Wang Lin trod upon the plain, the wild grasses before him bowing aside as if by unseen hands, clearing a narrow path. His pace was unhurried; three days were ample time to accomplish his purpose.

Yet, Wang Lin pondered how to best ignite the wrath of the Third Soul of the Seven-Colored Daoist, to plunge its memories into a chaotic storm.

“Perhaps,” he mused, halting, his gaze lifting to the sky, “this shall serve as the catalyst.” As if in answer, a streak of light, like a falling star, hurtled through the dim heavens, pausing abruptly above him. A blinding flash of sword-light erupted, and a figure plunged downward, intent on Wang Lin.

A young man in azure robes, his face contorted with murderous intent, reeking of spilled blood and grim purpose, descended. His sword, a silver blur, aimed to cleave Wang Lin’s skull.

But Wang Lin, with deliberate slowness, raised his right hand. A single finger pointed towards the approaching blade. Light exploded in a blinding burst, shattering the sword to dust, revealing the youth behind it, his face a mask of horror.

The youth shuddered, his body detonating in a crimson spray, vanishing before Wang Lin’s touch. Only three talismans, bathed in a soft glow, remained, hovering in the air.

“Very well,” Wang Lin murmured, sweeping up the tokens with a flick of his sleeve. “Let this trial be the first step.” He strode forward, vanishing into thin air.

He reappeared beside another streak of light, a young lad of perhaps seventeen summers, eyes darting warily, scanning the skies. But Wang Lin’s arrival was too sudden; a startled look crossed the boy’s face as Wang Lin’s palm struck true, sending him plummeting to the earth below.

Wang Lin, seeking no needless bloodshed, produced another talisman from the air, his figure then dissolving once more into the ether.

Within this first trial of the Eastern Serenity Sect’s Grand Competition, Wang Lin moved like a wolf amongst sheep. None could escape his grasp, each forced to relinquish their tokens.

Word of Wang Lin’s exploits spread like wildfire. A mere glimpse of him was enough to send lesser cultivators scurrying to surrender their tokens. To these fledgling mages, Wang Lin showed but a sliver of his true power, for he knew this world was but a fragment of the Seven-Colored Daoist’s memory, and all inconsistencies would be made to conform to its warped reality.

Indeed, those gathered to watch the competition, their expressions and thoughts, were shaped by the whims of the Seven-Colored Daoist’s memory; their actions dictated by his perception of how they should be.

“Who is this interloper?! In less than a day, he has amassed over three hundred tokens!”

“His resolve is ruthless, and though his cultivation appears unremarkable, his every touch hums with an arcane energy!”

“This competition shall be his, without question. Who could have foreseen such a prodigy amongst this generation’s disciples?”

Within their gilded boxes, those who witnessed Wang Lin’s feats through the ethereal vortex were awestruck. Even the masters of the various disciplines upon the ground watched with fervent intensity.

Su Dao’s master wore a smug grin. The more Wang Lin distinguished himself, the greater the glory he brought to the Eastern Serenity Sect, and the richer his reward would be.

With each token he seized, Wang Lin sensed the very fabric of the world around him fraying, a consequence of warping Su Dao’s memories, a former champion now brought low.

“The stirring is yet insufficient…” Wang Lin murmured, unfurling his divine sense, encompassing the entire domain. In an instant, the myriad inhabitants of this place were laid bare before his mind’s eye.

He sought those individuals who had once ignited the Seven-Colored Daoist’s envy; those who, within Su Dao’s memories, had shone brightly, leaving this trial and securing esteemed ranks in the trials to come.

One such individual was Kun Peng, a master of speed, his movements a blur of afterimages. In the Seven-Colored Daoist’s memory, he had finished this first trial in third place.

Wang Lin fixed his gaze, stepping through the void, traversing the endless expanse of this realm. He found Kun Peng in another corner of the trial, surrounded by three others. As Wang Lin materialized, the trio scattered with cries of fear. Kun Peng, with a sneer, moved to pursue, but halted abruptly, turning to face the figure who hung ten paces behind him – Wang Lin.

Only Wang Lin could perceive the growing instability of this place, and as he approached Kun Peng, the distortions intensified, as though the Third Soul thrilled at the prospect of conflict.

