And so, Bing Mei departed.

She left the sacred grotto, abandoned the crimson star of Suzaku, yet she was not alone. Beside her walked a man garbed in robes of purest white, his hair like spun moonlight. His features were unremarkable, yet he possessed an aura, subtle and calming, that put the heart at ease. He held Bing Mei’s hand, as he had in the dream-realm of reincarnation, his grip unwavering.

He faintly recalled Bing Mei’s words, whispered upon the windswept heavens:

“Thou… art thou avatar, or true self?”

“I am Wang Lin,” he answered, his voice soft, “I am at thy side.”

Bing Mei gazed upon Wang Lin, and slowly, a smile bloomed upon her face, a smile of radiant joy and unburdened beauty.

Together they vanished, leaving Suzaku behind, their destination unknown.

Yet as they transformed into streaks of starlight and pierced the celestial tapestry, upon the very earth they had left, in a place unseen, stood Wang Lin. He watched their departure, a faint smile playing upon his lips.

Avatar, or true self? The answer resided only within the heart of Wang Lin.

Perhaps it was Wang Lin’s phantom self that journeyed with Bing Mei, whilst his true essence remained, a silent guardian. Or perhaps… the inverse was true!

There was no certainty.

Thirteen, too, had departed. His life had been a pilgrimage, a constant pursuit of Wang Lin’s footsteps. Now, Wang Lin had urged him to fly solo, for the fledgeling bird must brave the storms alone, seek the rainbow amidst the tempest, and through adversity, become a creature of strength and resilience.

All were gone… leaving only Wang Lin upon the desolate star of Suzaku. After paying homage to his parents, as he had done before entering the dreamscape with Willow-Brows, he returned once more to the home he had shared with Li Muwan.

A mountain valley, ravaged by time, yet restored to its former glory by his hand.

Within that valley, Wang Lin took up residence, joined in eternal companionship with Li Muwan, embracing the quietude of mortal existence. He held her close, counting the ages as though, from the dawn of time, he had done naught else.

Solitude, yet within it, a profound peace, a tender warmth that filled his being.

Seasons bled into one another, year after year. In the burgeoning spring, Wang Lin planted flowers within the valley, watching their vibrant blooms unfurl. He witnessed the summer rains cascade upon the verdant slopes, heard the autumnal winds whisper their melancholy song, and felt the gentle caress of winter’s snowflakes upon his brow.

Wang Lin was ever at Li Muwan’s side, the sound of distant zither music swirling in his ears, echoing from millennia past.

Ten years… twenty… thirty… In the serenity of the valley, Wang Lin dwelled for seventy years.

He remained with Li Muwan, forgetting all else. He disregarded his cultivation, abandoned his pursuit of primordial understanding, and cast aside the intricacies of fate and the machinations of men. His world was confined to Li Muwan, her image etched upon his mind, her zither’s melody the sole symphony of his existence.

In the two-hundredth year since his return to the cave world, Wang Lin’s valley received a visitor. A bald man, his visage unchanged, as it had always been.

He materialized from the fabric of reality, standing outside the valley, watching the riot of wildflowers that painted the landscape, the humble dwelling nestled within the blooms, the solitary figure seated before its threshold.

The man sighed, a look of profound longing etched upon his face.

He held a flask of wine. With a quiet lament, he entered the valley, weaving through the floral tapestry until he stood before Wang Lin. He gazed at him, long and hard, before taking a seat opposite him.

Wang Lin opened his eyes, lifting his gaze to meet the bald man’s. A slow smile graced his features.

“Mo Zhi, thou hast come.”

The bald man nodded in silence.

“Canst not forget, then?” After a long pause, the bald man offered the flask to Wang Lin, then produced another, taking a long draught himself, the liquid spilling from his lips and staining his robes.

“I never sought to forget,” Wang Lin replied, accepting the flask and drinking deep, “therefore, there is naught to forget.”

“Thou tormentest thyself,” the bald man said, his expression troubled.

“Torment?” Wang Lin murmured, drinking in silence.

“Relinquish this,” the bald man pleaded. “Thou wilt not succeed. Continuing in this manner, thou art weary, and Muwan is weary also.”

“Should I call thee Mo Zhi, or some other name?” Wang Lin asked, gazing towards the sky, breaking the silence.

This bald man was none other than Mo Zhi, who, in the rain-soaked temple long ago, had spoken of forgotten wheels.

“Mo Zhi… I have always been Mo Zhi.” The bald man sighed softly.

“Wang Lin, thou art aware of the answers. I can reveal all…” Mo Zhi began.

“Speak no further,” Wang Lin interrupted, shaking his head, clutching the flask and drinking deeply. “Allow me to contemplate these matters myself.”

“Share a drink with me,” Wang Lin said, his voice softening. “It has been a long time.”

The bald man fell silent, taking up his flask and drinking with Wang Lin until night descended, then dawn broke. Neither spoke another word.

