The Emerald Peaks were no more… now a barren, desolate mountain, a monument to death.

The verdant streams, once clear and life-giving, were fouled and stagnant, reeking of decay and corruption.

Even the wind that swept through the valleys carried a lament, a dirge of ages gone by, heavy with the stench of rot.

And the once magnificent halls and temples, now coated in layers of dust, were devoid of all vitality, mere shells of a forgotten grandeur.

The stone staircases that snaked up the lesser peaks were shattered and broken, their fragments whispering a mournful melody in the wind.

Where Wang Lin once saw the swift, purposeful movements of the Eastern Haven Sect disciples, now lay only scattered skeletons in the plaza, within the halls, upon the shattered steps. Their flesh long since decayed, their bones bleached white by time and oblivion.

Within their former dwellings, the disciples remained, eternally frozen in meditative postures, their bodies reduced to skeletal remains…

This was a dead sect!

Utterly bereft of life, choked by a miasma of death’s embrace.

Yet, within this necropolis, a strange phenomenon clung to the air, a dream-like illusion woven from the final moments of countless souls. The deceased disciples of Eastern Haven, even in death, did not perceive their fate…

Trapped in an endless dream, they continued their training, oblivious to the reality that had befallen them.

This explained why Wang Lin and Liu Jinbiao had stood unnoticed, as phantom disciples passed them by. It was not that Wang Lin was invisible, but that *they*… were no longer present in the world of the living.

To call them mere ghosts would be inaccurate, for Wang Lin perceived no lingering spirits. Instead, he sensed an ignorant dream, a persistent echo of life unaware of its own cessation. Within this dream-state, outsiders who stumbled upon this place would struggle to discern the truth, drawn instead into the illusion. They would experience similar phantasms, as their own dreams mingled and merged with the existing illusion.

Countless years had passed since the destruction of this place, a time span beyond Wang Lin’s comprehension. Yet, he knew that he could not be the first to unravel this deceit!

For in the heart of the Eastern Haven Sect, within the grandest of its palaces, a faint spark of life flickered, burning with an almost unbearable sadness.

It was a life consumed by loneliness and despair, like a child orphaned in the ruins of their home, weeping silently after their kin had perished,守 silently guarding the ghosts of what remained.

No living soul kept it company, only the shattered ruins and the skeletal remnants of a fallen order. In its solitude and grief, it had woven the dreams of the dead into a false reality, conjuring illusions of flourishing green peaks, a bustling sect, and the loyal disciples of Eastern Haven to keep it company…

Before awakening to his own source of illusion, Wang Lin would never have perceived this deception. But now, with his newfound awareness, he saw and felt the truth, sighing softly as he closed his eyes once more.

When the wind passed, he opened his eyes to find that the decay and death of Eastern Haven had vanished, replaced by a scene of vibrant life, the comings and goings of countless disciples.

“Let us proceed,” Wang Lin said softly, and began to walk forward. Liu Jinbiao could not perceive the transformation of the scene, but sensed that something was amiss. He looked around hesitantly, and followed Wang Lin’s lead.

As they walked, Wang Lin’s form began to shimmer subtly, emitting ripples that were invisible to mortal eyes. He was allowing his essence to blend with the dream-world of this dead sect.

As Wang Lin and Liu Jinbiao entered the territory of Eastern Haven, two streaks of light came hurtling toward them, resolving into a young man and woman.

The young man was handsome and held a respectful expression. Beside him, the woman was beautiful, and gazed curiously at Wang Lin.

“Senior,” the young man said with a smile and a respectful bow, “we are sent by the Elder to bring you to the Eastern Haven Hall.”

The woman also bowed, her eyes travelling up and down Wang Lin’s form.

Wang Lin sighed quietly at the spectacle before him, and nodded gently.

Led by the two disciples, Wang Lin flew toward the Eastern Haven Hall, at the centre of the sect. As they went, Wang Lin saw scenes of activity and abundance.

He saw cranes wheeling and diving in the air, and on the ground, whether in the courtyards of medicine or the living quarters of disciples, there were monks sitting or chatting.

The wind held a dense, almost tangible presence of magic, as if this place were a hidden paradise.

From time to time, Wang Lin saw disciples flying by, who bowed to him out of respect.

The members of Eastern Haven were gentle and polite, treating Wang Lin as a honoured guest.

As they neared their destination, two figures came toward them with a booming laughter.

“Dongcun, Xiaoyan, you may leave us,” one of them said, and from the two streaks of light emerged two monks. The speaker was an old man, and with him was a middle-aged man, who both bowed smilingly to Wang Lin.

They both held golden positions, and were very prominent. The old man laughed as he turned to Wang Lin and made a bow.

“I am Xu Tiannian, Head Elder of the Eastern Haven Sect. I have been ordered by the Elder to take you to the Hall.”

“I am He Dao, leader of the Eastern Haven sect. Greetings, Senior.”

