From the swirling mists of the Celestial Venerable’s third soul, a memory surfaced, sharp and defined as a shard of glass: the Grand Sect Tournament, five moons hence. It was there that Zhou Li, favored by the celestial winds, was granted the privilege of studying the Cloud Path Divine Art. His cultivation already considerable amongst the East Serene Sect’s younger generation, he ascended through the ranks, securing a place amongst the top ten, ultimately claiming the ninth rung and the reward of immersion in the East Serene Pool.

But for Su Dao, stripped of his chance to learn the Cloud Path, a darkness began to fester within him, feeding upon his timidity. The tournament was his undoing, a pivotal moment that warped his very being.

In the years that followed, Su Dao retreated into himself, a shadow haunting the Sect’s halls. He shunned companionship, seeking solace only in solitary cultivation, until, by chance, he encountered his grandmaster, who took him under his wing and nurtured the flickering flame within.

Yet, fate, as it often does, proved cruel. A twist of events led to Su Dao’s expulsion from the East Serene Sect. Gone were the days of Su Dao, disciple. In their place rose a figure forged in the fires of struggle and resentment, his heart hardened by cruelty and his hands stained with blood. He would carve his own destiny, founding the Seven Paths Sect and claiming the mantle of the Seven-Colored Venerable!

As for Zhou Li, on the very day of the Venerable’s ascension, he was captured, tortured, and met a gruesome end.

These visions danced within Wang Lin’s mind, phantoms flickering across the tapestry of memory. He sat upon the ancient blue stone beside the winding river halfway up the mountain, the water mirroring the swirling echoes of the past.

It was the third day of Su Dao’s tutelage in the Cloud Path Divine Art, his master already secluded in meditation once more. Zhou Li, humbled by the master’s instruction, had retreated into his own chambers, a bitter resentment simmering within his heart, mirroring the envy that once consumed Su Dao.

The river murmured, and the memories of Wang Lin’s third soul began to fade, replaced by the incantations of the Cloud Path Divine Art.

The East Serene Sect, one of the Nine Sects and Thirteen Houses of the Celestial Gang Continent, remained shrouded in mystery, their disciples rarely venturing beyond the Sect’s boundaries, despite not being as powerful as the Azure Sun Sect.

Their three divine abilities were legendary. Chief amongst them was the Cloud Path Divine Art, a profound and mystical discipline that sought enlightenment within the heavens. One would merge with the boundless sky, drawing upon its celestial essence to unleash the power of the clouds.

The first step was to summon a cloud beast, breathing mist and shadow. This technique lay hidden within the introductory incantations, revealed only through rigorous practice and profound comprehension.

For others, mastering these incantations would require years, demanding both time and clarity. But Wang Lin was no ordinary cultivator, far surpassing the skills of Zhou Li and Su Dao. His seven Daos originated from his own insight, and mastery of the Cloud Path’s basics proved remarkably simple.

A wisp of vapor, like smoke from a hearth, rose from the river before Wang Lin, swirling around him before entering his body through his seven apertures.

Soon, the entire river, from the mountain’s peak to its base, was veiled in mist, enveloping Wang Lin in an ethereal embrace. The very plants on the mountain exhaled their breath into the swirling vortex.

Within a hundred paces, the world was obscured, hidden behind a swirling tempest of white vapor, churning like dragons in a celestial sea.

“I wonder, when I depart this realm within the Fifth Flower, will I still be able to cultivate this Cloud Path?” Wang Lin mused, his thoughts adrift in the mist.

Though only two days had passed since he began his studies, he already grasped the art’s profound depths. The act of absorbing cloud qi into the body reshaped one’s very essence, mirroring the ephemeral nature of the clouds, becoming elusive, almost ethereal.

He remained by the river for a full moon, absorbing the subtle essence of the heavens, transmuting it into a warmth that seeped into his very bones.

