A sundial’s turn later, the phantasmal vision faded before the eyes of those aboard the merchant vessel, disappearing from Wang Lin’s sight. The mortal crew, each still shaken, fell into a hushed silence.

They could not forget the panorama they had witnessed. Most especially, the volcanic eruption, the cascade of burning stones hurled forth, a great swathe of them aimed directly at their location, as if they would burst from the vision itself and crash upon the deck.

The reality of the scene blurred the line between truth and illusion, yet they knew, with a chilling certainty, that the Sea Spirit was wroth.

Wang Lin leaned against the ship’s bulwark, as if all strength had been leeched from him. Two aged tears traced paths down the valleys of his face, soaking into his garments. He gazed at the space where the vision had been, his mind a desolate expanse, save for the lingering image of a fair, spectral figure.

“Is this truth… or mere illusion? Could even this be but a dream…” Long moments passed before Wang Lin lowered his hoary head, staring vacantly at the restless sea.

Time slipped by, a month, then two, then three…

In the ninth month of their voyage, Wang Lin beheld the true fury of the ocean. On that night, inky clouds swallowed the heavens, and the air throbbed with the roar of thunder. Forked lightning lashed down, some bolts seeming to plunge into the very sea itself, bathing the sky and waters in an eerie, intermittent light.

Each blinding flash illuminated monstrous waves cresting and collapsing, and the violent crash of water against water vied with the thunder for dominance.

The wind howled like a tormented beast, flinging torrents of seawater across the deck. In the inky blackness, every sailor, driven mad by fear and the razor’s edge of mortality, frantically worked to control the ship, struggling against the wrath of the sea.

Each whispered a prayer to forgotten gods, each wished to utter a final word, lest they never see the sun rise again.

The gale raged, thunder shook the heavens, lightning blazed, and mountainous waves threatened to engulf them all.

There in the heart of the storm, Wang Lin stood upon the deck, his grip white-knuckled on a nearby spar. His body swayed uncontrollably in the tempestuous winds, which instantly saturated his garments. Saltwater streamed from his long, white hair, yet his eyes burned with a fierce, unyielding light.

He gazed upon the ocean’s rage, the relentless advance of the waves, and his eyes shone ever brighter. His heart swelled within his chest until it felt vast enough to encompass the very heavens and earth.

“This is the power of creation! This is the true way! This is the unfeeling essence of all things!” Wang Lin bellowed with a voice that echoed through the tempest, though faint, carrying with it the vastness of his spirit.

He watched the mortals around him, flailing in the face of oblivion. He saw the ship, tossed and wrenched as if it were naught but a twig, ready to be devoured. And from them all, Wang Lin sensed a spark – a refusal to surrender.

Yet that spark was fragile, dwarfed by the overwhelming power of the storm.

As the storm grew ever more violent, a colossal wave crashed against the ship, and with a splintering crack, the main mast snapped, collapsing to the deck with a deafening roar. A sailor, caught unawares, was struck. Fortunately not mortally wounded, he scrambled to his feet and continued to tug at the ropes, fighting for his very survival.

The merchant vessel, adrift in the storm’s heart, was now like a solitary leaf upon a raging river, powerless against the roaring ocean. With each successive wave, the timbers groaned and shrieked, threatening to shatter and be torn apart.

Despair permeated the vessel, poisoning the hearts of all aboard. Wang Lin relinquished his death grip on the spar. Forgetting his age, he joined the sailors, lending his failing strength to their desperate struggle against the angry sea.

“Do not yield! We still have strength!” A middle-aged mariner, a grim smile upon his face, clung desperately to a rope, wrestling with a sail as the waves crashed around him. He cried out a line known to every sailor who sailed these seas: a sea shanty, sung in the face of death.

“Do not despair! We still have dreams!” A youth, scarcely twenty years old, wiped the sweat from his brow and shouted to the heavens, seeking to rekindle his flickering courage.

“Do not falter! We still have the light of dawn!” More and more of the crew took up the song, their voices merging into a unified chant, a defiant anthem of life against the storm.

“Do not submit! We still have our will to live!” “Do not close your eyes! We yet wish to see the sunrise!”

“The heavens are vast, but they cannot silence our cries for life! We sail for life, so what do we fear of death! The Sea Spirit’s wrath may terrify, may drown us, but it cannot silence our sea shanty!”

The words of the song, born of defiance, of a primal yearning to live, a fearless acceptance of death, washed over Wang Lin. Hearing the chorus rising above the thunder, his eyes shone with a brilliance even greater than before.

“This is defiance! Defiance against heaven and earth! Life and death… life and death… the seed of defiance is sown within the struggle between life and death! It is born of refusal, of unwillingness to surrender!