“Give me your tokens,” Wang Lin said, his voice measured. He had no desire to battle such insignificant cultivators.

Kun Peng’s pupils constricted. He bolted backwards, his speed a thunderous roar, yet in Wang Lin’s eyes, he moved at a snail’s pace.

With a sigh, Wang Lin flicked his hand, and Kun Peng cried out, relinquishing all his tokens in a terrified retreat. As the tokens tumbled to the ground, the fabric of reality warped around them.

The essence of the Eight Gates grew stronger, but it remained veiled, incomplete.

“The stimulation is still not enough… Then I shall kill Zhou Li!” A glint of ice flashed in Wang Lin’s eyes as he locked onto Zhou Li, a figure cowering within a mountain peak, clutching eight tokens.

“Damn Su Dao! If not for him, I would have mastered the Cloud Dao Arts! I would not be reduced to this in the first trial! It is all Su Dao’s fault! I will kill him!” Zhou Li, cross-legged, his face a mask of hatred, swore vengeance.

“He entered the sect long after I did, yet he is deemed worthy of learning the Cloud Dao Arts? Why is he so favored by the masters?!” Zhou Li’s heart seethed with bitterness. He gnashed his teeth, about to begin healing, when the very mountain he was within shuddered.

Startled, Zhou Li burst from the mountain, just as it crumbled behind him. Boulders cascaded downwards, striking him, causing him to spit blood as he reeled backward.

And in that moment, Wang Lin appeared.

“Zhou Li.” Wang Lin spoke calmly.

The name struck Zhou Li like a thunderbolt. As he desperately lunged forward, Wang Lin’s hand descended upon his head, silencing his mind forever.

As Zhou Li’s life extinguished, Wang Lin felt the world convulse. He could faintly hear the sound of rending reality, as if the very Fifth Flower was on the verge of collapse.

In this reversal of memory, the secrets of the Eight Gates began to seep forth, and Wang Lin instantly felt the presence of three of the Gates.

With newfound purpose, Wang Lin moved with sudden speed, his divine sense probing for the remaining disciples of the Eastern Serenity Sect. Like a tempest, he descended, and as fear filled their eyes, he stripped them of their tokens.

As the number of tokens in his possession swelled, so too did the chaos. The Third Soul of the Seven-Colored Daoist grew increasingly agitated. Wang Lin’s actions, antithetical to the Third Soul’s memories, rent the very fabric of its being, and Wang Lin sensed the hidden Eight Gates with greater clarity.

“There shall be no second or third trial. If I seize all the tokens, only I shall be victorious. Such a reversal shall completely upend the Third Soul’s memory!” Wang Lin’s eyes gleamed. He moved through this world, and all who stood before him relinquished their tokens.

Those who resisted he struck down, but with no desire for needless bloodshed. He harmed those who had earned the Daoist’s jealousy, for each death twisted the world further.

It seemed the Third Soul relished in this chaos.

Outside the First Trial, the spectators on the Eastern Serenity Sect’s main square rose to their feet. The world around them was distorting, their very forms teetering on the brink of collapse, yet they were oblivious, their gaze fixed upon the still-churning vortex above.

They watched as Wang Lin seized nearly every token. They watched in astonishment at the most unprecedented feat in the history of the Eastern Serenity Sect!

The observers were mere constructs, and their expressions were dictated by the Daoist’s own imagination, and their awe was now rippling through the entire sect.

Within the First Trial, the distortions in the surrounding world reached a fever pitch. The essence of the Eight Gates was even stronger, but still it remained just out of reach.

Wang Lin flew towards the dim heavens, and his hands reached forward. He clutched at the air, and ripped, tearing a vast chasm that opened onto the main square!

Amidst the spectators’ shocked gaze, Wang Lin stepped through the rift. “I, Su Dao, am the victor of this competition!” As those words were proclaimed, the sky fell, the earth shattered, and the shadows twisted.

The Fifth Flower World fractured!

In that moment of reversal, the secrets of the Eight Gates were fully revealed, like beams of light spiraling towards the heavens.

Only the Eastern Serenity Sect’s back mountain, the Eastern Serenity Lake, remained.