Xuan Luo, a sorcerer of considerable power, uttered a soft exclamation, a sound like rustling leaves in a haunted forest. In the briefest flicker of time, his gaze had locked with Wang Lin’s. Their eyes met, not in a casual glance, but in a stark, unnerving communion. The very notion sent a shiver of disquiet through Xuan Luo’s ancient bones.

Yet, as quickly as it had begun, Wang Lin’s attention moved on, sweeping past as if it were naught but a chance encounter, a trick of the light.

Wang Lin’s breath flowed even and steady. Not only had his wounds been healed, but the very essence of the cosmos now surged within him. He felt that he could clench a fist and shatter the void itself. This ancestral Dao Force coursed through his veins, resonating in his organs, granting him a sense of invigorating power.

This, he realized, was true inheritance. For if each bestowal were a torment, it would be a cursed gift.

The Dao Force danced throughout his being, threading through every bone and sinew, granting him the sensation of grasping the very heavens. His nascent soul, nourished by the rhythmic pulsing within his core, shone with a gentle luminescence, poised to unleash the potent, fused magics of his origin.

A single drop of blood, on its own, might not have held such immense power, but this was the final drop, the last mote needed to achieve wholeness.

Sensing the transformation within, Wang Lin noted that the star points between his brows and upon his mouth, representing the three tribes, remained at a count of eight. Though they had not increased in number, they had solidified, their ethereal glow now sharper and more intense, like gemstones polished to a blinding gleam. They seemed to draw strength from the very fabric of his being.

Furthermore, a subtle pull tugged at his awareness from the frozen depths, a whisper of a call. It echoed the sensation he had experienced long ago in the Cloud Sea, when he had first sensed the presence of Ye Mo’s right arm.

This sensation had been absent before the integration of that vital drop of blood.

As Wang Lin calmed the churning Dao Force within, containing its raw energy, the female ancient spirit, who had been prostrate before him, cautiously rose. Awe and respect shone in her eyes as she looked upon him.

For a fleeting moment, Wang Lin had been the very embodiment of the ancient ancestors of her clan, and her spirit had trembled at the sight.

“Thank you,” Wang Lin said, rising to his feet and offering a respectful bow. “If I find the True Door, as I promised, I will aid you in escaping this place.”

The ancient spirit offered a slight nod, remaining silent.

“What is sealed there?” Wang Lin asked, raising a hand to point towards the source of the beckoning call.

“That is the location of the Eastern Lin Sect’s back mountain, the Eastern Lin Pool,” she replied, her expression clouded with confusion. “But this pool exists only as a construct of the Master’s memory, possessing no true power.”

Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed, and after a moment of contemplation, he took to the air.

“I must journey there. I thank you once more for your aid,” he said, pausing before the female spirit. “I am a man of both wrath and gratitude. The scales are now balanced. Wrath is extinguished. Favour remains. I shall aid you in your release.”

With a final bow, Wang Lin turned and strode towards the beckoning depths, leaving her behind.

The swirling, icy mists posed no obstacle to his passage. This frozen domain held power over others, but for Wang Lin, it was as walking upon solid ground.

As he moved deeper into the ice, the frigid air nipped at his exposed skin, causing even him to momentarily feel its bite. However, a flicker of inner energy quickly banished the chill.

The ice, like a polished mirror, reflected his figure, and in its depths, a distorted shadow seemed to trail him. Wang Lin glanced at it without concern and continued on his way.

The journey was lengthy, yet Wang Lin’s speed allowed him to arrive within a scant half-incense stick of time. The beckoning sensation grew stronger with each step. He was now less than ten thousand feet away!

Despite the imprisoning ice, Wang Lin could discern the shape of a mountain rising before him. Beyond it, hidden by curtains of ice, lay something more. With a single leap, he traversed the mountain and glimpsed it – a vast, frozen pool.

The pool, like a frozen lake, was shrouded in an ethereal mist, hinting at its mystical nature.

Wang Lin moved with caution, drawing closer until he stood at the edge. Gazing down into the icy depths, his eyes widened in shock.

Though the pool was frozen, its transparency allowed for a dim glimpse of what lay within. Trapped in the heart of the ice was a single thing.

It was a massive arm, a left hand!

“Ye Mo’s left hand!” Wang Lin whispered, drawing a sharp breath. Anticipation shone in his eyes. He had suspected that it might be Ye Mo’s left eye, but he could scarcely believe that it was the left hand!

“I have absorbed Ye Mo’s right arm,” Wang Lin mused, “and with it, the Art of Tearing the Heavens is potent enough to tear apart even a Third Step cultivator. If I were to merge with this left arm, and wield the art with both hands, the power…” The thought set his blood ablaze.

He raised his right foot, poised to shatter the ice and claim his prize, but a sudden, forceful energy erupted from within the frozen lake, sending a shock through his limbs and preventing his descent.

Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed as he peered into the ice. This place was different, unique from the surrounding frozen wasteland.

“The Eastern Lin Pool… This must be it,” he murmured. “But what is its purpose, that the Immortal Seven Coloured would recreate it from memory alone…?”

He surveyed his surroundings, but saw no clues, no hint of its power.

The frozen pool appeared to be nothing more than it seemed.

