The emergence of the Third Soul, the Lan Guie, drew all eyes, save for those of Daoist Lan Meng and the Third Imperial Concubine, towards Wang Lin’s right hand. Seven-Colors, the Old Ghost Zhan, and the Four Great Generals, their gazes betrayed a hunger, either blatant or carefully concealed.

“This is a hunt,” Wang Lin’s voice echoed, a chilling serenity woven into its fabric. “Either you are the hunter, or I am. Slay me, and claim the Third Soul. But be warned, those who enter must be prepared to be hunted in turn…

“You possess the blood of the Immortal罡, and deem yourselves immortal. Yet in this hunt, only one will survive. I have not slain enough immortals of the Immortal罡 Continent… Perhaps you will be among them. Now, let the cruel game begin…” A cold smile played upon his lips as he surveyed the gathered throng.

Before their gaze, his right hand clenched, the Third Soul merging into his flesh, disappearing within his palm. Then, with a sudden flick of his sleeve towards the towering gate, he cried, “Gates of the Grotto-Heaven, open!”

Only one who held the Third Soul could unlock the gate. He cared not for the murderous intent swirling around him, for he had no desire to flee. He would venture into the heart of the Grotto-Heaven, where he would unleash his final, maddening slaughter.

This hunt, Wang Lin vowed, would know no bounds.

As his sleeve swept forth, the gates shuddered, a deafening roar ripping through the air. A fissure appeared, cleaving the massive doors in two.

An earth-shattering tremor resonated through the Grotto-Heaven as the gates began to shift, as if moved by unseen hands. From within the opening, a chorus of mournful wails arose, chilling the very soul.

Since its collapse, this was the first time the gates had been breached. The deafening clamor intensified, forcing the assembled to retreat.

Even Seven-Colors and the Old Ghost Zhan were forced back by the overwhelming power.

Only Wang Lin remained unmoved, standing before the threshold.

The gates creaked open, revealing a gap of nearly a hundred feet, yet still only a fraction of their full breadth.

A cruel smile still etched on his face, Wang Lin strode forward, stepping through the partially opened doors. Pausing for a moment, his gaze swept over the crowd, lingering briefly on Seven-Colors and the Old Ghost Zhan.

“I await you within!” His words echoed as he vanished into the darkness beyond the gate.

The storm raged, reaching a crescendo as Wang Lin disappeared, forcing all to retreat once more.

“He seeks death!” Seven-Colors hissed, his eyes burning with murderous intent. He would ensure Wang Lin’s demise.

The Old Ghost Zhan, his spectral form flickering, fixed his gaze upon the receding gate, a cold glint in his eyes.

The others, however, were chilled by Wang Lin’s words. The Four Great Generals and several Imperial Concubines retreated in silence.

Time trickled by. Half an hour after Wang Lin’s departure, the gates groaned and finally swung fully open. The storm, with a final, thunderous roar, dissipated, leaving the entrance exposed.

Seven-Colors was the first to act. With a blinding flash of color, he lunged towards the gate and vanished within.

Hard on his heels was the Old Ghost Zhan, determined to prevent Seven-Colors from claiming the Third Soul.

The third to enter was Palm Sovereign. He transformed into a blur, hesitating only for a moment before stepping through the gateway.

Then came Daoist Lan Meng, her face impassive, sighing softly as she entered.

The remaining cultivators, spurred by a shared greed and fear, followed in their wake, each driven by their own ambitions. Few believed Wang Lin could hold onto the Third Soul. Some whispered that a new Seven-Colors would emerge from this foray into the heart of the Grotto-Heaven, born from the conflict between Seven-Colors and the Old Ghost Zhan.

They had emerged from this place long ago, and now, after countless ages, they had returned to its origin, as if bound by an endless cycle.

Finally, the elder Ma and his companions from the Five Planets reluctantly stepped through the gate.

When all others had passed through, Xuan Luo emerged from the void. After a moment of contemplation, he followed them with measured steps.

“His trial,” he murmured, “shall likely reach its end here.”

In Luo Tian, the gate of the Grotto-Heaven remained open, suspended in the starry void, awaiting those deemed worthy to enter.

Yet, only those who possessed the blood of the Immortal罡 could pass through its threshold. Others, like Daoist Lan Meng, could only enter through the path of borrowed souls.
Throughout the shattered realm of the Tearful Citadel, those few cultivators who sensed the shift in cosmic energies held their breath. All eyes, from the denizens within to the watchful gazes beyond the Citadel’s veil, awaited the first soul to emerge from the ancient gateway.

Certain enlightened ones, figures like Clear Stream and Situ, maintained a silent vigil from the Celestial Domains, aware of the profound secrets at play. They understood that the first to step forth might well be the next Incarnation of the Seven-Hued Immortal! Should it be Wang Lin, it would signify the triumphant culmination of a perilous quest.

This was a juncture that would decide the fate of the Tearful Citadel itself, a dance between life and death. It was a moment of reckoning, where the Citadel’s destiny would either bind it to a new Immortal’s dominion or usher in an unforeseen dawn of change.

Yet, oblivious to the cosmic drama, the mortals of the Tearful Citadel continued their humble lives, toiling through the dim cycle of sun and moon, unchanged.

Within the Citadel’s gate, Wang Lin found himself amidst a blurred landscape of ruins, a testament to a cataclysmic battle fought in ages past. His gaze settled upon a colossal cauldron, suspended in the air amidst swirling tendrils of black miasma. These dark emanations intertwined with the very fabric of the realm.

Wang Lin possessed the Third Soul, sealed by Xie Qing to prevent its reincarnation. He could now merge it with his own being. Through this bond, his understanding of the Citadel’s heart surpassed that of any who had come before.

Drawing a deep breath, Wang Lin regarded the cauldron with a burning intensity. “There lies the core of this Citadel… the gateway to the Immortal Ascendancy!” With a flash of determination in his eyes, he strode forward, transforming into a streak of light as he hurtled toward his destination.

Beneath his feet, the ruins spoke of a time when this place was a verdant paradise, a tranquil haven where the Seven-Hued Immortal once secluded himself in contemplation. This was, in essence, the very heart of the Tearful Citadel!

But now, only desolation remained. A poignant sense of loss, not his own but echoing from the Third Soul, began to stir within him.

He pressed on in silence, traversing the shattered remnants of what once was. Though the ancient wards had long crumbled, mere fragments remained. Wang Lin, ever vigilant, recognized their potential. Barely a thousand feet into the ruins, he halted, his gaze fixed on the ground below, a strange light gleaming in his eyes.

“Though the original enchantments are shattered, these remnants can be woven anew into a more potent defense…” Without hesitation, Wang Lin began the intricate dance of hand seals, his eyes reddening with the strain.

As his gestures flowed, invisible runes sank into the ruins below, and the desolation began to glow with an ethereal light.

After a moment, the light intensified, engulfing Wang Lin in its ghostly embrace. His eyes, now blazing with crimson veins, snapped shut, then opened wide, unleashing all the blood vessels from his eyes like threads of war into the space before him.

These threads expanded with alarming speed, growing thick as a man’s arm as they spread over the ruins, a gruesome sight to behold.

Wang Lin, breathing heavily, made a final sweeping gesture. In absolute silence, the bloody threads vanished, leaving no trace of their horrifying form. The defensive array was complete.

As the eerie light faded and the ruins returned to their mournful stillness, Wang Lin glanced back at the entrance, a cold smile playing on his lips. Then, turning, he charged toward the miasma-wreathed cauldron and vanished within its depths.