Memories flickered like phantom flames within Wang Lin’s mind, a slow and arduous dance. He sat in the courtyard, patiently seeking a pattern in his past triumphs, each successful absorption of the Sanguine Essence replayed in excruciating detail.

At length, a sigh escaped his lips. His attempts to tame the bloodthirsty energy, upon careful reflection, held no common thread. Each victory seemed a stroke of blind luck, devoid of any reliable formula.

“Perhaps… the slaying of Sima Yan that fateful day held a key…” A flicker of inspiration sparked in his eyes, but quickly faded. “In my wrathful strike, I somehow drew forth a tendril of Sanguine Essence…”

Yet, even that theory crumbled. He recalled times when his emotions were calm, and times when he’d wrested the Essence from the heart of a demon soldier, the specific fiend lost to memory.

Wang Lin pondered, frustration knitting his brow.

“This Bloodlust Scripture is paramount to my journey within the Demon Spirit’s Sail. The very reason I sought this power was to withstand the might of Tuo Sen.”

“Tuo Sen’s strength can only be met by a vast collection of life-imprints… I now possess the Blood Soul Pill, a potent tool for survival in tandem with this Scripture. However, the Pill is finite. My true hope lies with mastering the Bloodlust Scripture!”

He had dedicated years to the Scripture. His first successful absorption marked a nascent grasp of the art, but to truly master it was proving an insurmountable task.

“I sense a deeper secret within the Essence itself, but I lack sufficient control for experimentation.” He raised his right hand, five wisps of grey energy swirling madly between his fingers.

“Only five… even with the one residing within Duan Xixue, that makes a mere six!”

Another sigh. He could not unravel the secrets of the Scripture, the genesis of the Sanguine Essence a baffling enigma.

He had conceived of many reasons for its birth, yet each was unique, lacking any unifying principle.

“It seems I require relentless experimentation, countless deductions, to unlock the mysteries of this Scripture!” A glint of steel flashed in his eyes, a hint of the warrior within.

After a moment’s contemplation, his divine sense stretched outwards, a gentle sweep of the courtyard, finding the two soldiers responsible for his needs, standing guard beyond the ornamental rocks.

They held a primal fear of Wang Lin’s power, yet were bound by their commander’s orders. They remained outside the courtyard, preventing any unwanted intrusions.

His consciousness brushed against them, delivering a silent command.

Moments later, the two soldiers approached, stopping three lengths from Wang Lin, bowing in unison. “Greetings, General Wang!”

“I require an escort. You will lead the way,” Wang Lin stated, his voice calm and measured.

They exchanged glances of surprise, then readily assented.

Wang Lin strode forward, covering several paces in a single step, heading towards the exit. The soldiers hurried to keep pace, one hesitating before asking, “General, shall we prepare your warhorse?”

“Unnecessary,” Wang Lin replied, disappearing behind the ornamental rocks, leaving the courtyard behind.

The trio left the Mo estate, situated in the quiet eastern corner of Hong City. Wang Lin walked leisurely, taking in his surroundings as he passed through the eastern quarter towards the bustling heart of the city.

He strolled unhurriedly, examining the shops that lined the streets. The city center, near the river, throbbed with life, merchants hawking their wares.

The clamor of the market washed over him. The people of the Demon Spirit Land, men and women alike, dressed scantily, particularly the women, who wore vibrant clothes that left much of their skin bare.

The sight brought Wang Lin a measure of respite, easing the tension that had gripped him. He wandered amongst the crowds, his immortal energy fading, as though a flowing river were slowly drying up.

He paused before shops, gazing within, sometimes entering, sometimes moving on, never lingering for long.

He was like a traveler in a strange land.

Wang Lin’s features were not handsome, but his cultivation had bestowed him with an aura of detachment. Some of the bolder women, passing him in the throng, would glance at him with interest.

Clad in white, he appeared as harmless as a scholar, his guards easily mistaken as bodyguards.

Yet, an alien air clung to him, preventing him from truly blending in. His figure held a touch of melancholy.

Around him, couples laughed and whispered, their intimacy a world apart. Wang Lin was solitary.

He walked among the crowd, as if through another world, separated from those around him.

A subtle ache stirred in Wang Lin’s heart. The street stretched before him, but he no longer wished to walk down it.

