Before the dawn of time, before the cosmos breathed its first breath, I was. Before even I, the immortals held sway. But these celestials sought to bind me, to make me their thrall! So, by my hand, their reign shall end!

Should I fail, then let my lineage be forever sworn to vengeance, an eternal war against the immortals! Let the heavens be cleansed of their celestial presence!

Nine drops of my soulblood, bestowed upon my three sons! Lead my people, the Ancient Clan, and when the Nine Harmonies align with the Threefold Aspects, await my return, await the birth of my inheritor…”

Wang Lin sat, cross-legged, within the ancestral temple, his flesh withered, a husk of its former self. The white robes he wore hung loose upon his frame, like a shroud upon bone.

Within his mind, the voice echoed, reverberating through fifty long years. At first, a whisper, a mere murmur. But with the relentless passage of time, it had grown in strength, until it roared within his soul.

Now, it felt as if a titan stood at his ear, howling with defiance and grief. The sheer force of it sent his blood aflame, consuming him from within.

His body, unable to withstand the inferno, withered and decayed, reduced to a mere semblance of its former glory. Yet, in this seeming ruin, there was no weakness, but rather a hidden vitality, a burgeoning power. He knew that when his flesh returned, when he stood once more as he had when he first entered this temple, his physical strength would be of a terrifying magnitude.

The Ancient Clan faced the Three Losses and Seven Tribulations. The Third Loss brought three trials, the first of which was the Blood of the Azure Sky. Then came the Threefold Division of the Ancient Path, a ritual that granted the clansmen a surge of power during their trials.

Many of the Ancient Clan, those who had achieved the twenty-seventh star of sanctification, had faced these trials. The final two trials of the Third Loss were only encountered, and overcome, within the ancestral temples of each clan.

Yet, the gifts and transformations varied with each individual.

For fifty years, Wang Lin had remained motionless, the ancient voice ceaselessly reverberating in his mind. Then, as the Ji Du Prince bowed before the temple and departed, Wang Lin felt the signs of the Second Trial of the Third Loss stirring within him.

The roars grew fiercer, the burning of his blood intensified, and a searing heat erupted within, engulfing his entire being.

“The Threefold Division of the Ancient Path,” Wang Lin whispered, recalling the teachings etched upon the temple’s stone tablets. This was no mere severing of the soul, but a process of threefold splitting and reunification. Each split would bring unimaginable pain, a dismantling of the self that demanded unwavering resolve to piece back together.

With each reunification, his soul and body would surge with new power, becoming stronger than before. Once the three splits were complete, he would have conquered the Second Trial of the Third Loss!

Death was not the immediate danger, but rather the duration of the splitting. The longer the split, the greater the pain, but also the greater the reward.

Such agony was beyond the grasp of mortals, and even the royals of his clan rarely persevered. Most chose to reunite their souls prematurely, thus limiting their gains.

“In the Threefold Division, one may choose to reunite at any time,” Wang Lin mused, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.

There were legends of those possessed of great will who attempted the full division, but even for them, the risks were immense. Complete separation made reunification agonizing, and sometimes impossible, leading to oblivion.

Even amongst the royals, few dared to risk such a fate. Those who did often gambled only on the first split. To stake one’s life on the second was rare, and on the third, almost unheard of, and invariably fatal.

Only the Celestial of the Ancient Path, the First Power in the world, had achieved complete separation on the third split, and succeeded.

Compared to the Second Trial, the Third could hardly be called a trial at all. It was a boon from the Great Chariot Ancestor, a reward granted to those of the Ancient Clan who had survived the previous six tribulations.

It could manifest as a fragment of memory, a partial skill, or even a drop of pure Ancestral Blood. And there was a sliver of a chance that it could be Soulblood…

But this was mere legend, a hope spun by descendants. Even the Celestial of the Ancient Path, so it was said, did not receive Soulblood. It was whispered, however, that the Celestial received something far greater, though its nature remained a mystery.

Wang Lin drew a deep breath. His body trembled as the burning in his blood intensified. Waves of agony surged through him, mingled with the ancient roars within his mind, creating a potent force that assailed his very being. He felt the first cracks appearing in his soul.