Yet, the deeper he delved into the art, the more the world around him twisted and frayed, hinting at a grand alteration to the foundations of reality. A subtle change in the fabric of memory. This disturbance was too minute to lead him to the True Gate.

On the last day of the moon, the mists surrounding Wang Lin dissipated, sinking into his body in a final, silent gust. He opened his eyes, their depths swirling with cloud vapors, a breathtaking sight. A power resonated within them, capable of unsettling the mind, ensnaring any who dared to gaze too long within the cloudy abyss.

“This art…is extraordinary!” Wang Lin exhaled a breath of grey mist, which uncoiled like a dragon for three paces before dissipating into nothingness.

“The cloud essence of these mountains is thin. To master the Cloud Path’s introductory incantations and trigger the change within my memories, I must seek a greater source of celestial energy.” Wang Lin rose to his feet, a spark of determination flashing in his eyes. Within his mind, a vision began to materialize, a map of his own making.

It was a map born of the moment that Wang Lin had altered the third soul’s memory during Su Dao’s lesson, a fleeting glimpse of the eight gates hidden within the Fifth Flower World.

Only the faintest impression remained, but Wang Lin could sense it. He had traced the map over the past moon. Through constant study of the Cloud Path, he had constantly agitated his third soul’s memories, strengthening a single gate among them.

With a leap, Wang Lin vanished from the riverside, reappearing high above the East Serene Sect. Without pause, he transformed into a cloud of white mist and shot towards the horizon.

A celestial dance of the clouds.

Across the sky, black clouds churned, thunder roared, and rain fell in sheets, drenching the land and the plains below. An immense city of the Celestial Gang Continent.

Wang Lin sat cross-legged within the tempest, his hands forming an incantation. With a mighty breath, he inhaled, intensifying the storm. Lightning danced across the sky, and the rain fell even harder.

The clouds swirled violently, as vapor was drawn from them, flowing into Wang Lin through his seven apertures.

Seven days passed in this manner. The thick clouds thinned, vast sections dissipating. Only a small cloud was left in the sky, darting and twisting.

Wherever it went, the surrounding clouds recoiled as they were drawn into the singular source.

Another week passed. After two moons of training in the Cloud Path Divine Art, seven cloud dragons coalesced from the remaining vapors and plummeted into Wang Lin through his seven orifices.

Wang Lin released a deep breath and opened his eyes. His pupils had vanished, revealing a swirling vortex of clouds.

“In the span of two moons, I have ascended to the ninth level of the Cloud Path Divine Art’s introductory incantations. I am on the verge of total mastery, yet the true prize lies not in this skill, but in the change that occurred within my memories, guiding me to the location of one of the Eight Gates!” Wang Lin’s eyes shone with a strange light, a glimmer of hope beneath the cloudy depths.

Within his mind, the map had revealed the location of a single gate.

“With luck, perhaps I will discover the True Gate on this journey…” Wang Lin took a step forward and descended to the land below, an endless jungle interspersed with towering mountains, filled with the roars of savage beasts.

Wang Lin plunged into the jungle, guided by the feeling of the gate as he searched for it.

Soon, Wang Lin found himself before a rather ordinary tree, reaching high to the sky. He stared at the tree and closed his eyes.

A hundred-foot-long python slithered along the tree, its great head rising above. It extended its forked tongue, staring at Wang Lin.

Wang Lin ignored the python and placed his hand upon the tree. He closed his eyes.

The python recoiled, creeping above Wang Lin. It could sense Wang Lin’s presence and was hesitant to provoke him.

It released its grip on the tree. A crash of leaves followed as it plunged into the forest.

Wang Lin snapped open his eyes as the serpent fled. He stared towards the serpent and grasped its tail. The serpent hissed and struggled, emanating a black glow from its body.

A gate began to form on the back of the serpent.

The serpent was the Eight Gate, not the tree! Wang Lin had determined this as the serpent fled.

Wang Lin stared at the forming gate and took a step forward.