Within the whirling vortex of the Transference Array, Wang Lin sat in meditative pose, his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding beyond its shimmering edge. The booming echoes of battle reverberated, a testament to the defiance of the three, who, instead of fleeing, dared to challenge the might of Blue Dream with their combined strength.

Li Qianmei, her countenance etched with worry, watched her father clash with the trio, her heart heavy with apprehension.

Outside the array, the very fabric of the star-strewn heavens trembled. Blue Dream, a force of one, met the onslaught of three, his face betraying no strain, his movements flowing with the boundless power of azure light, coalescing into formidable spells.

After a time, Wang Lin closed his eyes, shutting out the tumult, silencing the clamor from his ears as he sank deeper into his meditation. Yet, a sliver of his spirit remained vigilant, a watchful sentinel poised to alert him to any shift in the celestial winds.

In these two years of self-imposed healing, Wang Lin had recovered a great portion of his strength. However, his focus was drawn toward the eight drops of blood residing within his brow, the key to mastering the Tear of Heaven technique.

This art, he knew, was paramount, its power something he had already tasted. While the path to integrating the blood and converting it into star-granting energy for his Ancient Dao was enticing, it demanded a deeper immersion that the current turmoil would not allow. He thus deferred this grand undertaking.

Three days elapsed like fleeting moments. Sensing a disturbance, Wang Lin opened his eyes. He beheld a starscape ravaged by battle, a tapestry of shattered space and collapsing black holes, a testament to the struggle between Blue Dream and his challengers.

Countless wisps of incense souls, extinguished in the conflict, drifted like ethereal smoke, an invisible lament rising toward the heavens.

A mere glance was enough for Wang Lin to grasp the ferocity of the three-day war. He saw no sign of the three challengers, only Blue Dream, striding confidently through the shimmering circle of the array and standing before him.

Blue Dream’s features bore a hint of weariness, a sign that the battle, even for him, had been no easy feat.

“Miaoyin is gravely wounded, her peak state unattainable for a century, fallen to the Empty Spirit realm. Should you cross paths, you may strike her down!”

“Jiutian’s wounds are less severe, but his Incense Domain lies in ruins, shattering his spirit. He is no match for you!”

“As for Grand Desolate Ascetic, he is the most grievously wounded, fleeing with forbidden techniques. He will not survive ten years!” With these pronouncements, Blue Dream settled into a meditative posture, his eyes closing.

Li Qianmei’s expression was a mixture of emotions as she recalled the battle she had witnessed, the fierce combat, and the near-death moments her father had endured.

Wang Lin remained silent for a long moment before speaking, “I have already taken a wife…”

Blue Dream’s eyes snapped open, fixing Wang Lin with a gaze as dark as a moonless night.

“Does even my aid fail to sway you? I do not ask you to abandon your wife, merely to offer my daughter a promise!

It is a small thing, is it not? If not for my daughter, what would you be in my eyes, even if you were to reach the Empty Spirit realm, even if you possessed the Daoist Ancient heritage and could slay early-stage Empyrean Exalts!

You may freely loose the Li Guang Bow and strike this old bone! I would rather die than bring the Blue Silk Clan into the Inner Realm!

I, Blue Dream, born in the Primeval Era, one of the Primeval Five, would not resort to deception now. What do you possess that could tempt me? Even if you did, countless years of cultivation would not be forsaken for such trifles!

The Sky Defying Bead lies within your grasp. Had I been greedy, I could have taken it long ago. You were not of the Third Step then, and I could have slain you with ease. If not for the matter of Qianmei, why would I have delayed?

Your affairs with the All-Seer, the war between the Inner and Outer Realms, the struggles of the Seven-Colored and the War Devil—if I, Blue Dream, wished to remain aloof, safeguarding the Blue Silk Clan, the victor would not have implicated me. On the contrary, I might have been rewarded!

I have cast aside all of that, seeking only a promise for my daughter. Wang Lin, do not push too far!” Fury blazed in Blue Dream’s eyes as he spoke.

All he did, as he had said, was for his daughter’s sake!

Tears streamed down Li Qianmei’s face as she realized the extent of her father’s sacrifice.

Wang Lin, his expression a complex tapestry of emotions, rose and bowed to Blue Dream.

“I do not doubt the intentions of the Senior…”

“Enough! You…” Blue Dream, seeing Li Qianmei’s tears, softened and swallowed the words he had intended to say.

“I will concede further. I ask for a promise. If your wife is resurrected, you and my daughter will become sworn siblings. But if she is lost forever, you will become Dao Companions. This is my final offer, Wang Lin. Choose wisely!” Blue Dream’s voice was now cold as ice.

