Wang Lin offered a rueful smile, his gaze settling upon the utterly dumbstruck Situ Nan. He retrieved the fallen wine gourd from the earth, taking a long, deep draught.

“This is all I gleaned from the memories of that Immortal… You must know of a Sealed Paragon, though not I, but the one before me. He hailed from the ancient Immortal Domain, a place not of this world…”

“And those Immortal Consorts I glimpsed amidst the ancient stars, along with that enigmatic, seven-hued Daoist… They all originate from a continent known as Immortal Gloom, a land tens of thousands of times greater than all within and without. It is their home, while this place where we stand is but a single grotto-heaven belonging to the Seven Dao Sect, under the Immortal Gloom Paragon of Seven Colors!”

“The sky we see is the sky of that grotto-heaven, the earth we tread is its earth… What we call the Inner and Outer Realms are but the inner and outer halls of this very domain.”

“Would you believe such a thing? And if I were to tell you that even the Dao we cultivate, this very Heavenly Dao, was seized and nurtured by that Paragon? It is because he claimed the Heavenly Dao and cultivated it within this grotto-heaven that sentient life arose, that you and I came to be.”

“Would you still believe me…?”

“If not for that Heavenly Dao, had the Paragon not seized it those eons ago, then this Domain of the Grotto would not have given rise to us. It would be nothing more than an empty shell…”

“When such knowledge is laid bare before you, would you not be lost? Would you not question the purpose of life, the reason for your very existence?”

“And the Heavenly Tribulation… even the Heavenly Dao is cultivated by that Paragon. All beings dwell within his grotto-heaven, and so, too, does the Tribulation spring from his will. He crafted the Tribulation to crush any who dared stray from the path he had ordained… What is a rebellious cultivator? This, friend, is rebellion… Imagine a mortal farmer tending his fields, meticulously planning each row. Yet, inevitably, some stalks will sprout astray, defying his intent. He will prune and guide them back to the fold.”

“But within that field, with the passage of time, stubborn weeds will emerge. They grow swiftly, seeking to rend asunder the invisible constraints. They are unyielding, beyond reformation, and thus, must be eradicated! These are the rebellious cultivators!”

“The Heavenly Tribulation serves to smite these unrestrained weeds, to tear them from the earth! I… I am but such a weed. But this particular weed, the Tribulation could not destroy, and instead, I devoured it!”

“I shattered the Heavenly Tribulation, wresting back my destiny from its grasp, and in so doing, unraveled the secrets of this world… You asked, and so I have told you. But can you, will you, believe?”

Situ Nan remained silent, his face a mask of bewilderment. After an age, he slumped down, nursing the wine gourd, saying not a word. In his eyes, a storm raged – disbelief warring with a reluctant acceptance.

Had anyone else spoken such words, even his own master, Qing Shuang, Situ Nan would have dismissed them as madness. This revelation was too outlandish, too incomprehensible for any sane mind to embrace.

But the words came from Wang Lin, his brother in arms, a man he had watched grow, a man he knew intimately. How could he not, at least, entertain the possibility that they held truth?

“All… a mere grotto-heaven… Then what is the war between the Inner and Outer Realms…?” Situ Nan raised his head as if against his will, staring at the sky above. Slowly, a chilling dread began to creep into his eyes.

He was a man seldom given to fear, but now, confronted with Wang Lin’s earth-shattering proclamation, his heart quailed. He feared that if this were true, what was he, but a puppet? Was his joy, his contentment, a hollow sham?

Merely an actor, earnestly playing out his role upon life’s stage, watched and manipulated by some inscrutable being beyond the veil… Like himself, when he gazed upon the earth, observing the ant colonies within the soil, the struggles and strivings of those tiny creatures…

“The war between the Inner and Outer Realms… I have my suspicions, though I have yet to fully grasp the truth. But I have planted a seed. Three years hence, I will know the answers!” Wang Lin said after a pause.

“A grotto-heaven…” Situ Nan chuckled mirthlessly, lowering his gaze to the wine gourd in his hand.

“We look to the sky, seeking to understand what lies beyond…” Wang Lin spoke softly, as if to himself. “When we gain cultivation and behold the stars, we believe we have reached the ultimate boundary. Yet, beyond the stars lies the outside of the grotto… Wang Lin, if what you say is true, what will you do? I believe… you already know.”

Wang Lin drank deeply, feeling no intoxication. The wine, like life itself, burned fiercely as it went down, stirring the memories of the past two millennia within him.

“My path of cultivation has been one of three stages. The first… was for others…”

“The second… was one of weariness and despair, a descent into the life of a mortal.”

“I thought I would remain trapped in that second stage forever, until I attained sufficient power to revive Wan’Er, to spend our remaining years together, to close our eyes as one.”