“It begins…” Wang Lin murmured, lifting his head, his eyes calm. He had waited fifty years for this day! Whether he would gain Soulblood, whether he could bring Li Muwan’s spirit into the Ancient God Realm, rested on this trial.

The cracks in his soul deepened, and the pain intensified beyond measure. But for Wang Lin’s will, it was endurable.

This was only the beginning.

“To gain Soulblood, one must endure to the utmost limit of this trial, to see where its end truly lies!” A fierce determination flickered in Wang Lin’s eyes. He closed them, and prepared to face the trial head on!
A ripple in the Veiled Sanctuary

At the very instant Wang Lin commenced the Triune Sundering upon the ancient path of Wanglin’s Crossing, a series of ethereal rings bloomed into existence around the ancestral statue within the Shrine of the First Ancestors. These luminous circles expanded outwards, their shimmering light cascading across the entirety of the First Ancient Imperial City.

This strange phenomenon did not escape the notice of the First Ancient clan.

“The Ancestral Idol emanates a halo of light! Someone undertakes the Sundering Tribulation!”

“Observe the nine radiant rings! This denotes the Triune Sundering, the initial severance of spirit within the Second Tribulation of Loss! A second splitting would herald eighteen rings.”

“A most peculiar thing! The Shrine never opens its Tribulation Chambers for solitary endeavors. Traditionally, the Imperial Family organizes gatherings of those awaiting the Sundering before opening the Shrine together.”

“How many face the trial this time? How long will they endure? In the past, most succumb within a matter of days.”

The denizens of the First Ancient clan did not seem overly surprised by the spectacle; they had witnessed such events before. A cursory glance was all it warranted, before their gazes drifted elsewhere.

Unbeknownst to them, the appearance of those nine rings did not go unnoticed. Both the First Ancient Emperor within the Imperial Palace and Ji Du within his estate, fixed their gaze upon the distant shrine.

“Fifty years… and at last, he begins the first sundering… How long can he endure? Within the annals of the First Ancient, one soul achieved a perfect severance, a complete and utter splitting, in a single year. Dare this one aspire to such heights?” The First Ancient Emperor murmured, before his attention drifted elsewhere.

Nearby, Ji Du stood by a window in his palatial chambers, his wife at his side, watching the events unfold with a shared apprehension.

“Honorable Father…” Ji Du whispered. His wife took his hand, her eyes filled with a gentle understanding.

Far beyond the walls of the Imperial City, upon the Primeval Peaks, Song Tian emerged from his hermitage, clad in verdant robes. With hands clasped behind his back, he fixed his gaze upon the Imperial City.

“With his cultivation, the initial sundering will undoubtedly entail a complete and utter severance. Thus, time shall not be… Still, I twice interfered during his seclusion, and though I later yielded the Imperial Throne to Ji Du, the offense remains… He, in turn, never sought retribution for my past transgressions… I shall safeguard his initial sundering as atonement.”

With a single step, Song Tian vanished, reappearing at the Shrine of the First Ancestors, a silent sentinel. He seated himself before the temple, his back to its looming edifice.

“Let no soul trespass within a thousand paces of the Shrine. Death awaits any who defy this decree!” Song Tian’s divine sense reverberated outwards.

As Wang Lin endured the agonizing sundering of his spirit within the Shrine, he felt Song Tian’s arrival and heard his pronouncement, understanding the old warrior’s purpose.

He inhaled deeply and projected a wisp of his divine will, a whisper that echoed in Song Tian’s mind.

“Gratitude.”

“No need. I guard but the first sundering, to absolve myself of past offenses.” Song Tian did not turn, casting a fleeting glance towards the empty void of space. He closed his eyes.

The moment Wang Lin withdrew his spiritual tendril, he shuddered, his head snapping upwards. Despite the discomfort of the sundering, he perceived a presence high above, watching him.

A presence familiar to him.

“Master…” Wang Lin murmured. He knew his master would not abandon the Dao Ancient Clan without cause. His presence here was clearly to safeguard Wang Lin during this vulnerable moment.

Far above, Xuan Luo gazed down upon the First Ancient Imperial City and the looming Ancestral Idol. He could sense Wang Lin’s presence within.

A gentle smile touched his lips, his eyes filled with paternal affection.

“You have surpassed me, little one. The only offering left for your teacher to give is this, to guard your back in your hour of need.”