The Song of the Ascendancy, a symphony in three phases, began with the Aria of the Celestial Winds!

Then came the second movement, the Celestial Thunder’s Rhapsody!

And finally, the third, the Pastoral Flute of Mortal Clouds!

This flute, born from the golden sky, unfurled like wisps of white cloud. Its notes, airy and serene, drifted into the soul, promising tranquility, lulling one towards slumber.

As Wang Lin set foot upon the two hundred and fortieth step, the sound of this flute echoed through the heavens and earth. A melody so ethereal, no mortal could claim its creation. Rather, it was the wind’s breath as it pierced the clouds, leaving countless tiny perforations, each a vent for song.

Woven with the Aria of the Winds, it formed a celestial harmony, an exquisite symphony. The Rhapsody of Thunder, like the beat of a primordial drum, integrated perfectly, a resonating pulse.

The sound held an enchantment. Xuan Luo, captivated, closed his eyes in silent reverence.

Around the towering edifice, the four stone pillars each bearing a grey-robed sentinel, they too listened, their faces etched with longing and faded memories. And from the tower’s misty peak, a sigh escaped the shrouded figure as the music washed over them.

Wang Lin stood motionless upon the two hundred and fortieth step. The wind, the thunder, the clouds – he absorbed their combined sonata. The notes seeped into his spirit, bathing his essence in warmth, gently mending the wounds, both visible and unseen, that had plagued his ascent. Miraculously, his injuries healed as though touched by divine hands.

Within him, the power born from the fusion of the Ancient and Immortal energies stirred slightly, though still dormant, waiting for the destined moment.

At long last, a flicker of light returned to Wang Lin’s eyes. Guided by the music, he slowly raised his foot, advancing onward. Each step was deliberate, his face now serene, devoid of the grimace that had marked his earlier trials.

His eyes, once bloodshot, were now clear, a steady gaze leading him forward.

The golden sky, a source of light. The black earth, the path ahead. The thunder, the drums. The wind, the orchestration. And the cloud flute, a constant companion, surrounding Wang Lin as he resolutely ascended, arriving at the two hundred and fiftieth step.

The instant his foot landed, a new cadence joined the song of the golden heavens and the shadowed earth. A hushed rustling, like rain cascading from the lofty heights, pattering upon the land.

The rain’s lament, a melancholic melody upon the face of the world, intertwined with the cloud flute, deepening the symphony’s beauty. A sense of renewal arose, a vibrant promise of life’s resurgence.

Xuan Luo opened his eyes. He watched Wang Lin, releasing a measured breath. His stature and years of experience usually shielded him from awe, but the fourth note of this Ninefold Song, drawn forth by Wang Lin, stirred the waters of his soul.

“Great Dao Celestial…” he murmured, “You may not recognize his worth, but I wonder, what are your thoughts now? Or perhaps… my disciple, Wang Mo, who carries the Soulblood… will he deem you worthy?” Xuan Luo’s gaze soared past Wang Lin, still climbing, to the tower atop the Ancient Dao Mountain, his thoughts unspoken.

The tower’s peak remained in silence. The veiled figure, after that single sigh, appeared lost in contemplation, immersed in the music. The obscured face, shrouded in mist, seemed to bear the weight of longing and remembrance.

Wang Lin paused briefly upon the two hundred and fiftieth step, absorbing the essence of the rain. Then, fortified, he continued his climb.

Upon the two hundred and sixtieth step, he heard the Voice of the Heavens. A subtle sound, ethereal and fleeting. The heavens, by their very nature, were silent, yet now, a soft murmur, akin to a gentle incantation, descended from above, merging with the Aria of Celestial Winds, the Rhapsody of Celestial Thunder, the Pastoral Flute of Mortal Clouds, and the Resurgent Rain of Life.

The meager amount of Ancient and Immortal power, forged in the crucible of the Ancient Dao Mountain’s oppressive weight, began to stir from its slumber.

Its circulation was slow, its journey incomplete. Wang Lin remained calm, content in the warmth that radiated through his being, the promise of boundless strength within.

And within this burgeoning strength, a drop of Soulblood, a legacy of the Ancient Ancestor, the very essence Xuan Luo had implored the Great Dao Celestial to awaken, the request denied, began to thaw.

Wang Lin advanced, step by step. When his foot struck the two hundred and seventieth step, his very essence seemed to dissolve.

For an instant, his wellspring of power vanished. But then, his eyes ignited with silver light. His eyes, twin orbs of polished silver!

They held no emotion, only icy coldness. Even the blackness of his pupils had become silver. As these argent eyes emerged, a palpable aura, an indescribable presence, radiated from Wang Lin. It was the same chilling essence, the annihilation of all, that Xuan Luo had felt within the realm of the Caves.

As this aura manifested, Xuan Luo’s expression became complicated.