Kneeling down, Wang Lin placed his right hand upon the ice. A series of snapping sounds filled the air as fissures appeared on the surface, spider-webbing across the ice. However, as quickly as they formed, the ice seemed to heal itself, the cracks disappearing as if they had never existed.

With a flick of his sleeve, he summoned his bloodied sword, a crimson flash in the stark landscape. The sword slammed into the ice, unleashing a thunderous roar. The blade was deflected, forced back by an unseen power, while the ice surface only showed a shallow indentation, surrounded by fleeting cracks that vanished within seconds.

Wang Lin stared at the frozen pool, his gaze piercing through the ice, focusing upon the form of Ye Mo’s left hand. Gradually, he began to discern a pattern, a hidden truth.

“The ice of this pool… It has fused with Ye Mo’s left arm. As such, the ice now possesses Ye Mo’s regenerative abilities…” he whispered, not to himself, but as if addressing a silent audience. “Therefore, even if I destroy it, it will instantaneously heal.”
Upon the frozen expanse of the ice pond, Xuan Luo stood with hands clasped behind his back, his gaze mirroring Wang Lin’s upon the frigid waters. He chuckled softly at Wang Lin’s pronouncements, a curious glint igniting in his ancient eyes.

“Impenetrable, unbreakable?” Wang Lin’s brow furrowed in consternation. With a guttural snarl, he raised his right hand, fingers contorting into a claw. The ancient might of his Dao Ancient essence surged forth, coalescing within his grasping digits. A spectral, ethereal light emanated from his hand, thick with the aura of forgotten ages.

“Dao Ancient Undying!” Wang Lin whispered, a sacred oath upon his lips. Countless overlapping phantoms, shimmering afterimages, bloomed and flickered across his fingers, a thousand echoes of power held in check. Then, with a sudden, unified motion, his hand plunged downward, seizing the icy barrier.

The very air trembled with a thunderous roar. Echoes bounced and reverberated across the frozen wasteland. Wang Lin’s hand, locked upon the surface, unleashed the pent-up fury of the countless phantom strikes.

Each phantom claw grappled with the ice, a thousandfold assault against the water’s relentless healing power. The pond thrashed and convulsed under the assault. With a defiant cry, Wang Lin exerted his will, his fingers holding firm. He wrenched upward with all his might, and from the shuddering surface, a shard of ice, no larger than a man’s palm, was torn free.

He held the frigid trophy before him, examining it with meticulous care. He channeled the searing flames of his Fire Origin into the fragment, yet it remained impervious, untouched by the consuming heat. The more he observed, the deeper his unease grew. Within the ice dwelled a sliver of a strange and alien power, a force that resonated with the Origins themselves.

And yet, it was different. A feeling impossible to articulate, a sense that within these waters, untouched by the ravages of the ice, one could cultivate and nurture their very Origin.

But this power was fleeting, a mere whisper, veiled and elusive. After a long moment of contemplation, a spark of understanding ignited within Wang Lin’s eyes.

This realm was forged by the memories of Immortal Venerate Seven Colors, sustained by his own life force. This Eastern Spirit Pond, therefore, must truly exist upon the boundless lands of the Immortal Astral Continent, a place of legend, renowned for its power to nourish the very essence of one’s being!

Yet Seven Colors’ power was limited, capable only of approximate replication, failing to truly capture the Pond’s true efficacy.

After a moment’s reflection, Wang Lin carefully stored the ice fragment within his spatial ring. It remained untouched, a shimmering crystal emanating an aura of intense cold.

Eyes locked on the ice pond, Wang Lin drew a deep breath. Once more, he raised his right hand, imbuing it with the might of Dao Ancient Undying. He began his relentless assault, a thunderous barrage upon the frozen surface. Hours bled into one another, and with painstaking effort, a shallow depression formed within the icy expanse. Wang Lin, standing within the newly created hollow, continued his laborious work, shattering the ice with relentless blows.

After another half-incense stick’s worth of time had passed, the final echoing boom faded into the stillness. Wang Lin’s hand, gripping the edge of the pit, pried loose yet another fragment of ice. Beneath, nestled within the remaining ice, he saw it: a patch of dull, ashen skin, no larger than a man’s palm – the skin of Ye Mo’s severed left arm.

The dense, primordial aura of the Dao Ancient, the beckoning call of the lost limb, surged into Wang Lin’s consciousness. He inhaled sharply, then knelt beside the exposed flesh, placing his left hand upon the cold, lifeless skin.

At his touch, the arm erupted in a spectral, ethereal light. This light pierced the surrounding ice, radiating outward, bathing the pond in an otherworldly, ethereal beauty.

The light continued to emanate, reaching out across tens of thousands of li, before slowly beginning to fade.

Time flowed onward. Wang Lin sat in meditative stillness, his awareness spreading outward, cautiously guarding his surroundings as he began the process of absorbing and integrating Ye Mo’s lost limb. Drawing upon his experience from the absorption of the right arm, Wang Lin found this endeavor to be far easier. Three days passed, and the exposed portion of Ye Mo’s left arm, encased within the ice, began to shrink.

As it diminished, the spectral light that had spread across tens of thousands of li contracted and coalesced, until at the final moment, the entirety of the left arm dissolved into a wisp of smoke, and vanished into Wang Lin’s own left arm!