Now, even as a semblance of peace settled around him, he found no solace, no escape from the memories that haunted his soul.

“Another year arrives, marking this cursed day…” Wang Lin murmured, a bitter taste coating his tongue as he lowered his head and sank into a meditative pose upon the barren mountain peak.

From his silent vigil, the Great Celestial Xuan Luo observed Wang Lin with unwavering gaze, a silent witness to the torment etched upon the other’s spirit.

Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, Wang Lin raised his right hand, summoning forth the Ghost-Faced Sail from the ethereal void. The tattered canvas unfurled, enveloping him in its shadowy embrace, a desperate shield against prying eyes.

He sought not to be seen this day, preferring to bear his burden alone, cloaked in the spectral shroud, as the hours bled away.

Above, the celestial dome of the Immortal Realm shimmered with crystalline purity, an ethereal blue canvas brushed with strokes of white. From an unseen source, radiant beams of sunlight streamed down, bathing the land in a gentle, life-giving warmth, neither scorching nor frigid, yet profoundly comforting.

Silence reigned upon the mountain where Wang Lin sat, a sanctuary of solitude. Within the Ghost-Faced Sail’s dim confines, he raised his eyes to the heavens, lost in contemplation, a long, agonizing silence stretching.

“Wan’er… Soon, I shall journey to the Immortal Ascendant Continent… There, I vow to find a way to awaken you… Trust me, believe me… as I promised long ago, even if the heavens decree your demise, I shall snatch you back from their grasp!” Seated amidst the spectral veil, his heart stirred with melancholy and yearning, the quietude only amplifying his profound loss.

A creeping certainty gnawed at Wang Lin, a premonition that his time within the Cave World was drawing to a close. He would soon depart, cast adrift upon the shores of the unfamiliar Immortal Ascendant Continent.

Throughout his existence, Wang Lin had trod many paths, each leading him through lands unknown. Loneliness had been his constant companion. Yet, the ethereal presence of Li Muwan, a whisper of love from beyond, had tempered his solitude, making it bearable.

“Today… is a singular, sacred day… Wan’er, do you remember?” Wang Lin had long forgotten the date of his birth, his own age fading into the mists of time. But the anniversary, etched in the heart of eternity, remained indelible.

He could not forget. Each year, on this hallowed date, he would withdraw, alone, seeking solace. Sometimes he would drown his sorrow in the frenzy of battle, sometimes bury it in the endless expanse of the cosmos, sometimes lock himself away in isolated cultivation, numbing the passage of years.

More often, however, he would drown himself in the fiery embrace of potent spirits. The liquid fire burned as it coursed down his throat, yet he felt nothing. For within his soul, memories, loneliness, and sorrow had consumed him, eclipsing all sensation. Not even the most potent elixir could dissipate the anguish that clung to his very being.

“Wan’er… I accepted the kindness of Li Qianmei… I am sorry…” Wang Lin whispered into the silent void within the Sail. He drew forth a flask, tilting it to drain its contents in a single gulp.

“I am unable to repay such a debt… Wan’er… I vow never to entangle myself in the bonds of love again. Your departure taught me the price of affection, a price too steep to bear.”

Over two thousand years past, on this very day, amidst the churning depths of the Demon Sea, a cry for salvation had pierced the veil of Wang Lin’s vengeance-fueled consciousness. The voice was gentle, vulnerable, and filled with a desperate plea that stirred his heart. His footsteps faltered. He turned, drawn to a figure he did not yet know, but would forever remember.

That figure was his beloved.

Pain surged through Wang Lin’s heart. He tossed aside the emptied flask and reached for another, seeking oblivion in its intoxicating embrace.

Not far away, the Great Celestial Xuan Luo sat in quiet contemplation, watching Wang Lin’s solitary figure. The loneliness and despair emanating from him moved even the ancient deity.

“Wan’er, wait for me, wait a little longer… Before long, I shall succeed!” Wang Lin drank deeply, the liquor overflowing from his lips, staining his garments. With a flick of his sleeve, the Heaven-Defying Coffin materialized in a swirl of spectral light, resting silently before him.

Gazing upon Li Muwan, as serene in slumber within the coffin, a flicker of tenderness warmed Wang Lin’s gaze. Yet, a sharp spike of anguish pierced his heart, a needle piercing through his soul.

He gazed upon her for a long moment, before gently lifting the lid of the coffin. His left hand trembled as he slowly reached within, until his fingertips grazed the smooth coolness of her cheek.

His touch lingered, stroking her face with gentle reverence. The pain in his heart swelled into a tidal wave of grief, threatening to drown him in its depths.

“Wan’er…” Tears streamed from Wang Lin’s eyes, falling upon her still form, staining her silken robes.

“A strand of your soul is missing… absent from the heavenly tribulation… But wherever that sliver of your essence may reside, in whatever corner of existence, in whomever’s grasp, I, Wang Lin, vow to retrieve it! No matter the cost!” He murmured the vow, pouring another torrent of liquor into his mouth, mingling with the salty tears that flowed into its depths. The bitterness was swallowed down.

Casting aside the flask, Wang Lin raised his right hand and touched his brow. Simultaneously, his left hand rested upon Li Muwan’s forehead. His eyes shut tight.

