A palpable aura, potent enough to send tremors through the very essence of life, emanated from the Seven-Hued Daoist. This miasma clung to him, driving back the savage beasts of the region before they dared draw near, shattering their courage and resolve. It dwarfed the might of the heavens themselves, a force of nature so immense that all creation dared not approach. This was power incarnate, capable of making the heavens tremble and the firmament itself recoil in terror.

The macabre tableau of fallen beasts that littered the ground around the Daoist suggested that these creatures met their end at his hand before he succumbed to the illusions of this strange, star-strewn realm.

Undeterred by the raw power on display, Wang Lin, a man whose audacity knew no bounds, stood a mere hundred paces away from the Daoist. His eyes narrowed in contemplation. With a sudden, decisive act, he bit his tongue, expelling a mouthful of crimson ichor. Ninety-nine drops in total, each imbued with the totality of Wang Lin’s cultivation. His gaze intense, he flicked his sleeve, sending one drop of this precious blood spiraling towards his brow.

“Dao Ancient…unknown…” Wang Lin murmured, the power of his Dao Ancient heritage surging through him, converging within that single drop of blood at his forehead. A sliver of his very soul resided within. The blood shimmered, becoming as clear and flawless as a crystal jewel.

Infused with Wang Lin’s Dao Ancient strength, the blood pulsed with an inner crimson light. With a breath, he sent the single drop hurtling forward, the remaining ninety-eight drops swirling around it, forming a protective halo of scarlet. Shielded by this fragile barrier, the drop pierced the invisible boundary one hundred paces from the Daoist. As it crossed the threshold, the protective halo dissolved, vanishing without a sound, leaving only the drop of Dao Ancient blood to face the full brunt of the Daoist’s power. Yet, their sacrifice had bought it a crucial moment, a fraction of a breath to withstand the initial onslaught.

The droplet screamed through the first few dozen paces, undergoing a ceaseless cycle of destruction and rebirth. It was shattered and reforged countless times, the Dao Ancient resilience fighting a desperate battle to keep it whole. Finally, it reached within ten paces of the Daoist. Here, the destructive forces reached a fever pitch. For the first time, the Dao Ancient healing could not keep pace with the annihilation. The blood began to fade, dwindling to a mere wisp, barely visible to the naked eye.

Within that wisp resided a fragment of Wang Lin’s soul, and with each iteration of destruction, agonizing pain surged through him, contorting his features.

The end came swiftly. In the final, agonizing moment before utter annihilation, the remaining sliver of blood crossed the final ten paces and imprinted itself upon the Daoist’s brow. As it touched him, the last vestige of its physical form vanished, but within, Wang Lin’s soul fragment made contact. Across the gulf of space, a hundred paces away, Wang Lin’s eyes snapped shut, and a low, almost reverent, murmur escaped his lips. “Dream Dao!”

As the words left him, Wang Lin’s consciousness erupted. The reality around him crumbled, replaced by a blinding, seven-hued light. The light consumed his mind and pulled him into the infinite depths.

He found himself in a world painted with seven colors. The sky was seven-hued, the land was seven-hued, even the clouds shimmered with the same spectral palette. Mountains rose in the distance. When Wang Lin materialized, he stood atop one such peak. After a moment of disorientation, he looked around. “So, this is the Daoist’s illusion.”

Wang Lin cautiously dispersed his spiritual sense, testing the boundaries of this strange new reality. He leapt from the mountain peak, and began to fly across the landscape. He flew for what felt like an eternity, but the strange seven-hued landscape continued to pass by underneath him. Finally, he stopped in mid-air and stared ahead.

Perched atop a distant mountain was a solitary figure. It was the Seven-Hued Daoist himself. He sat cross-legged, his eyes fixed on the sky with a vacant expression. Circling him were nine orbs of light, each the size of a fist. Within each orb burned a miniature sun, a fiery phoenix trapped within. These suns were the Daoist’s cultivation and treasures. He muttered to himself, “Shanmeng… I remember… Your name is Fan Shanmeng…”

Wang Lin watched the Daoist from afar, a strange expression on his face. He had heard the Daoist’s words, but the man seemed oblivious to his presence.

After a moment of thought, Wang Lin’s eyes hardened with resolve.

“Perhaps this is an illusion within an illusion…” He slowly began to approach the mountain upon which the Daoist sat, eventually reaching a distance of a thousand paces.

Fixated on the Daoist, Wang Lin’s gaze turned resolute. He raised his right hand, conjuring his storage space. The Ghostface Sail materialized, an object whose full potential was still unknown to him, its arcane powers yet to be fully mastered, but it did possess a sliver of his soul woven into its fabric.

