Beyond the fractured veil of the Cloudsea Starfield, the Assassin Lord had amassed a horde of monstrous beasts. Each creature bore a perpetual air of terror, haunted by memories of the forbidden storm that had cast them from the rift months prior.

Yet, the rift was their home, and they lingered at its edge, unwilling to abandon it. As time crept on, their unease grew, yet none dared to breach the veil. Muffled roars echoed in the emptiness. Then, on a day like any other, a figure in white emerged from the rift. His appearance sent a wave of fear through the assembled beasts, each recoiling in unison.

They felt it keenly – a chilling aura emanating from Wang Lin, a power that struck at their very core.

Wang Lin strode from the fissure, his gaze sweeping over the multitude of beasts without pause. Then, with a flicker, he vanished. Only after an age did the creatures dare approach the rift once more. Testing the air cautiously, they slipped inside, and finding no danger, the horde poured back into their domain.

Wang Lin traversed the starry void, his form flickering in and out of existence, appearing only to dissolve moments later, reappearing leagues away. Soon, the edge of the Cloudsea Starfield loomed before him – the boundary of the New Immortal Realm.

Floating continents, spiraling galaxies of silver light, radiated a soft, all-encompassing glow, guarded by pulsing formations of arcane wards.

Here, Wang Lin’s stoic mask faltered. This realm, born from his hand, was a sanctuary second only to his ancestral planet in this vast, uncaring universe.

It housed those he cherished, bonds he could not sever.

“Though warded, the Celestial River lacks the strength it needs,” he murmured, gazing upon the swirling galaxy born of the Scattered Celestial Realm. He lacked the power to fortify it before, but that was no longer the case.

Instead of entering, Wang Lin paused at the edge of the river, his eyes sharpening. The crimson veins that had haunted his pupils resurfaced, casting an eerie red light.

He raised a hand, gesturing towards the river. The bloody threads from his eyes detached, drifting silently towards the swirling galaxy. With another flicker of crimson, the strands dissolved into the river, weaving themselves into its currents, causing the galaxy to pulse with a faint, unearthly red.

Then, turning his gaze to the cosmos, he perceived the faint lines of cosmic law. With a sweeping motion, he summoned the subtle threads, weaving them into a shimmering shroud around the galaxy.

“This should safeguard the realm in the coming search for the third soul,” he muttered, before stepping into the galaxy.

The moment Wang Lin crossed the threshold, Hong Shanzi and the other inhabitants of the realm felt his presence. They stirred from their meditations, rising towards the heavens.

Qing Shuang, Qing Shui, Situ Nan, and Nan Yunzi gathered in the sky, their faces breaking into smiles as the white-robed figure approached.

Others, those who knew Wang Lin well, sensed his return, and their faces lit up with joy.

Wang Lin surveyed the familiar faces, their warmth washing over him. He saw Hong Die standing beside Qing Shui, father and daughter reunited. He saw Qing Qiong behind Qing Shuang, and in the distance, Zhou Yi watched Qing Qiong with a bittersweet blend of longing and contentment.

He saw Zhou Ru, still a child in his eyes, her tiger companion faithfully at her side.

His gaze swept across them all, and a smile touched his lips.

“I’m home,” he whispered.

His words echoed throughout the realm, triggering a wave of celebration. In the western expanse, once barren, the Lan Si tribe now thrived, their homes nestled among the ancient stars.

Lan Meng Dao Zun sat before his humble cottage, a smile gracing his lips as he looked towards the heavens. His daughter, Li Qianmei, was not by his side, for she was deep in secluded cultivation. He had deemed her cultivation insufficient, and so, upon bringing the Lan Si tribe to the realm, he had commanded her to master his essence.

After brief greetings, Wang Lin departed, accompanied by Situ Nan, Zhou Ru, Da Tou, Shi San, and others. They settled in the northern peaks, establishing their home among the towering mountains.

Wang Lin paid a visit to Lan Meng Dao Zun, only to find Li Qianmei in seclusion. To his own surprise, a sense of relief washed over him. Perhaps he did not know what he would say if they met again. He could not decipher the bond they shared – was it debt, or love?

“Gratitude is not love…” Li Qianmei’s whispered words echoed in his mind.

