Du Qing, a venerable cultivator weathered by countless seasons and forged from the very heart of wood, had witnessed wonders and horrors beyond mortal comprehension. Rarely did a sight pierce his seasoned composure, rarely did the tremors of awe seize his ancient soul.

Yet, before him, this white-haired wanderer evoked a chilling wonder, a creeping dread that prickled his skin.

First, the desolate, withered husks of earth-fire veins, then the pursuit, and finally, the revelation etched upon the man’s very hand: the sigils of World Sect, Eastern Realm Sect, and even the forbidden arts of Pine Cloud Dao.

A veil of enigma cloaked this stranger, obscuring his origins and intent. Each layer peeled away revealed countless more, a labyrinth of secrets defying comprehension.

“Either he is a cunning thief, infiltrating sacred orders to steal their forbidden knowledge,” Du Qing mused, his voice a hushed tremor. “Or… or he possesses a lineage of immense power, one that allows him access to the arcane arts of these great houses…”

His face drained of color, Du Qing retreated, his mind a whirlwind of conjecture. “If the former, then this is a master of disguise, his true strength concealed, holding back a torrent of hidden power. Such a foe is dangerous, but his demise would be a clean severance…”

“But if it is the latter…” Du Qing’s eyes constricted, pinpoints of fear.

“If it is the latter, then this man is untouchable! To receive gifts from the Eastern Realm Sect and World Sect speaks of influence, but to have Pine Cloud Dao bestow the ‘Burning World Ancient Parasol’ technique… that is an act of unimaginable significance!”

“What manner of lineage could command such favor?” A chilling possibility took root, and Du Qing’s face turned ashen.

Though he strove to conceal his fear, Wang Lin perceived the unease in Du Qing’s stance. He remained perched atop the dragon soul, its fiery essence slowly replenishing his own power. Time was needed for this transformation, and though he feared no interruption, a peaceful absorption would yield a richer reward.

He had anticipated a fierce clash, a battle of wills and power, but now, it seemed he might coax Du Qing into retreat with mere suggestion.

“Will you still test Wang’s resolve?” Wang Lin’s voice, calm yet resonant with power, echoed across the ravaged landscape as he continued to draw strength from the fiery dragon.

“The latter is unlikely,” Du Qing retorted, centuries of cultivation hardening his resolve. “He only knows those three sects’ arts, and he displayed them so brazenly to intimidate me! He has reached his limit!” Drawing upon his stubbornness, Du Qing unleashed a piercing battle cry.

He surged towards Wang Lin, his form shimmering, revealing the ancient, knotted wood that formed his being. Flames erupted from within, swirling about him in a furious dance.

“I will not believe you command a fourth grand art!”

As Du Qing’s challenge rang out, Wang Lin roared with laughter. Mockery dripped from the sound, striking a nerve within Du Qing’s heart.

Wang Lin, still seated upon his throne of fire dragons, raised his right hand, sweeping it across the heavens.

Instantly, a tempest of black wind engulfed the world, howling and shrieking with unseen fury. Thirteen phantom dragons, black as midnight, materialized within the storm, weaving a deadly dance.

Each dragon opened its jaws, unleashing a chilling wind that carried a torrent of rain. But these were no ordinary raindrops; as they fell, each burst with an ethereal light, transforming into a weeping, spectral soul, a legion of mournful spirits that surged towards Du Qing.

“Call the Winds, Summon the Rains, Scatter Beans to Earth, and… Shatter the Land!” Wang Lin’s voice was a chilling decree. The earth groaned and split, yawning chasms appearing from nowhere. Phantasmal volcanoes rose from the scarred land, belching forth black smoke and rivers of molten rock.

“The Moon Ascends!” Wang Lin bellowed, pointing a finger skyward. Through the swirling darkness, a luminous moon appeared, a stark and unnatural presence amidst the daylight.

As the moon hung in the heavens, Wang Lin’s finger descended upon Du Qing. A lunar mark blossomed upon the warrior’s face, spreading rapidly like an unholy contagion.

“Tell me, how fares this art?” Wang Lin, wreathed in power upon his draconic throne, gazed down upon Du Qing, whose face was now pale with horror.

“The… Lunar Sect… the Lunar Opening Stance…” Du Qing’s mind fractured beneath the weight of the revelation. The Lunar Sect, another of the Nine Sects and Thirteen Houses of the Eastern Lands!

Du Qing’s eyes burned crimson with fury. He was stunned by this relentless display of arcane power, but he refused to retreat. He had pursued this quarry for too long, and to turn back now would be an unforgivable humiliation.

