Within the Grand Soul Sect, the peak upon which Wang Lin’s secluded grotto resided was a singular marvel. Its flames, an eternal pyre, roared with untamed fury, yet not a wisp of smoke dared to ascend. Only the very fabric of the heavens surrounding the fiery mountain writhed and twisted within the inferno’s embrace, rendering all that beheld it as an illusion, a dream woven from fire and shadow.

The heat within was oppressive, a suffocating blanket that coaxed forth rivers of sweat with but a fleeting proximity. To draw nearer was to invite the very blood within one’s veins to boil, to dance a mad jig within the confines of the flesh.

Of all the structures that once graced Flame Vein Peak, Wang Lin had preserved but three grottoes, the remainder cast down in ruin. He alone walked this scorched earth, the sole master of this blazing domain.

He sat, legs crossed in meditation, within the grotto that had once belonged to Yan Luan. Behind him, his Original True Body materialized, slowly merging with the mountain itself, becoming one with the burning stone. After what seemed like an age, Wang Lin exhaled slowly and opened his eyes, within them, a flash of keen light.

“The Grand Soul Sect…” Wang Lin’s right hand rose, turning palm upward. There rested a violet jade slip, pulsing with an ancient energy, tinged with the scent of decay.

“The Soul Edict Path… Of all I have encountered, none were more skilled in the art of calculation than Tian Yunzi! Qing Shuang, too, possessed similar sorceries… These divinatory, calculating powers hold immense value. In my past, I availed myself of Tian Yunzi’s fragmented self to navigate treacherous straits…”

“Now, with the Soul Edict Path within my grasp, I must master it. Without it, I fear I shall find no safe passage upon this Immortal Astral Continent… More importantly, I must conceal all aspects of myself, that none may readily decipher my fate.” So mused Wang Lin, as his divine sense crept forth, enveloping the jade slip.

But at that very moment, Wang Lin’s head snapped up. The entirety of Flame Vein Mountain was now intertwined with his Original True Body, the peak becoming as much a part of him as his own flesh and blood. He knew, with an undeniable certainty, that a woman approached, her footsteps echoing upon the edge of the heavens itself.

The woman halted at the mountain’s base, and after a moment’s silence, her voice, gentle and melodious, rose in supplication. “Disciple Fan Shan Meng, by the decree of my esteemed master, and at the behest of Elder Wang, seeks an audience.”

“Fan Shan Meng…” Wang Lin smiled faintly, and turned his attention back to the jade slip, slowly unraveling its mysteries.

“Soul into Path, Path into Soul, Edict to find the thread of fate…” The moment Wang Lin’s divine sense pierced the jade, an ancient voice, heavy with the weight of centuries, echoed within his very core. It possessed a strange power, drawing Wang Lin into its depths, guiding him through the intricate pathways of the Soul Edict Path.

Time slipped away like sand through the fingers of fate. A day had passed.

Fan Shan Meng remained, bowed and patient, at the foot of the mountain. Waves of oppressive heat washed over her, drenching her garments in sweat that clung uncomfortably to her skin. Yet, she stood firm, awaiting Wang Lin’s summons.

A sense of bitter resignation gnawed at her. Memories of the past flickered in her mind’s eye, and beneath her downcast gaze, a spark of resentment ignited, only to be quickly smothered.

Within the mountain’s grotto, Wang Lin opened his eyes, gazing upon the jade slip, lost in contemplation.

“Forty-nine billion rune-glyphs… Each demanding a certain span of time to etch itself upon the soul… A mere ten thousand marks the threshold of basic mastery. Twenty-seven billion for the intermediate, and forty-nine billion for utter perfection…”

“This art is strange indeed. Entry is simple, yet further advancement is fraught with unimaginable difficulty. The more one progresses, the more intricate the runes become, and the longer it takes to imprint them upon the soul! Is this truly the Soul Edict Path of the Grand Soul Sect?” Wang Lin muttered, his expression a mix of wonder and apprehension.

“According to the estimations contained within the slip, basic mastery takes but three days. Within that span, nine out of ten cultivators who have attained the third step can inscribe ten thousand runes… Yet, to reach the intermediate level requires nine hundred and ninety-nine years…spent in constant, unbroken seclusion… Perhaps this is tolerable. A millennium in seclusion is not unheard of among cultivators.”

“But to reach utter perfection, to imprint forty-nine billion runes, demands one hundred and seventy-eight thousand years of seclusion! This…” Wang Lin frowned, and he began to perceive the reason that Old Ancestor Qing Niu had parted so readily with this seemingly invaluable art.

“This technique… it is impossible to fully master! The intermediate stage is the ceiling!”

With a cold snort, Wang Lin closed his eyes once more, immersing himself in the task of etching runes upon his soul. And thus, as the third day drew to a close, bathed in the fading gold of twilight, a hint of somber shadows upon the horizon, Wang Lin’s eyes snapped open.

“Indeed, the jade slip held true. Three days, and ten thousand runes now reside within my soul…” Wang Lin’s right hand rose, forming a mystic seal. With a touch to his brow, his very being pulsed with energy. A tendril of soul-essence wafted from his crown, swirling and coalescing until, above him, a miniature figure took shape.