“Ghost-Face Descent into Illusion, a Millennium of Dreams!” As he intoned the words, the Ghost-Faced Sail around him twisted violently, the ghastly visage upon it seeming to roar in silent anguish. The spectral mask emerged from the fabric, plunging towards Wang Lin’s brow, vanishing without a trace. Instantly, his form was obscured by a thick, impenetrable mist, shielding him from the gaze of the mortal world.

Xuan Luo watched in silence, a tapestry of emotions etched upon his face. He understood, at least in part, the turmoil that gripped Wang Lin. Raising his right hand, he gently tapped the mist that enveloped him. A tendril of his divine consciousness drifted into its swirling depths.

“Wang Lin, it is not my intention to intrude upon your grief. But I must understand you fully, for you are the one I have chosen. My sole disciple, the protector of my reincarnation, the key to safeguarding my Dao Ancient lineage!” Xuan Luo whispered, closing his eyes.

In the instant his eyelids fell shut, his consciousness plunged into the illusory world where Wang Lin now resided, and there, he felt the full force of the tragedy that had befallen him.

The sky hung heavy and dark, stained with the crimson glow of distant fires. The echoes of clashing steel and arcane energy reverberated through the ether.

Wang Lin stood beneath the somber sky, the haze of grief slowly clearing from his eyes. Turning, he gazed towards the distant Demon Sea, awaiting whatever fate had in store.
For what seemed an age, within Wang Lin’s vision of this illusory realm, two streaks of light cleaved the heavens. One, a woman, fled in desperate haste, her face ashen, her form wavering on the precipice of collapse. Her eyebrows were delicate arcs of smoke, her beauty a radiant spring, an ethereal lotus blossom of a fairy – none other than Li Muwan.

Behind her, a foppish man, his face slick with oily charm and lewd desire, pursued her with deliberate slowness.

“Little dove,” he drawled, “your paltry flock of thirteen has been scattered to the winds, each dispatched by my hand. Whither do you think to escape?” With a flick of his wrist, the air itself seemed to tear, and Li Muwan’s garments were rent asunder, revealing glimpses of pale flesh.

A gasp escaped her lips, and the pursuer inhaled deeply, his gaze intensifying with vile intent.

Then, her eyes met Wang Lin’s across the vast expanse. Her spirit wounded, her body threatened with violation, she recognized in him a flicker of familiarity.

“You! Brother, save me!” she cried, altering her course in a heartbeat. She landed beside Wang Lin, her face a mask of urgency and plea. Biting her lip until it bled, she spoke in hurried whispers, “This fiend is an elder of the Dual Cultivation Sect of Xuanwu. Somehow, he learned I possess a Celestial Separation Pill and now stalks me relentlessly…” Her words were laced with desperation, a clear attempt to entice Wang Lin into intervening.

But before she could finish, she faltered. Wang Lin regarded her with a gentle smile, a look that spoke of ages of longing, as though she were a lover separated by centuries. Her heart, for reasons unknown, trembled within her.

“You…” she began, but the lecherous youth’s laughter cut her short. He had noticed Wang Lin, but dismissed him as an insect. Raising a hand, he summoned eight ethereal blades, swirling around him like a miniature tempest, hurtling directly toward Wang Lin.

Wang Lin, his gaze unwavering from Li Muwan, reached out and embraced her. As she widened her eyes in a mixture of shock and indignation, he finally turned his attention to the oncoming blades and the leering youth behind them.

One glance. And the blades twisted in agony, shattering into shimmering dust. As for the youth, his eyes met Wang Lin’s, and a deafening roar filled his mind. He coughed blood, terror blooming within him, but before he could react, an invisible force seized him, tearing him asunder before Wang Lin’s eyes.

Silence descended, swift and absolute. Li Muwan stood motionless, forgetting even to struggle, trapped in Wang Lin’s embrace, bathed in the yearning of his gaze.

“S… Senior… Devil… You…” she stammered, finally finding her voice. Her face drained of color, her eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and trepidation.

Wang Lin’s heart clenched at the sight of her terror. He loosened his grip, releasing her.

“My name is Wang Lin,” he whispered. Li Muwan retreated, fleeing backward until she was hundreds of feet away. There, she paused, casting a final, fearful glance toward Wang Lin, offering a hasty bow of thanks, before turning and fleeing into the distance.

A wistful smile touched Wang Lin’s lips as he watched her go, yet the bitter sorrow beneath it remained unseen.

In the far distance, the Great Celestial Venerate Xuan Luo watched it all, his own heart touched by a pang of sympathy. He gazed at Wang Lin, at the sad smile etched upon his face, and fell silent.

“What manner of longing and grief drives one to seek solace in the fleeting mists of dreams?” Xuan Luo murmured, a sigh escaping his lips.

Wang Lin remained, unmoving, until Li Muwan’s figure vanished. Then, slowly, he closed his eyes. The illusory world around him crumbled into oblivion. When he opened them again, he stood within the Immortal Realm, upon the mountain peak, gazing down at Li Muwan, asleep within her coffin.

The azure sky had yielded to the embrace of night, where hung a moon of fantastical beauty, its face seeming to hold the forms of two figures, slowly drawing together.

A man and a woman.