As echoes of the ancient conflict shimmered in the minds of the secluded seers, Wang Lin returned to the lands of the Immortals. In the northern reaches of the realm known as Beizhou, he gazed upon the familiar yet subtly changed landscapes, a wave of wistful recollection washing over him.

“Centuries have passed since I departed this land, venturing forth to the domain of the Ancient Ones,” he murmured, his voice a soft whisper lost to the winds. “And now, fate has guided my steps back to this very place.”

His gaze, sharp as a honed blade, swept across the landscape. Divine sense, a power honed through eons of trials, unfurled like a silken tapestry, reaching across the seventy-two provinces of the Immortal realm. In mere moments, the entirety of the vast land lay bare within his perception.

A subtle smile graced Wang Lin’s lips. In ages past, his power had been too meager to seek out those he once knew. But now, as the foremost being in the Immortal-Astral Continent, he possessed the means to bridge the gulf of time and space.

“Zhou Yi and Qing Shuang… their cultivation has grown. I wonder if he still keeps that precious pill…” His divine sense lingered briefly, then moved on.

“And there… that aura…” The smile deepened, hinting at a fond memory rekindled. “He must be Hong Shanzi, reborn yet retaining that familiar spirit.”

“Zhou Ru… the child who never walked the path of cultivation. Across the countless cycles of reincarnation, what forms has she taken?” Wang Lin gazed into the distance, his expression softened with a tender affection.

“Thirteen… always a promising soul. His cultivation is commendable, and he seems poised for a great breakthrough.”

“Da Tou, the pitiable wretch from the Realm of the Caves, forever masking his vulnerability with a ferocious facade… He remains unchanged even here.”

“Can it be… Shen Gonghu? A Sect Master, no less!” A flicker of surprise danced in Wang Lin’s eyes.

“Is that Hong Die? The mark… it surely cannot lie.”

“Qing Shuang… He too eschewed the path of Immortality, choosing instead to be reborn as a mortal, time and time again.”

“Brother Qing Shui… what?” Wang Lin’s expression hardened, his attention drawn westward. There, he sensed the faint echo of his brother’s presence. Yet, the mark that bound them, the essence of Qing Shui’s soul, was almost imperceptible. Only Wang Lin’s unparalleled power allowed him to detect it at all.

“If Qing Shui’s mark fades entirely, even my divine sense would fail to find him amongst the endless throng of souls. Fortunately, a trace still remains.”

Wang Lin murmured, his divine sense tirelessly scouring the seventy-two provinces. He had performed a similar search before leaving the Ancient realm, but there, he found no trace of those he sought.

Within his heart, a shadow lingered, the memory of a woman named Li Qianmei, a source of both comfort and unbearable longing.

“Nothing…” Wang Lin swept through the Immortal realm countless times, finding nearly everyone he sought, save for one.

“Still nothing…” He lost count of the number of passes, yet the result remained unchanged. He could not find the mark of Li Qianmei, could not find her presence in this world.

It was the same as his fruitless search in the Ancient realm – nothing.

“How can this be?” His composure fractured, Wang Lin stood tall, his figure dwarfing the world. Divine sense erupted from him, not only encompassing the Immortal lands but also stretching across the desolate Cang Mang Basin and the Ancient realm. His power now made this all possible.

Search after search, wave after wave of divine sense, yet in the end, he found no trace of Li Qianmei’s essence.

Wang Lin’s face paled, defeated.

“Could something have gone wrong during her reincarnation?” A sharp pang of anguish struck his heart. He could never forget Li Qianmei, her pale countenance, her gentle eyes.

For his sake, she had come to the Immortal-Astral Continent. For his sake, she had left behind her father, enduring the loneliness of reincarnation, waiting for the day her beloved would seek her out and unlock her memories.

“Impossible!” Wang Lin unleashed his divine sense once more. For an entire day, he swept every inch of the Immortal-Astral Continent, yet in the end, his efforts were rewarded with nothing but silence.

Clutching his chest, he felt the sting of despair. Staring blankly at the heavens, he erupted in a furious laughter, a sound laced with rage, defiance, and a desperate plea against the cruel whims of fate.

“You granted me the return of Li Muwan’s soul, yet you have stolen away Li Qianmei’s form! Is this providence? Is this the way of heaven?

I refuse to believe it! I will find her, no matter the cost!” Wang Lin roared at the sky, his voice shaking the very fabric of reality.

“With the Master’s aid, the likelihood of an accident during reincarnation is slim. The only explanation is that she recovered her past memories even before Brother Qing Shui did, causing the mark to vanish…” Wang Lin closed his eyes, and a chilling certainty settled within him. This was the truth of the matter.