With the sail in hand, Wang Lin sat cross-legged, then, with a decisive flick of his wrist, he unfurled the canvas. Guided by the tendril of his soul woven within, the fabric enveloped him completely, drawing his very essence into its folds. His soul left his physical body, guided by the sail, and ripped through the fabric of reality toward the Seven-Hued Daoist. Above the Daoist, the sail spread wide, the grotesque face upon it morphing to resemble Wang Lin himself, a haunting visage that fell into the Daoist’s blank, unseeing eyes. In that instant, darkness consumed Wang Lin. The Daoist’s eyes became abyssal voids, pulling him in.

“I’ve entered!” Wang Lin thought, as the sound of thunder and a familiar, crazed laugh echoed in his mind.

The darkness before him shattered, torn apart by some strange power, revealing a world in the throes of destruction. He stood in a crumbling courtyard, a once-grand mountain gate now reduced to ruins. Pagodas leaned precariously, and the very air felt unstable, a phantom of a once mighty sect. The familiar laugh belonged to a man in grey robes, a handsome figure with long hair and eyes that gleamed with an unsettling light. An aura of arrogant power radiated from him, inspiring awe and fear in equal measure. He stood before a massive pagoda, poised to strike it down, when a roar erupted from within. The pagoda imploded, releasing a burst of seven-hued light, and a furious figure emerged. Wang Lin gasped. It was the image from his storage space, the true Seven-Hued Immortal! And the grey-robed man, though unfamiliar in appearance, possessed a laugh and a voice that chilled Wang Lin to the bone. It was the Madman! A crimson dragon danced behind the Madman, bellowing wildly. Next to him stood a bald youth dressed as a servant, his eyes burning with fierce malice as he clashed with a figure Wang Lin recognized – Azure Dragon, one of the Four Generals. Looking around, Wang Lin realized he was in the midst of a battle. Chaos reigned. The other three generals, along with the Immortal’s eight consorts, were engaged in brutal combat.

Amidst the thunderous din and earth-shattering blows, the ground fractured, and pagodas crumbled to dust. Tears appeared in the sky, spilling forth icy winds that froze everything they touched. Stunned by the scene before him, Wang Lin watched as the Madman and the Seven-Hued Immortal engaged in a devastating clash. Under the force of the Madman’s assault, the Seven-Hued Immortal coughed blood and stumbled backward, his face contorted with pain and rage.

“Fan Shanmeng, Fan Shanlong, why have you betrayed me?!” the Seven-Hued Immortal roared. “Was I not good to you?! Why?! Just because I obtained the shard?! Have you forgotten our companionship of ten thousand years? Fan Shanmeng, come out! You ambushed me! I spared you! I let you leave! Do you know the pain you caused me? Do you know?! Now you bring outsiders to kill me, you whore! And you, Lian Daofei! You, a man of high standing, surrounded by countless Dao Companions, always coveted her! Did you think I didn’t know?!” The Seven-Hued Immortal’s eyes burned with madness as he screamed at the Madman, Lian Daofei, who merely smiled, shaking his head.

“She seduced me,” Lian Daofei replied. “But I have no interest in another man’s Dao Companion. I am here for the shard you possess. Surrender it, and I will leave. I have no desire to be involved in your squabble.”

“The shard? No one here will leave today!” The Seven-Hued Immortal’s eyes blazed red. With a flick of his sleeve, the heavens themselves shuddered. A massive vortex appeared in the sky, revealing a colossal eye. Devoid of emotion, cold and utterly indifferent, it gazed upon the mortals below before slowly closing.

As the eye shut, Lian Daofei’s face went pale. “The Heavenly Dao!”

“You will all die!” With a wave of the Seven-Hued Immortal’s hands, the world erupted. A wave of black energy washed over everything, engulfing Wang Lin’s vision. Horrified screams echoed through the darkness, and an oppressive aura that made Wang Lin tremble washed over him. Lian Daofei was gravely wounded and devoured by the Heavenly Dao. The Seven-Hued Immortal’s body shattered, his essence splintering into three pieces, each hurtling in a different direction. One piece was the hue of the seven colors. Another was his essence. And the final piece carried all of his memories. As that final shard flew away, the first fragment, the fragment of seven hues, suddenly raced toward it. Wang Lin’s mind was momentarily blank. In the next instant, his mind snapped clear. He now understood why the Seven-Hued Daoist was so willing to remain within this illusion.