As dusk approached, he was about to turn back when a delicate melody reached his ears. A quiet, sorrowful tune that mirrored his own mood. He halted.

Following the sound, he arrived by the river, which flowed around Hong City, one of the tributaries that fed the great Tian Yao Lake.

Several decorated boats floated on the water. The melody came from one of these vessels.

Wang Lin stood by the riverbank, listening. He saw a woman playing a stringed instrument, her back to him.
The figure at the stern, like the music she wrought, emanated a faint sorrow, a haunting solitude. Before her, a knot of youths, flushed with wine and laughter, reveled in their fellowship. But their merriment, carried on the breeze, clashed discordantly with the melody, a jarring intrusion upon its delicate sorrow.

Wang Lin, unseen in the shadows, watched the painted vessel drift by. The music, a cascade of melancholic notes, settled in his heart. Slowly, he savored it, seeking within its strains a familiar echo. In that moment, the veils of time thinned, and he was transported back to Suzaku, to the tranquil valley that was once home, the dwelling he shared with Li Muwan.

In those days of simple peace, Muwan’s music had been his constant companion. Her melodies, too, held a shadow of sorrow, faint yet discernible. Then, Wang Lin could hear it, but not truly understand its ethereal, fleeting nature.

Since Muwan’s departure, he had not heard such music again. Now, here, amidst the alien beauty of this place, the familiar strains stirred within him a dormant grief, a slow-burning ember rekindled.

Before she left, Wang Lin’s feelings for Li Muwan had always been a mix of duty and gratitude for centuries of waiting. This was not love.

Yet, in the long years that followed, her image haunted him, a bittersweet montage of shared moments, each one a piercing reminder of his loss. His heart, then, felt as if he had wandered into a forest of sorrow, its depths shrouded in mist.

Within that forest, long-dormant emotions stirred, awakening from their slumber.

A bitter sorrow, a blue-tinged grief, washed over him like a draught of the Lethe, leaving indelible ripples upon his soul. He recalled their first meeting, her eyes wide with startled innocence.

The music seeped into his senses. Though he knew it was a mere echo, an illusion conjured by a stranger’s hand, he imagined he could feel her, Muwan, walking towards him from the ethereal realm, drawn by the melody. He could almost feel her leaning into his embrace, just as she had in that valley, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of fading glory.

It is always after loss that one yearns to reclaim, always in departure that one wishes to turn back.

In the years since Muwan’s passing, each retrospective glance, each remembered moment, had etched her image deeper within his heart, a permanent inscription upon his soul, an endless, unchanging presence.

As twilight bled into night, a scattering of starlight pierced the velvet sky. In this land of妖灵, a place of impossible wonders, the origins of this starlight, this pale moon, mattered not. What mattered was that, bathed in their ethereal glow, the music had unlocked the chambers of his memory.

The celestial light, reflected in Wang Lin’s eyes, coalesced with the fading notes, forming a singular, poignant emotion – loneliness. It settled within him, a persistent ache.

As the music faded, Wang Lin raised his right hand, touching his brow, as if reaching for Li Muwan within the Celestial Jewel. He murmured, barely a whisper, “Muwan, we will meet again. This is my promise to you.”

The painted boat drifted onward, the woman’s silhouette slowly dissolving into the gathering shadows.

As she was about to disappear entirely, the woman seemed to sense something. She turned her head slightly and glanced at the distant riverbank. To her eyes, there was nothing but darkness there, no light at all. It was just that in this darkness, she seemed to see a silhouette, disappearing slowly and forlornly into the distance.

Upon the painted boat, the woman sighed, her slender fingers dancing across the strings, unleashing a fresh wave of sorrowful melodies. The boat’s lanterns burned brightly, yet to her eyes, all remained a sea of black, regardless of day or night.

Within that blackness, her fair hands plucked at the strings, the laughter and chatter from within the boat reaching her ears only to be scattered and broken by her music.

She sat at the prow, her eyes devoid of light, yet in that moment, she resembled a lotus, blooming untainted amidst the mire, blossoming alone. But this blossoming was incomprehensible to all, unnoticed by any.

The music continued to echo, yet none truly listened. And even if they did, could she see them?