As the first rays of the sun painted the horizon, Mo Zhi rose, looking down at Wang Lin with a sigh.

“I shall depart… Mayst thou succeed.” He offered no further persuasion, turning and walking away. But as he was about to leave the valley, he stopped, his back to Wang Lin.

“My master bids me ask when thou shall return the Inverse Dust Realm’s Star Compass.” His words echoed in the valley. Then, without another word, he strode out of the valley and disappeared.

Wang Lin remained seated, drinking his wine, oblivious to Mo Zhi’s words or departure.

He understood much. But he knew himself to be Wang Lin, born in Zhao, upon the star of Suzaku, to a carpenter’s family, and raised in a humble village.

Step by step, he had embarked upon the path of cultivation, step by step, he had reached this very point.
Resurrecting Li Muwan was his decree, born not of some celestial meddling nor echoes of past lives, but forged in the crucible of his own trials and choices.

“I am… I,” Wang Lin declared, his eyes free of doubt, ablaze with clarity.

“Mo Zhi, Hongdie, even the venerable Tian Yunzi… they all believe this world, this Cave Realm, this Immortal Astral Continent, is but illusion, a phantom of my dream-woven reincarnation.” Wang Lin murmured, the truth of it long since discerned.

“But is that truly so?” A smile played upon his lips as he rose, his gaze lifting to the heavens, his eyes shining with potent light.

“Tian Yunzi, do you truly believe your origins remain hidden from me?” Wang Lin’s eyes flashed. He saw, beyond the sky, beyond the Immortal Astral Continent, in the endless void, a figure garbed in darkness, with a cascade of sable hair, an aura of destruction and slaughter clinging to him like a shroud. He was approaching, inexorably drawn to the Immortal Astral Continent.

“Tian Yunzi, the answer will not be revealed to me within the Ancient God Realm, but I, in that place, shall unveil it to you! I will show you the truth, the *true* truth!” With a flourish, Wang Lin produced a skull, bone-white and ancient.

It was the skull of Ji Qiong.

A flicker danced across its surface, a fleeting inscription of cryptic runes that vanished as quickly as they appeared.

“You are all mistaken…” Wang Lin lowered his gaze, a faint smile gracing his features. He turned towards the humble dwelling, towards Li Muwan who lay within, seemingly lost in slumber. Wang Lin sat beside her, his eyes softening as he gazed upon her tranquil face.

“Muwan, you shall awaken… for I know the true path now… and within the Ancient Temple of Origin, I have already begun.”

A touch of madness flickered in Wang Lin’s eyes, for the method was daring beyond imagining.

Seasons wheeled in their timeless dance, and years flowed by as Wang Lin remained in the valley, attending to Li Muwan. This peaceful existence was a rare interlude in his life, a moment of tranquility amidst the echoes of mortal existence and the dream-woven path.

He spoke to her, reminiscing on shared memories, lost in their own private world.

Thirteen returned several times over the years, each visit bringing him to the valley for months at a time before he departed once more, pursuing his own destiny and the path of cultivation.

Xu Liguo and Liu Jinbiao, through methods best left shrouded in mystery, had actually located Zhong Dahong. The trio, working in chaotic harmony, brought both fame and infamy to the Cave Realm, reveling in their exploits.

Their bodies, reborn on the Immortal Astral Continent, granted them passage through the Cave Realm Gate, allowing them to draw upon Wang Lin’s power with ease. Zhong Dahong, aided by Wang Lin, found similar freedom. Thus, after they ravaged the entire Cave Realm, these three rascals, along with a certain gold-scaled sea dragon who’d developed a fondness for their antics, departed for the Immortal Astral Continent, ready to embark on their own legendary adventures.

Before they left, however, Xu Liguo and his companions came to Wang Lin, showering him with obsequious flattery and groveling servitude. Finally, with a good-natured chuckle, Wang Lin imbued them with his own aura and mark, ensuring their safety. The trio departed, elated.

Armed with Wang Lin’s fearsome reputation and the might of the Golden Sea Dragon, they were confident they could fleece the Immortal Astral Continent with impunity!

Sixty years after the departure of Xu Liguo and his band, Wang Lin, with Li Muwan in his arms, left the valley, left Vermillion Bird Star, left the Cave Realm, and set out for the Immortal Astral Continent.

Before leaving, his divine sense swept across the Immortal Realm, witnessing its cultivators absorbing the essence of the teachings he had left behind. He saw Thirteen, and many other faces from his past.

He withdrew his consciousness, taking one last look at the Cave Realm!

Only three months remained until the opening of the Ancient God Realm on the Immortal Astral Continent. There, Wang Lin would make his final stand!

“When I emerge from the Ancient God Realm, Muwan, you shall be by my side…” Wang Lin whispered, stepping through the Cave Realm Gate, vanishing without a trace.