If there is no unwillingness to surrender, then there is no life or death. Life is merely life, death is merely… I understand!” Wang Lin’s mind reeled. Causality, life and death, truth and illusion – these mysteries had clouded his sight, eluding his grasp. But now, at the sound of the intertwined voices of the sailors, he felt as if he had been struck by a divine insight. Clarity flooded his mind.

*This chapter is not finished. Please click the next page to continue reading!*

*If you like Renegade Immortal, please bookmark it: (novelonl.com) Renegade Immortal updates the fastest network-wide.*

Life and death!

Like a mountain, to see life is to see life, to see death is to see death. To see life as not life, to see death as not death. But ultimately, having understood all, to see life is still to see life, to see death is still to see death!

All beings hold a fear of death, and this fear may follow one of two paths: submission or defiance!

To submit to life, to submit to death – this is the first state of life and death!
But to embrace that rebellious spirit is to dwell in a twilight realm, neither alive nor truly dead. This is the second echelon of understanding.

Mortals often speak of seeing through life and death, piercing the veil of mortality. Yet, in truth, they comprehend nothing. Life and death remain unknowable, at best only regarded with a detached indifference.

In the throes of that defiant will, scorning mortality, one might boldly proclaim, “What joy is there in life, what fear in death!” This is a resolve born of desperation, a cornering of oneself unto annihilation, but it is far from true understanding.

The third echelon of life and death, the very truth sought by Wang Lin, is not about seeing through or transcending, but encapsulated within a single word.

This word swirled within Wang Lin’s mind, yet remained just beyond his grasp, veiled by an unseen barrier that prevented its utterance.

Amidst the tempest, echoes of scorn for mortality and unyielding defiance surged, until, at last, the celestial thunder subsided, the lightning retreated, and the ocean’s fury gradually waned. The long night yielded to the dawn’s embrace, and cries of hard-won survival reverberated across the ship.

Wang Lin, a gentle smile upon his face, watched them from the bow, gazing at the rising sun painting the sky above the distant sea. He saw a white bird dancing within the light, its mournful cry carried upon the wind.

In the eleventh month of their voyage, the faint outline of land appeared on the horizon, igniting cries of jubilant relief from the weary crew.

With a final farewell to the sailors who had shared nearly a year of his life, Wang Lin, carrying with him the sea shanties of months past, departed the merchant vessel as dusk descended, stepping onto the shores of this unfamiliar continent.

Here, kingdoms of men flourished, alongside sects of cultivators both familiar and unknown.

Among these realms was a nation known as the Kingdom of Fire’s Burning.

Upon this land separated from his homeland by vast seas, Wang Lin walked with a tranquil heart, venturing into the unknown, observing the unfamiliar mountains, the alien waters, and the faces of strangers he encountered along the way.

Though his feet had never trod this soil before, his name had spread across many lands in the past decade, and whispers of him had reached even this continent.

Though his fame did not rival that of his home, Wang Lin paid it no heed. He was a wanderer, traversing strange lands year after year, across mountains and rivers, through kingdoms and cities.

Three years passed in the blink of an eye.

Nineteen years had slipped by since he left the land of Zhao. Wang Lin’s body bore the marks of time; weariness etched upon his form. He leaned upon a walking stick, yet persevered, taking each step with unwavering resolve.

He sought out sects and encountered cultivators of all kinds. He witnessed the splendor of mortal kings and emperors. Slowly, his name became known to countless souls in this foreign land.

In every nation, in every sect, the people whispered of an aged scholar named Wang Lin, a great sage of the age, who wandered the kingdoms in search of something lost.

As the years advanced, his words grew fewer. Often, he needed no words, for his wise eyes, which seemed to hold the secrets of the universe, held the power to glance upon another and send them spiraling into a waking dream, lost to the fabric of existence.

In the autumn of his nineteenth year away from home, Wang Lin came to a land scarred by volcanoes. He arrived as one of the fiery mountains erupted, spewing smoke that blotted out the sky.

The searing heat washed over him even from afar, and Wang Lin, head tilted upwards, gazed at the smoke swirling above. His aged eyes radiated a tenderness he had not shown before.

Within the smoke, he saw a figure emerge, a woman with flowing black hair and a radiant beauty. She seemed to be gathering something from the volcanic eruption, holding a jade vial in her hand. As she turned, her gaze fell upon Wang Lin standing far below.

That single glance stole Wang Lin’s breath. It was a moment he had waited for, it seemed, for a thousand years, for an eternity. It seemed he had come to this land for this very woman, for this fleeting glimpse of her face.