He sought endlessly within the Tenth Sun, yet found only the fading echoes of countless destinies. Neither the familiar threads of Qingshui nor Situ could he grasp, nor the vital spark of the woman dearest to his heart.

When his divine sense retreated from the Ninth Sun, rejoining his physical form, Wang Lin opened his eyes. A fleeting flicker of bewilderment clouded his gaze, leaving him momentarily adrift, a solitary figure suspended between heaven and earth.

“The destinies of Situ and Qingshui… why are they absent from this place? Do they scorn this tear-soaked realm?” The question echoed in his mind, deepening his confusion.

He recalled the Seven-Colored Realm of Zhao He, the strange waters, the Daoist of Seven Colors, the way Qingshui’s life was perpetually shadowed by the Daoist’s gaze. That peculiar scrutiny remained vivid in Wang Lin’s memory.

“That gaze… it might explain why Qingshui’s fate eludes me in this Ninth Sun. But Situ… I know him well. His innate gifts are astounding; each time we meet, his cultivation has surged exponentially. Could this be the answer to why his destiny is not found within this sun?” Wang Lin fell silent, gazing at the earth below. He felt as though he had grasped at a fleeting thought, but a veil of mist obscured the clarity he sought.

“And then there is Tian Yunzi. From the beginning, he has been an enigma, his intentions known only to himself. Even now, with my cultivation at the mid-stage of Emptiness Prowler, I still harbor a degree of apprehension towards him. His secrets are numerous and profound, inspiring a primal dread.” Wang Lin fixed his gaze upon the Ninth Sun, its light piercing, a chilling glint entering his eyes.

“The threads of Wan’er’s destiny are different from Situ and Qingshui. Traces of her presence exist here, indicating she should be. Yet, I cannot find her. Who has stolen Wan’er’s destiny?”

The chilling light within Wang Lin’s eyes intensified, until it became a piercingly cold intent. He raised his head, gazing at the darkening sky, the cold light transforming into a raw, unbridled killing intent.

“Wan’er is but a simple woman. Her destiny should be of no concern to anyone. Yet, it has been taken. Whoever has done this, I, Wang Lin, vow in this Ancient Immortal Realm to reclaim it. Should anyone attempt to alter her fate, then across the heavens and into the very heart of the Immortal-Astral Continent, I, Wang Lin, shall unleash a bloodbath, just as I did to the Teng family!”

Wan’er was Wang Lin’s deepest vulnerability, his most guarded treasure. To discover her destiny stolen was akin to having his very heart ripped from his chest. Driven by such pain, Wang Lin would become a force of utter madness.

The more one understands, the more one knows, the more one comprehends, the greater the potential for pain. Such was Wang Lin’s state. Perhaps, given the choice, he would have preferred to remain ignorant, living out a mortal life in blissful oblivion.

But he *did* know. He *did* understand. Now, there was no turning back. Wan’er’s destiny had been stolen, its whereabouts unknown. He *must* find it, and restore Wan’er to a place beyond the reach of fate, just as he had done for himself. Only then could the first step towards Li Muwan’s awakening be taken.

This realization had dawned upon Wang Lin after witnessing the destinies within the Ninth Sun. His current purpose was clear: to resurrect Li Muwan, to awaken her from her slumber.

He masked his seething rage, his expression hardening into a grim mask. Without a second glance at the Ninth Sun beside him, he turned and stepped down towards the earth below.

Upon the desolate ground stood towering statues of the Three Ancient Clans. A chilling north wind howled, whipping up the dust and sand, obscuring the heavens with swirling grit.

As far as the eye could see, the land was devoid of life, marked only by the statues themselves and the ravines and pits scarring the earth between them.

Those ravines were remnants of colossal battles fought in ages long past. The pits were similarly born of ancient conflict, like festering scars etched upon the landscape.

The wailing wind could only carry away the surface dust from these scars, but it could not dissipate the lingering presence of the divine powers unleashed in bygone eras.

Wang Lin alighted upon a statue of an ancient god. His white hair whipped about his face by the north wind, his white robes snapped and billowed, and the wind howled past his ears. Slowly, Wang Lin’s gaze settled into an icy calm. After a long moment, he lowered his head, studying the statue beneath him.

The ancient god it depicted was long dead, yet a strange power still lingered within it. This power held the potential to reanimate the statue, transforming it into a soulless puppet, a so-called emissary of the heavens.

“The Three Ancient Clans, reduced to serving as guards of this Tearful Realm… how tragic, how pitiable, how detestable!” Wang Lin shook his head, then tapped his right foot against the statue below. The moment his foot made contact, cracks erupted outwards, spreading with terrifying speed to engulf the entire statue.

