Country…” Zhou Wutai laughed.

“I know you are nostalgic. Maybe this place has changed too much for you.” Zhou Wutai sighed.

Wang Lin said nothing, drinking the jar dry. Zhou Wutai produced several more.

The sky grew dark as the moon rose.

They drank by moonlight, recounting old tales, the memories stirred to life by the old wine.

“Yun Quezi of the Rune Clan died… He was calling your name till the very end…”

“Yun Tian Sect has become one of the nine great sects, but those of our generation are gone. Even I feel out of place in Vermillion Bird Star now…”

“Few of our generation remain…” Zhou Wutai said.

“Do you remember Zhou Zihong of Fire Fen Country? I found out later that you two were close. She left with her mother, Phoenix Chong, to join a sect in Summoned River…”

“Zhou Zihong’s companion died in battle…”

Wang Lin drank silently, jar after jar.

“Wang Lin, I envy you…” Zhou Wutai’s speech began to slur. It wasn’t the alcohol that he was inebriated with, but the memories.

“You dared to leave Vermillion Bird Star, dared to struggle in life and death… I didn’t. I can only stay here,” Zhou Wutai said bitterly.

“I’ve been protecting this place for a thousand years… I never forgot the image of you leaving Vermillion Bird Star alone, disappearing into the sky. Although I was envious then, it wasn’t as intense as it is now…”

“Remember my disciple?” Zhou Wutai’s voice broke.

“He died years ago. My transformation of spirit was intertwined with his life… I promised to be with him until death… I buried him in Vermillion Bird Star, and drink at his grave…” Zhou Wutai said.

“He didn’t want to leave home…”

Wang Lin and Zhou Wutai kept drinking until the sun rose.

“Wang Lin, Hong Die might not be dead!” Zhou Wutai said as the sunlight spread across the sky.