“But now… a third stage has emerged…” Wang Lin set down the wine gourd and rose to his feet. The mountain wind whipped through his silvered hair as he gazed skyward. The bewilderment in his eyes was replaced by a fierce resolve, an unyielding defiance.

“I have cultivated for ages, yet I have never truly embraced it. But today, upon this Vermillion Bird Star, where I was born and raised, I shall enter the third stage! I shall cultivate!”

“Situ, the weariness I once felt for cultivation is gone, banished forever from my heart! I will cultivate, I will become strong, I will leave this realm, I will see for myself if the people of the Immortal Gloom continent possess three heads and six arms!”

“Even if it means facing death ten thousand times over, what does it matter?” Wang Lin swung his right arm, summoning another gourd of wine from the ground. He raised it to his lips, draining half its contents.

Wiping his mouth, Wang Lin roared with laughter.

“I, Wang Lin, have lacked one thing in this life, a certain quality, and that quality is responsibility! I have lacked the burden, I alone cannot shoulder the weight of the heavens!”
The mantle of Paragon, bestowed upon me, not earned, granted by others for deeds done, for the Realm’s desperate need of a Paragon! Yet I am unworthy. I do not deserve the title!

The very path of cultivation has become a burden. My ascendance was born of duty, for others. How can I bear the weight of the Paragon’s name? I was not ready.

Before, I was a fool. I believed myself truly the Paragon, fighting for my home, for the Realm, against the invaders from beyond… I thought this made me worthy.

I failed to see that countless others fought as I did, nay, nearly every cultivator within the Realm has made the same sacrifice. Only my cultivation set me apart, guiding me to this precipice.

But what am I, truly? What right have I to the respect of the Realm’s warriors? We must honor those who have fallen, those who spilled their blood for the Realm, their spirits now wandering beyond the veil!

I never considered these things, but now I see, I understand the burden and responsibility of the Paragon. It is not merely holding back invaders. It is leading the cultivators of the Realm beyond this sky, beyond this prison, shattering all who stand in our path!

That resolve, that burden, I lacked before. But from this day forward, I will embrace it. This, perhaps, is my true path, my destiny…” Wang Lin drained the last of the wine from the flask, then hurled it down the mountain. It traced a fleeting arc, disappearing into the mists below.

Dusk approached, painting the western sky in hues of fire. He turned, his gaze falling upon the Southern Mountains. Birds scattered in the air, their cries echoing in the fading light, as the mortal realm dissolved into swirling clouds.

“I will slay the Immortal Venerate! By his death, we reclaim our fate, and the clouds shall part! But before that, Sima, I will stand guard on the frontier for three years!”

Wang Lin, with a flick of his sleeve, ascended into the heavens. His figure became a blazing comet, a streak of light against the twilight sky. He paused, looking down upon the land, his gaze drawn to the Vermilion Bird Star, to his own towering statue!

The statue depicted him wielding the Axe of Creation, his gaze fixed upon the heavens with burning fury. For the first time, Wang Lin felt the raw power emanating from the stone effigy.

A relentless, unwavering spirit. Any force that dared to stand before it would be cleaved asunder. Nothing, no being, could halt its advance!

*This* was the Paragon. This was the embodiment of responsibility and purpose. This was the power born of conviction.

Though the sky may crumble and the earth may crack, every foe that stands before us will be shattered. From this statue, Wang Lin felt the weight of this power, the same determination he had sensed long ago in the Venerable San Ling.

Taking a step forward, Wang Lin, in his white robes fluttering in the wind, stood upon the head of his own statue. He stood there, in the teeth of the wind, bathed in the crimson sunset, gazing out across the land.

“Warriors of the Vermilion Bird Star, and all the Realm! Will you follow Wang Lin to the Land of Luo Tian, to wage war against the invaders beyond?”

Wang Lin’s voice boomed, a thunderous wave echoing across the Vermilion Bird Star. In that instant, every cultivator who had been waiting in silent meditation at the foot of the mountain snapped their eyes open. Each blazing gaze reflected the same burning resolve.

“We follow!” A chorus of roars erupted from countless corners of the land, coalescing into a single, earth-shattering cry. As the voices joined the cacophony, streaks of light erupted from the ground, soaring through the air toward the statue where Wang Lin stood.

Within each streak of light was a cultivator, their hearts filled with righteous fury. They had endured years of humiliation, witnessed the deaths of countless comrades. Those who remained had pledged their lives to this cause!

All they needed was a single voice, a single call to arms, to throw themselves into the fight, even unto death!

When a realm teeters on the brink of ruin, heroes are born. This is the truth that echoes through the ages, and so it is within this Realm!