With a resounding roar, the statue shattered, crumbling into countless fragments scattered across the ground.

“Dust to dust, earth to earth. Since you fell in battle, cling not to the desire for a lingering existence. To die on the battlefield is the noblest fate for warriors such as you!” With a flick of his sleeves, Wang Lin strode forward. Wherever he walked, the statues of the ancient gods, ancient devils, and ancient demons collapsed beneath his passing, one by one.

“I do not destroy you out of malice. But if you were to awaken, you would sow chaos and become mere puppets…” Wang Lin sighed softly, his right hand rising and striking forward, causing an ancient devil statue to crumble into fragments.

As the statues of the fallen Three Ancient Clans crumbled, wisps of their essence—ancient god, ancient devil, and ancient demon—rose from the wreckage, drifting like smoke to form vague, spectral figures in the air.

These specters resembled their living selves, some even bearing the marks of their final wounds. For a moment, they appeared lost and confused, but soon comprehension dawned. With a bitter resignation, they bowed before Wang Lin, their forms twisting into smoke before converging upon him, merging with his body.

As Wang Lin continued his advance, the statues collapsed in his wake. The resounding crashes, the countless spectral figures rising in liberation, created a scene both breathtaking and deeply sorrowful, the echoes of untold suffering radiating from each spectral form.

Wang Lin did not speak, silently continuing his march. The crashes served as accompaniment, the departing specters as escorts, as the essence of the ancient clans flowed into his brow, his left eye, the starlit depths of his right.

The land was vast and barren, the crashes of the collapsing statues joining with the wailing of the north wind, as it swept away the sorrow in swirling eddies. The mournful sound was like a whispered lament, recounting forgotten tales.

Time passed unheeded. Before Wang Lin, a colossal statue emerged, its form towering thousands of feet into the air. Nine starlike points flickered within its brow, the ninth still faint and incomplete, yet present in its nascent form. This statue depicted an ancient god nearing the pinnacle of nine stars.

It stood there, its right hand raised and clenched in a fist, though the thumb was only partially extended. Its face was contorted with pain and defiance, frozen in place by an unknown force, imprisoned within the statue.

A simple suit of armor adorned its body, but even that had become part of the stony prison.

This was the most powerful ancient god Wang Lin had encountered on his journey. Standing before the statue, Wang Lin could almost feel the god’s terrifying power, the half-formed fist capable of shattering the heavens and obliterating countless cultivators.

The open eyes, filled with unyielding defiance, seemed to unleash a primeval roar, an echo from the ages, into his very soul.

Wang Lin stood in silence before the statue, bowing deeply before raising his right hand and striking the statue. In an instant, countless cracks appeared across its surface, spreading rapidly until they engulfed the entire form. With a deafening roar, the statue began to crumble.

But at the moment of its collapse, the center of the ring formed by the nine stars in its brow began to spin violently, forming a vortex.

As the vortex spun, the statue’s brow seemed to melt away. A piercing scream ripped through the air from within, causing Wang Lin’s eyes to narrow. He had sensed the anomaly the moment the vortex appeared, and his gaze sharpened.

He saw a withered hand, slick with viscous fluid, clawing its way out of the vortex in the statue’s brow. As it emerged, a chilling aura spread outwards, engulfing the surrounding space.

The aura emanated entirely from the desiccated hand, an aura of death, of absolute authority, and of faintly shimmering power.

The piercing scream intensified as the hand desperately clawed at the edge of the vortex, as though struggling to pull itself free. The sound grew louder and louder until the very air vibrated.

“You have disturbed my immortal slumber! You have destroyed the vessel I used to heal! You have committed a crime worthy of death! No matter where you come from, you shall die, die, die! Not only you, but your entire clan shall be buried with you! You destroyed the vessel, now your body will become *my* vessel! You…”

“Enough!” Wang Lin interrupted the voice with a cold snort. He took a step forward, his right hand shooting out like lightning to seize the withered hand, his eyes flashing with chilling intent.

“You seem to be struggling, so let me help you out!” With a low roar, Wang Lin pulled with all his might, the collapsing statue exploding outwards as a gaunt, shriveled figure was ripped from the vortex and hurled towards the earth.

The ground trembled, unleashing a shockwave as a massive crater formed where the figure crashed. Wang Lin leaped forward, plunging into the pit.

“So, there is someone living after all. Immortal or cultivator, it matters not. Wang will claim your memories.”

*Today I returned home. I owe you all one chapter. Tomorrow, Er Gen will release four chapters, not just for one day, but for several days. I will strive to repay the chapters owed this month as quickly as possible! I am truly sorry.*