Wang Lin was silent. He lifted his gaze toward the distant stars, his expression lost and searching. His eyes fell upon Li Qianmei, seeing her tears, the downcast gaze that avoided his own.

“You… Never mind. I shall not demand an answer now. Come to the Blue Silk Clan when you have reached your decision!” Blue Dream rose, no longer willing to remain and heal. His daughter’s sadness pierced his heart. He had come with hope, believing this could sway Wang Lin, but the outcome was otherwise.

“Father, let us go…” Li Qianmei wiped away her tears, standing and approaching Blue Dream.

“Father, I did not understand before, but I do now. Let us go home… and never leave again…” She took Blue Dream’s hand, feeling the warmth of his touch. She turned toward Wang Lin, offering a faint smile.

“Wang Lin, could you return the painting of the mountains, rivers, and lakes that you once gifted me?”
The painting, a testament to paths diverging, once returned to Wang Lin by her own hand, now held an unbearable allure. Today, she sought its return.

A tremor ran through Wang Lin’s soul. He gazed upon Li Qianmei, a torment of conflicting emotions warring in his eyes. His wife, Li Muwan, the woman who graced his few mortal years, yet lingered in his spirit for two millennia after her passing, held his unwavering devotion.

Yet, Li Qianmei, unlike the aloof Mu Bingmei or the enigmatic Xi Zifeng, had offered Wang Lin so much.

The ten years painted in her own blood, the tapestry of shared memories, how could Wang Lin forget? This woman’s unwavering devotion, her radiant smiles, her adoring gaze – he was no heart of stone. Indifference was a lie he could not sustain.

“Give it back to me… please?” Li Qianmei’s voice trembled, her face pale, yet she forced a smile. Only smiles would she offer him; she would not let him witness the endless wellspring of her tears.

“Return the painting to me… Wang Lin, when Li Muwan awakens, you must bring her to see me…”

Wang Lin stared, transfixed. His right hand, trembling, rose, tearing a rift in the fabric of space. From within emerged the scrolled canvas.

Within the painted world lay mountains and rivers, echoes of a bond drifting apart. Wang Lin held it now, but the easy grace of its first offering was gone.

He could not, as he once had, serenely gift this woman standing before him.

The venerable Lan Meng watched, his paternal rage turning to desolate sorrow. He saw it in Li Qianmei’s eyes: her spirit was breaking.

Breaking beyond repair.

Mu Bingmei, too, observed, her heart a battlefield of conflicting feelings. She held no right to intervene, even as the mother of Wang Ping.

To witness her child’s father bidding farewell to another woman was a subtle, piercing torment.

“Give it back to me…” Li Qianmei, smiling bravely, approached Wang Lin. She drank in the sight of his face, then gently straightened his robes and brushed back his hair. The tears that had lurked beneath her forced composure could no longer be contained.

She embraced him softly, her tears staining his white garments.

“If you felt nothing for me, why did you rescue me in the Cloud Sea? Would it not have been better to let me die with hope, a cherished memory etched in your mind…? Wang Lin, it was not mere gratitude, but love…” Li Qianmei whispered, her voice a lament against his ear. She pulled away, seizing the offered painting, ready to flee.

But her hand froze upon the scroll. Wang Lin’s grip held it fast!

He closed his eyes. The canvas remained unmoved under Li Qianmei’s desperate tug. Her face paled further. She turned back to Wang Lin and saw his eyes open.

“You do not need this painting,” Wang Lin declared. With a single flex of his hand, the ‘Parting at the Rivers and Lakes’ shattered into dust, dissolving between their fingers.

“From this day forth, you are Wang Lin’s woman!” He looked down at Li Qianmei, his voice firm yet gentle.

“Wan’er is my wife. When she awakens, we shall all be wed…”

Li Qianmei stood paralyzed, tears once more overflowing. She wept, finally giving way to her emotions in the haven of Wang Lin’s arms.

He embraced her tightly. He had made his decision, and he would not regret it. She was the first woman, beyond Li Muwan, whom he had truly accepted in two thousand years. Her name was Li Qianmei!

“Honorable brother, I have three questions for you. Would you enlighten me?”

“When I leave, will you see me off?”

“If one day I should die, will you still remember me?”

“Wang Lin, I can barely endure… the blood is drying, will you ever awaken…? I do not regret it.”

“Wang Lin, you must wait for me. I will return with the medicine, and you will surely awaken…”

Memories, like water cupped in the hand, may slip through the fingers, but the warmth lingers. The palm remembers. And one day, upon first touching water again, the palm will recall, and the water will remember the warmth of its embrace.