Wang Lin felt sorrow. What kind of loneliness could drive one to create a dream to accompany themselves?

“Let us proceed,” Wang Lin sighed, and turned to the two monks.

The two monks accompanied Wang Lin, giving him all the respect they could, and guided him to the heart of the Eastern Haven Sect, the Eastern Haven Hall itself.

“The Elder is within. We are not allowed to go in without summons. Please, enter yourself.” The old man gave a respectful bow.
Wang Lin inclined his head, his gaze fixed upon the gates of the Eastern Serenity Hall. In truth, he could have shattered the dream-woven veil that shrouded this place long ago and come here alone, to walk within this grand hall now steeped in sorrow amidst the ruins.

He had no need to parley with the illusory figures born of the dream.

Yet, he had refrained. He could sense the profound grief and loneliness that clung to this place, and so he extended respect to the Eastern Serenity Sect’s ancestor. In return, the old patriarch had shown Wang Lin a measure of deference within the dream-realm.

“Jin Biao, await me outside,” Wang Lin murmured, his voice soft as he began to ascend the steps towards the Eastern Serenity Hall.

Liu Jin Biao, with dutiful obedience, affirmed his master’s command, but his eyes darted nervously about. He felt an unsettling unease permeating the air, though he could not discern its precise source.

Wang Lin’s pace was measured as he approached the hall, and the instant his right foot crossed the threshold, a voice, ancient and weary, filled the vast chamber. It was laced with a sorrow so deep it seemed to echo through the very stones.

“You have come…”

Within the hall, dominating the space before Wang Lin, stood three colossal statues. Carved in stone were two men and a woman, their faces turned towards the east, their lips curled in serene smiles. From these silent figures emanated a palpable aura of power.

Beneath the statues, a wizened old man, clad in a simple grey robe, sat in meditative stillness. His face was etched with the harsh map of age, marked by liver spots and the weight of years. His expression was one of profound desolation, radiating an immeasurable sadness.

He sat motionless, yet beneath the grief lay a power that slumbered deep within him, an energy that surpassed even the might of the Ascended Sovereigns Wang Lin had known.

“I have come…” Wang Lin sighed softly, stepping forward to sit cross-legged before the old man. With a fluid motion of his right hand, he produced a flagon of wine.

“Care for some?” Wang Lin offered the flagon to the elder.

The old man remained silent for a long moment before accepting the offered wine. He tilted the flagon and took a deep draught.

“I sense a familiar aura about you. This is not the first time you have been here,” the old man finally spoke, lifting his gaze to meet Wang Lin’s.

“I have come in dreams,” Wang Lin replied, producing a second flagon and raising it to his lips.

“Perhaps… I have sat here for an age untold. It may be that you have wandered here in dreams,” the old man said, his eyes drifting towards the distant gates of the hall.

“Does the Eastern Serenity Sect of your dreams resemble what stands before you now?” the old man asked, his voice a mere whisper.

“It does,” Wang Lin answered, meeting the old man’s gaze. He could feel the crushing weight of the sorrow that enveloped him.

“Thank you…” The old man closed his eyes, and two glistening trails of tears slowly tracked down his weathered cheeks. A being of his stature should have long forgotten the meaning of tears, but now, after Wang Lin’s simple affirmation, they flowed freely.

“I have sat here for so long, and you are the only one who has seen through the veil, yet still evokes a sense of familiarity… This place… it is my home… I left in my youth, and when I returned, a Transcendent Sovereign, this is what I found…” The old man opened his eyes once more, their depths filled with a raw, aching pain.

Wang Lin remained silent.

“I do not know who did this… nor can I discover the truth. Even the Grand Sovereigns cannot unravel the mystery… I can only sit here, weaving a dream from my memories, allowing that dream to keep me company, to allow the Eastern Serenity Sect to endure… until the day I die…” the old man rasped, his voice thick with sorrow.

Wang Lin watched the elder, saying nothing.

What manner of emotion could drive a soul to such lengths? What depths of sorrow could compel a being to deceive himself with dreams? What depths of loneliness would lead one to seek solace in illusion and memory?

“If Wan’er never awakens… if Ping’er remains lost in slumber… if the Vermillion Bird Star is consumed… perhaps I, too, would be driven to this… to sit alone amidst the vastness of the cosmos, on my desolate cultivation star, silently numbing my senses with dreams, weaving a dream-realm where my parents still live, where I exist, where Wan’er and Ping’er smile, where all those faces I cherish still gather…”

“Should that day ever come, perhaps I, too, would succumb…”

“Locking the Heavens’ Fate, Imprinting the Nether Court. Those who are unable to attain the True Way are destined to forever drown in the sea of suffering, forever separated from the True Path, dedicated to the Path of True Cultivation!” the old man suddenly exclaimed, uttering a phrase that sent a shiver down Wang Lin’s spine.

“These words… stained with the blood of the Eastern Serenity Sect’s disciples… were carved upon a stone tablet by the hand of the perpetrator…”