“The Silver Eyes… a shared trait in the Ninefold Song… the Ninefold Song of the Ancient Ancestor can be transformed, and the Second Aspect of the Three Phases is this very sight…”

Upon the pillars, the four grey-robed sentinels withdrew their gazes from the heavens, fixing them once more upon Wang Lin. They stared at the silver within his eyes, their own faces filled with a hollow bewilderment, as though their very souls were being drawn away.

There was a strange, irresistible allure to those eyes.

From the tower’s mist-shrouded peak, after a long silence, came a voice that echoed across the heavens and the earth.

“Ninefold Song, Threefold Aspect… upon you, Five Songs and Two Aspects have manifested… Ascend. If you reach the three hundredth step, I will awaken your Soulblood… and grant you an audience…”

The voice remained cold, devoid of emotion.

Wang Lin, upon the two hundred and seventieth step, offered no response to the chilling command. Instead, he raised his foot, continuing his ascent. As he stood upon the two hundred and eightieth step, the Ancient power within him utterly dissolved.
As the ethereal essence dissolved, a sixth melody echoed through the heavens and earth, joining the celestial chorus of the five realms. This was the Song of the Earth, a somber dirge rising from the black soil, a lament for endings and buried hopes.

The dirge, though its path was a mystery, resonated with stark clarity from the ground below, a mournful tune as if for the very death of the grave-diggers themselves.

Intertwined with the Song of Heaven, it painted a portrait of life and death; blended with the symphonies of wind, cloud, thunder, and rain, it transformed into an unparalleled aria of existence!

“The Nine Melodies and Three Aspects… I have heard tell of them,” a voice whispered in the ethereal winds. “It appears now, that Six Melodies and Two Aspects have manifested…” Wang Lin, lost in contemplation, felt the primal energies within him, along with the power of the Ancient Kin, begin to dissolve and fade. They were not lost, however, but were merging deeper into the very fabric of his being.

He could sense a new power stirring, born from the union of Xian and Ancient energies. This force, however, still moved with sluggish grace, perhaps requiring years, even decades, to complete a single revolution within him.

Silently, he raised his foot, using the crushing pressure emanating from Mount Gu Dao to ascend the two hundred and eighty-first step. Step by step he continued his journey. When he stood upon the two hundred and ninetieth step, he clearly felt the pace of that inner revolution quicken, ever so slightly.

At the same time, he sensed the dissipated energies of his primal source and the Ancient Kin, mere shadows now, yet still present within him. These two forces had taken residence within his soul and his organs.

The primal source energy dwelled within his soul, while the power of the Ancient Kin lay within his organs. They seemed to merge, yet remained separate, distinct from Wang Lin’s previous state.

And as Wang Lin set foot upon the two hundred and ninetieth step, a seventh melody burst forth within the symphony of creation. This melody remained unheard by all but Wang Lin, for it was the song of his own body.

A chorus of subtle sounds, the rustle of movement with each lift of his head, the swish of a hand, the tread of his feet. Even the simple act of breathing, the opening and closing of his pores, all these added to the symphony of his own being!

These delicate sounds, woven into the cosmic music, condensed around Wang Lin, creating a whisper of pure sound that swirled around him in ethereal trails.

“This… this is the Seventh Melody…” Wang Lin whispered, lost in the symphony, before lifting his head, his eyes ablaze with a newfound resolve, fixed upon the high tower atop Mount Gu Dao.

“You once declared that Wang Lin would never cross three hundred steps…” Wang Lin bellowed as he took a mighty stride, skipping ten steps at once, landing firmly on the three hundredth step.

The instant his foot landed, a change rippled through the four pillars guarding the high tower. The glazed eyes of the grey-robed figures sharpened, their vacant expressions replaced with icy focus. With a flicker of movement, they exploded into action, merging into one form as they lunged toward Wang Lin like a bolt of lightning.

They arrived in an instant, unleashing a devastating punch.

This strike was infused with a miasma of grey fog, which coalesced into the spectral image of a grotesque head, roaring silently with an unrestrained fury as it hurtled towards Wang Lin!

Thrumming sounds reverberated from deep within Wang Lin, like the beating of a heart, yet it was something more. This was the eighth melody, born from his very organs!

The Song of the Organs!

The contracting of his lungs, the beating of his heart, the pulsing of his spleen, the trembling of his liver, the tensing of his kidneys – all fused together into the symphony of his vital being.

This song intertwined with the melody of his body, merged with the music of wind, cloud, thunder, and rain, entangled with the dirge of life and death, culminating in the resounding echoes of the Eight Melodies!

As these eight melodies resonated in harmony, the power of the Ancient Kin within Wang Lin’s organs erupted, instantly flooding his very flesh and blood. Simultaneously, the primal source energy within his soul stirred, rushing through his meridians.

After countless cycles of compression and integration, for the first time, these two forces found perfect unity centered within Wang Lin’s own form. They merged into a massive torrent of Xian-Ancient energy, accelerating from a sluggish pace of decades into a whirlwind within him, completing a single revolution in the blink of an eye.

This power, neither wholly Xian nor entirely Ancient, transformed into Wang Lin’s roar!

“Get out of my way!!”