The being was but three inches tall, formed entirely from the ten thousand runes that were now woven into Wang Lin’s very soul. It did not bear his likeness. It possessed only a pair of eyes, devoid of nose, mouth, or even ears.

With a gentle leap, the tiny being landed before Wang Lin. As Wang Lin extended his open palm, it hopped again, standing now upon his hand.

Wang Lin stared upon this creation, a strange light dancing within his eyes. Upon its form, the ten thousand runes shimmered and pulsed, rendering it barely visible to the naked eye, yet vanishing into emptiness to the probing touch of divine sense.

As Wang Lin watched, so too did the tiny being regard him. Its gaze was clear and untainted, possessing an indescribable quality. In that single moment of eye contact, Wang Lin felt a fleeting sense of unreality.

“Soul Edict, a myriad of possibilities, seeking the mysteries of self!” Wang Lin spoke, seeking to divine his own fortune. The instant his words left his lips, the tiny figure within his palm shuddered, casting a ghostly light. It bowed deeply before him, kneeling and pressing its forehead against the flesh of his hand.

At that first touch, a strange power surged forth from the miniature being, crashing into Wang Lin’s palm and flooding his very being.

The world before Wang Lin blurred, as if veiled by a thick fog. Within it, a bloody luminescence revealed countless figures, though indistinct and veiled.

Once more, the tiny figure bowed, and as its brow touched Wang Lin’s skin for the second time, Wang Lin’s mind reeled. The fog before him seemed to be rent asunder by a torrent of power.
A vision shimmered before him, a mountain wreathed in crackling lightning. Not an ordinary peak, but a primal, elemental storm made manifest in stone. At its base, a figure was chained, bound by unseen forces beneath the mountain of thunder.

Bolts of celestial fire rained down upon the peak, each strike echoing like the hammer of the gods. He saw, high above, a chariot wrought of pure lightning, its form shifting and unstable. Upon this tempestuous conveyance stood a being also composed of thunder and light, gazing down with chilling disinterest at the figure below.

Wang Lin’s heart hammered in his chest. Without hesitation, he strained his senses, desperately trying to discern the face of the prisoner. But the features were blurred, shrouded in an unnatural haze.

Then, the miniature effigy within his palm shuddered violently. For the third time, it bowed its tiny head, its brow pressing against his skin. A jolt of power, like a lightning strike to the soul, surged through Wang Lin. The obscuring mists parted, granting him a glimpse of truth.

The chained figure… it was himself!

The vision shattered. Wang Lin felt the crushing weight of a rogue planet bearing down upon his spirit, collapsing his awareness inward.

“Who dares imprison me in the future, beneath a mountain of thunder?!” His face contorted in rage. Even as the image dissolved, he fought to retain his consciousness, forcing his gaze upward, desperate to see the face of the being in the lightning chariot.

“Soul Divination, grant me clarity!” He commanded, and the miniature figure in his palm, trembling and near collapse, bowed a fourth and final time.

The world erupted in a blinding flash of light, a thunderclap that resonated in the very fabric of existence. In that fleeting moment, clarity descended. Wang Lin saw the face of the charioteer.

The revelation sent a shockwave through his soul. The illusion shattered completely. He gasped, his eyes snapping open to find himself still within the confines of the cavern.

The miniature figure in his palm lay still, its vibrant energy extinguished.

Silence stretched, broken only by Wang Lin’s ragged breath. The face he had glimpsed haunted his mind.

“Impossible… it cannot be…” Confusion and disbelief warred within him. He clenched his hand shut, absorbing the spent effigy back into his soul, hoping to nurture it back to strength.

“There is a dark current flowing here… but the Soul Divination does not lie. It shows glimpses of potential futures. When the soul-figure is recovered, perhaps I can use it to find Situ, Qing Shui, Li Qianmei…” He pushed the unsettling vision into the depths of his mind. He had weathered storms before. Even the most cataclysmic of events could be endured with a calm and focused spirit.

“Three days… the three gifts promised by the Old Ancestor Qing Niu. I wonder what they might be…” He recalled the Ancestor’s words – an offer to delve into the Grand Soul Gate’s Hidden Soul Repository, to choose a single divine technique. Visions of the Grand Soul Gate’s layered illusions, and Yan Luan’s invocation of ancestral spirits, flickered in his memory.

With a sigh, he rose and stepped out of the cavern, onto the smoldering peak. He saw Fan Shanmeng standing just outside, her face etched with a mixture of resentment and weary resignation.

As Wang Lin emerged, Fan Shanmeng opened her mouth to speak, but with a blur of motion, Wang Lin passed by her, leaving the peak, leaving her behind.

“You!” Fury flashed in her eyes, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to remain calm as she watched him depart. She had burned her bridges.

Wang Lin, a streak of light against the sky, raced towards the heart of the Grand Soul Gate. The jade scroll left by Qing Niu contained a detailed map of the sect’s peaks, guiding him towards Qing Tian Peak.