He could almost see her, a woman in white standing in some distant land, gazing up at the heavens with tears streaming down her face.

She remembered everything, yet she chose to remain hidden… perhaps she no longer wished to see Wang Lin.

Twilight descended, casting a dark shroud over the land. Wang Lin stood alone, a flicker of grief and confusion clouding his gaze. In silence, he turned and walked, slowly dissolving into the encroaching darkness.

***

In the western lands of the Immortal realm, within Yuntao Province, stood the modest sect known as Lujin. In the pre-dawn hours, as the disciples engaged in their daily practice, within a secluded chamber at the rear of the mountain, sat a middle-aged man in meditative posture.

His face, etched with determination and a hint of coldness, was framed by dark clothing. He sat with eyes closed, gently inhaling and exhaling. Ripples of energy emanated from his body, revealing that his cultivation had reached the peak of the second stage, a hair’s breadth away from the third.

As the swiftest cultivator Lujin Sect had seen in a millennium, he held immense prestige within the sect. Having reached this level of power in such a short time, he had even been personally tutored by the Grand Elder of the sect.
Even the mastery of profound cultivation would pale in comparison to this man’s ruthlessness. Wang Shi, a name whispered with dread throughout the Cloudwave Isles, held a reputation forged in blood, having even felled a nascent Third Step Ascendant. His name became a chilling legend amongst the ancient sects.

His thirst for battle surpassed even some venerable elders, his hand delivering death to nine out of ten who dared to cross his path. Such carnage had elevated him to the pinnacle of his generation within the Crucible Gold Sect, and even seasoned elders trembled before the chilling aura that clung to him like a shroud.

He was called Wang Shi, Stone of the Stone, an orphan whose origins remained shrouded in mystery. Found and raised by a wizened elder of the sect, he knew not his parents. Yet, in the depths of his meditations, a towering silhouette would visit him, a figure both familiar and comforting, yet frustratingly vague. With each step in his cultivation, the image grew clearer, and he harbored a burning conviction that upon reaching the Third Step of Ascension, the enigmatic figure would finally reveal himself. This fueled his relentless pursuit of power.

“Wang Shi!” A voice echoed through the sealed chamber, jolting him from his contemplation. A radiant orb materialized before him, coalescing into the spectral form of an ancient elder.

Opening his eyes, Wang Shi rose with deference. “Greetings, Grand Elder.”

“Still you refuse to call me Master…” The elder’s spectral brow furrowed. This disciple was an enigma. Years ago, the elder had offered to take him as a pupil, but Wang Shi had met the offer with silence, a refusal that stung. Yet, the young man’s meteoric rise had reignited the elder’s interest, leading him to personally impart forbidden arts. Years passed, creating a de facto master-student bond, but the title of “Master” remained unspoken.

Wang Shi himself could not explain the reluctance. Deep within, he felt his true Master was not the elder before him, but who then remained a haunting question.

“Enough. Prepare yourself. In three days, you shall descend the mountain and deliver a congratulatory gift to the Dao Cloud Sect in my stead.” The spectral form faded, leaving Wang Shi to ponder the task. As the elder’s image dissolved, a wave of melancholy washed over him, swiftly replaced by his usual steel resolve. But just as he returned to his meditative stance, a sigh echoed from behind him.

The sound was sudden, unnervingly close. Wang Shi froze, knowing that such stealth spoke of immense power, one that could bypass even his Grand Elder’s senses.

“Who’s there?” Wang Shi demanded, his voice laced with caution.

“Tell me, why are you called Wang Shi? Who gave you that name?” A gentle voice responded, resonating within Wang Shi’s very soul. A strange familiarity tugged at his heart, stirring dormant memories. His eyes grew unfocused as he answered, compelled by an unknown force.

“I… I am an orphan. I chose the name myself… I felt that… that I should be called Wang…”

Silence descended once more. Seizing the moment, Wang Shi spun around, finding a figure clad in pristine white robes. The figure was a youth with hair as white as snow, regard him with kind eyes, like a father regards a beloved son.

Seeing that visage, Wang Shi trembled. His mind reeled, the dream-like silhouette finally resolving into the figure before him.

“You… you…” Confusion reigned in his eyes.

The youth sighed, extending a hand to touch Wang Shi’s brow. A torrent of images flooded Wang Shi’s mind, shattering the barriers of his lost memories.

“Master… Master! This disciple, Thirteen, kowtows before Master!” Tears streamed down his face as he prostrated himself before the youth, his heart overflowing with emotion. His memories had finally been restored.