He had only made one attack.

“Even if you command a thousand arts, your true strength is lacking! You wield these spells to delay me because you fear a true confrontation! The more you bluster, the more I see your weakness!” Du Qing roared, stifling his mounting terror. He would press on, fueled by desperation. He unleashed his power, the flames erupting from his body mingling with the violet energy of his wooden heart, aiming it directly toward Wang Lin.

“My power is born of my own toil! I may lack your flash of magic, but I have three sources of power. I resisted the trials and tribulations of the Xuan tribulation! I will not be intimidated by a mere mastery of fire, a fleeting spark of power!”

Du Qing roared, his voice a thunderclap. His fiery aura, now infused with the violet essence of his being, transformed into a tempest of violet flames. The land throbbed with heat as Du Qing charged toward Wang Lin.
“Earth, the bedrock of all things!” Du Qing intoned, his voice resonating with power. He reached out with his left hand, pressing down upon the cracked and barren earth. The land trembled in response, and motes of golden light, like grains of desert sand, rose in unison. They coalesced before Du Qing’s outstretched hand, forming a swirling cloud of amber mist, thick as pipe tobacco.

This mist pulsed with the raw essence of the Earth, its aura distorting the very air. The ground seemed to ripple and writhe, the landscape transforming in the mind’s eye into a vast and desolate wasteland.

“The Essence of Weight!” Du Qing roared, his face upturned to the heavens. It was this very essence, this understanding of gravitational force, that had elevated him to the ranks of the Sky Profound, allowing him to weather the trials of countless tribulations. It was also the source of his protection within the Great Soul Sect.

The Essence of Weight was the perception of gravity inherent in all things, from the smallest grain to the grandest continent. It was the mastery of balance, the ability to manipulate density with a single thought, to make the light heavy and the heavy light.

This essence was rare upon the Immortal Continent, attainable only with exceptional aptitude. Du Qing himself lacked the innate talent, but his wooden body held a sliver of this potent essence, allowing him to slowly unravel its secrets.

As this essence manifested, unseen and intangible, Du Qing’s right hand, engulfed in violet flames, seemed to bear a sudden, crushing weight.

Since time immemorial, the Immortal Continent had been divided on the very nature of fire: did it possess weight, or was it merely a phenomenon, an illusion without substance? The debate raged on, unresolved, yet it did not hinder the development of magical arts. Du Qing, through his mastery of the Essence of Weight, had now imbued his flames with tangible density.

In doing so, the power of his fire surged exponentially.

Simultaneously, the earthen mist in his left hand, empowered by the Essence of Weight, felt as if he held an entire continent in his palm.

All this transpired in a heartbeat. Unleashing the full force of his three essences, Du Qing charged towards Wang Lin, a warrior of immense power.

“Whoever you are, prepare to die!”

Wang Lin, perched atop the head of the Fire Dragon Soul, narrowed his eyes. With a surge of mental command, he forced the dragon to retreat in a furious roar. At the same time, he unleashed a barrage of his own most formidable techniques upon Du Qing.

The Seven-Colored Spear, the Spirit Binding Seal, the unfurled Ancient Umbrella of Burning Worlds, and the Shadow Moon incantation from within the black winds – four of the Immortal Continent’s most revered powers, unleashed with all of Wang Lin’s might.

Bound to the Fire Dragon, Wang Lin felt their energies intertwined, the dragon shielding him from the worst of the backlash. He would stand his ground and face Du Qing in battle!

He had sealed the Palm Sovereign, challenged the Old Ghost of War and the Seven-Colored Daoist; he would not cower before this mere Du Qing!

Had his storage space been fully accessible, the Corpse Puppet would have emerged, ensuring Du Qing’s defeat.

The clash that followed was earth-shattering. Du Qing’s cultivation was too profound. Though he possessed no specific incantations, his essences themselves were the ultimate magic.

With echoing booms, Wang Lin’s four powers crumbled, but the remaining force of Du Qing’s essences surged onward, pressing upon Wang Lin. The Fire Dragon Soul, unable to withstand the onslaught, shattered with a mournful shriek.

The dragon’s collapse created a colossal sphere of fire, engulfing Wang Lin in its chaotic embrace.

Du Qing, breaking through the shattered remnants of Wang Lin’s attack, prepared to deliver the final blow.

But then, from within the heart of the inferno, Wang Lin’s voice echoed forth, calm and measured.

“You believe I possess but one essence…? You believe your three essences are… sufficient?”

Had anyone else uttered such words, Du Qing would have ignored them. But spoken by Wang Lin, they sent a tremor through his very being.