The New Immortal Realm was a sanctuary, untouched by the strife of the outer world. The arrival of Wang Lin filled its inhabitants with unwavering resolve, allowing them to live in peace.

Wang Lin settled in the mountains, in a simple cottage. This was his home. Zhou Ru refused to leave his side, clinging to him like a daughter, her eyes filled with adoration.

As he watched Zhou Ru, now grown, Wang Lin felt a pang of warmth mixed with a deep ache. He thought of Li Muwan, and the memories of Vermillion Bird.
He felt a pang of guilt for Wan’er, a weight unseen by any eye. Two millennia had passed, a vastness of time that concealed his heart’s true burden.

Thirteen and Bighead, these two cultivated under Wang Lin’s tutelage. With his occasional guidance, enlightenment bloomed within them. Wang Lin long ago severed the ties of Bighead’s soul-contract, freeing him from servitude.

Yet Bighead never chose to leave. He would often gaze into the heavens, his expression melancholic, eyes filled with longing. Wang Lin knew, Bighead yearned for home, a home that no longer existed.

The bittersweet memories of his childhood, once a source of pain, had become precious, clinging to his heart.

Thirteen was simple of heart, untroubled by complex thought. His sole desire was to cultivate, to become Venerate’s strongest disciple, ready to forsake all, even life itself, when Venerate called.

As for Sima Nan, he spent his days drinking with Jiang Lin, erupting in boisterous laughter, slapping Wang Lin’s back in joyous reunion, forgetting all earthly troubles.

Occasionally, in his drunken stupor, he would glance at Wang Lin with nostalgia, lamenting not Wang Lin’s growth, but the long, long absence of his royal title.

Zhou Yi also visited once. His melancholic air deepened as he drank with Wang Lin. He spoke not a word, merely raised his cup, draining it with Wang Lin, before offering a deep look, a fleeting smile gracing his lips as he nodded and departed.

His figure was forlorn, ever striving for Qing Shuang’s recognition, or perhaps, her remembrance. Whatever the outcome, he would wait, even for an eternity.

Swiftly, a month passed for Wang Lin within the New Immortal Realm. During that time, he unearthed the Immortal Artifact Pavilion he had obtained from the Thunder Immortal Realm, gifting all its immortal arts to Qing Shuang and the others.

They would arrange for these arts to be disseminated, bolstering the Immortal Realm’s overall power.

Meanwhile, beyond the Immortal Realm’s borders, a great upheaval began to stir. The Four Great Generals of the Ancient Immortal Domain sought the Third Soul through unconventional means. United, along with numerous immortals, they wove a strange immortal bloodline array, tirelessly searching.

Of course, there were clandestine methods unknown even to Wang Lin.

Aside from the Four Great Generals leading the Ancient Immortals, Old Ghost Zhan remained strangely passive, his divine sense solely focused on the Generals, observing their hunt.

His intentions were hardly concealed, clear to the Generals, yet they strangely persisted, seemingly confident in their methods, unconcerned by his presence.

As for Daoist Seven-Colors, after leaving Cloud Sea, he summoned Master Pertain and several Immortal Consorts from outside the Realm, descending upon the Realm and heading directly to Kun Xu, searching with grim resolve.

He even appeared to be employing a mystical power, one gained from the great war between realms, a war which resulted in the deaths of countless cultivators.

Wang Lin, too, sought the Third Soul. During the month, he dedicated much of his time to studying the Ghost Face Sail, seeking to master the illusions within.

This was a slow process, frustratingly so, with no shortcut to be found. Yet, beyond the search for the Third Soul, a thorn remained embedded in Wang Lin’s heart, one he needed to excise!

If not excise, then at least understand, to know where this thorn was placed, and in what manner it threatened his life!

That thorn was Tian Yunzi!

This was not the first time Wang Lin had attempted to deduce Tian Yunzi’s location, but it was the first time he sought to resolve this millennia-old entanglement!

“Tian Yunzi, where do you hide…” Wang Lin sat cross-legged outside his abode, his gaze distant, his eyes closing as he retreated into his consciousness, towards the soul of Tian Yunzi that he had long preserved.

He would use this soul to find Tian Yunzi’s true self, to slay Tian Yunzi!

As long as Tian Yunzi lived, Wang Lin could not rest, for he was the greatest variable, aside from the Third Soul!