Upon the jagged teeth of the world, where peaks clawed at the heavens themselves, stood the Great Soul Gate. Bathed in an inferno’s hue, the mountain pulsed with crimson light, a blazing beacon in the vast expanse. From afar, it seemed a mountain consumed by eternal fire.

Around this titan of stone, the very air shimmered. Within these ethereal ripples resided a potent energy, born from the soul itself. Phantoms, myriad and tormented, flickered into existence, their silent screams weaving a chilling symphony upon the wind.

Here lay the heart of one of Tianniu Continent’s most formidable sects, the Great Soul Gate!

Upon the Skyreach Mountain, Qingxue snow fell, each flake a silent blessing upon Wang Lin’s cloak, his hair, the very ground beneath his feet. He stood there, a solitary figure amidst the winter’s embrace, his gaze unwavering.

From this vantage point, the Great Soul Gate appeared deceivingly close. Yet, in truth, a journey of days by wing was often required. This illusion, born of the Skyreach’s altitude and the distorting waves emanating from the Soul Gate, played tricks upon the eye.

After an age, Wang Lin closed his eyes, his divine sense unfurling. He felt it then – a subtle hum beneath the mountains of the Great Soul Gate, a vital artery of terrestrial fire that coursed through the very heart of Tianniu Continent.

Within this primeval vein resided a will, untamed and burning, brooking no trespass. Only at the mountain’s peak, upon which the Great Soul Gate stood, did this fiery resolve abate, its fury somewhat quelled.

Indeed, beneath the Gate’s foundations, this potent artery burst forth from the earth, as though the mountain itself were but a solidified expression of this subterranean fire.

This was no work of mortal artifice, but a natural wonder wrought by the hand of fate. The founders of the Great Soul Gate had chosen their sanctuary wisely.

Within the Gate’s borders, a vibrant life throbbed. Wang Lin’s probing gaze revealed a teeming population – no less than a hundred thousand cultivators nestled within those endless mountain ranges.

Such a multitude, yet hidden amongst the peaks, their presence a secret murmuring upon the wind.

And amongst them stirred potent auras, the signatures of those who had transcended to the Third Step of cultivation.

“The Great Soul Gate of the Immortal Astral Continent,” Wang Lin mused, his face impassive. “Truly formidable. A single sect, capable of sweeping the Cave Dwelling Realm clean.”

Were it not for his Fire Essence True Body, Wang Lin would have avoided such a behemoth. But the terrestrial fire beneath the Gate’s roots was vital to him. He would brave the dragon’s maw for a taste.

He had already imbibed the lesser veins of the land, his inner fire reaching a point of saturation. Further consumption yielded meager gains.

He had foreseen this eventuality. Just as with a cultivator’s elixirs, the potency of each successive draught diminished until it vanished entirely.

Unless he could acquire a draught of far superior quality, such as the very will of this terrestrial fire!

With eyes still closed, Wang Lin’s hand moved, tracing a silent arc before him. Without fanfare, without so much as a fleeting rainbow, he descended from the Skyreach, drawn towards the Great Soul Gate.

Each step was a blink, a vast distance swallowed whole, bringing him closer in the span of a thought.

Hours passed, and Wang Lin traversed a distance that would have taken lesser mortals days. He arrived at the outer reaches of the Gate’s mountains. Here, the waves of soul energy grew oppressive, coalescing into a barrier of rejection, seeking to bar his passage.

“Ah, if only the Ghost Sail weren’t sealed in my storage. With its aid, I might slip past,” Wang Lin sighed, his gaze fixed upon the looming peaks and the crimson mountain that crowned them.

He drew back his aura, cloaking himself in shadow, becoming as insignificant as a pebble upon the road. Settling to the ground, he closed his eyes and waited.

In that instant, his form blurred, becoming a wisp of smoke, dancing upon the wind, a phantom of intention.

A sect such as the Great Soul Gate possessed wards of incredible potency. Should an outsider so much as brush against them, the Gate would be alerted.

To pass unseen, he would need to wait for the passage of a disciple, for the brief disruption to the barrier that their passage would create.

A lesser man might attempt to merge with the soul of a returning disciple, riding the breach into the Gate’s heart. But such a method was fraught with peril. The Great Soul Gate, with its mastery of soul energy, would surely possess defenses against such intrusion.

To risk such a gamble, only to be discovered and cast out, was a waste. Wang Lin would trust in his cultivation, his understanding of arrays, his attunement to the patterns of energy.

He needed only a flicker, a moment of opportunity.

Three days drifted by. In that time, three hundred and fourteen disciples passed in and out of the Gate’s mountain, causing three hundred and fourteen disruptions to the barrier.

With each ripple, Wang Lin remained still, patiently observing. His understanding of formations was akin to instinct, his actions mirroring the very pulse of the energy itself. He could detect the probes of divine sense that swept the area, the ripples of awareness that emanated from the heart of the Gate.

He detected a fan-shaped sweep of awareness, originating from the crimson peak and spreading outwards. Even as Wang Lin dodged its touch, he knew that he could not evade it forever.

The Great Soul Gate’s mountain array shimmered, locking down in a heartbeat. Wang Lin felt a shiver of alarm.

‘Have I been discovered?’

There was no time for contemplation. The divine sense was upon him! Withdrawing, finding no escape, he spotted three nascent rainbows streaking through the sky, approaching.

With blinding speed, he plunged into one of them, choosing the male cultivator. Not for any advantage in cultivation, but because the divine sense originated from a female cultivator. Such cultivators, in Wang Lin’s experience, often harbored a particular aversion to delving too deeply into the bodies of men. The invasion felt akin to stripping a man bare.

The moment Wang Lin, in his guise as smoke, entered the man’s body, the probing sense swept through, touching him before fading away, retracting to the Great Soul Gate, and the mountain array resumed its normal operation.

“It wasn’t me they sought, but a habit of paranoia,” Wang Lin murmured, the smoke swirling together into a tight knot, bound by the chains of his divine sense.

“What are you waiting for? Get a move on, or we’ll be late to deliver Sister Xie’s Soul Cleansing Fruit,” snapped a female cultivator nearby.