The wizened elder trembled, yet his beady eyes remained fixed in defiance. “I am of the Celestial Realm,” he rasped, “and you dare disrespect me?”

Before the old man could utter another syllable, Wang Lin’s brow furrowed. He cast a chilling glance upon the captive, his right hand rising slowly, a spectral glow coalescing within his palm. Abandoning any pretense of civility, he gathered the Soul-Seizing Art, a forbidden technique, and prepared to plunge it into the elder’s crown.

A shrill shriek erupted from the old man’s throat, his body ensnared by the Bonds of Heaven, rendering him utterly helpless. Terror etched upon his face, he pleaded, “I’ll speak! I’ll speak!”

Wang Lin’s hand faltered, poised to strike. A shift in the atmosphere caught his attention. Outside the pagoda, a path cleaved through the swirling darkness above the Soul Refining Tribe, heralded by a piercing shriek of metal on metal.

A crescent blade of midnight hue, swift as a lightning bolt, hurtled towards the pagoda. Upon it rode Xu Liguo, now a mere shade, clutching a jade brush in his spectral hand. He materialized within the pagoda, his face contorted in a fawning grin. “Master, your treasure is retrieved! Little Xu has exhausted himself in its pursuit. It proved… remarkably fleet of foot!”

“Well done,” Wang Lin acknowledged, his hand reaching out to claim the brush. As his fingers closed upon it, he sensed a palpable surge of celestial power, intertwined with an ancient, imposing pressure.

Xu Liguo beamed, preening under his master’s praise. Ever since his failed treachery, he had yearned for an opportunity to redeem himself, and this task had presented itself as a golden chance.

Ignoring the specter and his dark blade, Wang Lin closed his eyes. He channeled the energy within him, allowing it to seep into the brush.

In that instant, the brush’s tip erupted with a faint golden radiance. As Wang Lin’s power flowed, the light intensified, bathing the pagoda in an ethereal glow. From afar, the pagoda shone like a beacon of pure light, radiating outwards in all directions.

The members of the Soul Refining Tribe, witnessing this spectacle, fell to their knees in worship, their faces alight with reverence.

The bound elder, witnessing the dazzling display, felt a pang of bitterness gnaw at his heart. Though he had experienced a similar golden aura upon first wielding the brush, it paled in comparison to this majestic torrent. It was the difference between the sun and a mere firefly.

“Hmph,” he muttered inwardly, attempting to salvage his wounded pride. “Let it shine as it may. He cannot possibly comprehend the brush’s true potential without my guidance. After all, it was only through the sacred jade tablet that I was granted knowledge of its hidden power… and, of course, my innate talent played no small part.”

His moment of self-congratulation was shattered by a wave of disbelief, transforming his expression to one of utter shock.

Wang Lin’s eyes snapped open, a flicker of golden light dancing within their depths. With a single, decisive stroke, he carved a runic symbol into the air.

“Impossible…” the elder stammered, his voice barely a whisper. “It must be… his talent is but a shade below my own. He must have gleaned the basics from my demonstration. Yes, that is all it can be!”

But what followed silenced him completely.

Wang Lin’s eyes shone brighter. He added a second stroke, and the rune grew in power.

Unhesitatingly, Wang Lin inscribed a third stroke. Before him hung a glyph, radiating light like a miniature sun.

As the three-stroke rune materialized, Wang Lin’s own power surged, drawn into the symbol.

The rune, as viewed by Xu Liguo and the bound elder, resonated with perfection, as if it bore the very essence of creation.

A cascade of golden light exploded outwards, eclipsing even the light from the brush. It pierced the heavens, shattering the darkness cast by the tribe’s cursed banners, and revealing a sky of pristine blue.

Wang Lin, his eyes blazing with celestial fire, stared at the rune, his hand still.

Clad in robes that fluttered with ethereal wind, his long hair swirling around him, he exuded an aura of profound grace.

He held the brush with the elegance of a master artisan, his golden eyes conveying a depth of wisdom.

Xu Liguo gaped, his eyes stung by the intensity. He felt as though he stood before an unstoppable force, one who could erase his existence with but a thought. This feeling, always present, had now seared itself into his very essence.

As for the elder, he could only stare in silence, his astonishment boundless. “A…Celestial Emperor!” he gasped.

Wang Lin exhaled, the rune vanishing in a shower of golden sparks.

“Now,” Wang Lin commanded, his voice like thunder, yet laced with a subtle enchantment, “reveal your identity!” His gaze, though the golden light within his eyes had faded, pierced the elder’s heart like a blade.

The Demonic Whisper had been unleashed. His words wrapped around the elder’s soul, a gentle, yet inescapable compulsion.

Wang Lin had refrained from using the Soul-Seizing Art. Though the elder appeared a mere husk of an Ascendant cultivator, there was a strange energy mingled with his soul, unlike anything he’d encountered. Caution was paramount. He would only resort to such a technique if absolutely necessary.
The wizened crone, barely taller than a gnome, stared blankly into the swirling mists of the Demon Spirit Land. “I am Huang Yu, once of the Refining Feather Sect,” she rasped, her voice a dry rustle. “Fleeing the vengeance of mine enemies, I stumbled into this forsaken place. Fear held me captive, and I dared not return. Safer it is here, if one treads with care.”

Wang Lin’s eyes, sharp as honed steel, narrowed. “From whence did you acquire the Immortal Seed and the enchanted relics you possess?”

“Long ago,” the crone wheezed, “I chanced upon a ruined demesne, forgotten and desolate. Within its crumbling walls, I found them.”

“Aside from the Seed and the celestial brush, what else did you unearth?” A feverish glint flickered in Wang Lin’s gaze.

“Two storage satchels,” she muttered, her eyes glazed. “One bore no spirit mark, and within lay the Binding Immortal Net and other such trinkets. The other… it was sealed with a powerful spirit brand, beyond my meager skill to break. Alas, that satchel was stolen.”

“Who stole it?” Wang Lin’s voice was low, dangerous.

“A pair of Daoist lovers,” the crone spat, a flicker of bitterness crossing her hollow face. “Fortunate it was that I kept the satchels separate, and that I had imprinted my spirit upon the one I could open! Else they would have claimed all! ”

The loss clearly gnawed at her, a festering wound on her withered soul. To have fortune smile upon her, only to have it snatched away… a cruelty etched deep into the memory.

After carefully prying forth descriptions of the rogue Daoist pair, Wang Lin pressed on. “The jade scroll… what secrets did it hold?”

“Instructions for wielding certain celestial treasures, and an Immortal Art,” the crone recited, her voice hollow. “And… a method for crafting Immortal Guardian Golems. But the scroll is warded, its full secrets veiled from my sight.” She spoke freely, compelled by the celestial bindings woven around her, the truth spilling forth against her will.

“Where is this jade scroll?” Wang Lin demanded, his eyes burning.

“Within my storage pouch…” she whispered.

“The Binding Immortal Net… how long does its hold endure?”

“Three days.”

With a swift gesture, Wang Lin unleashed a torrent of celestial energy, sealing the crone’s nascent soul. He settled into a meditative pose, leaving the unconscious figure to the silent vigilance of the Three Talents Sword Formation, a barrier against treachery.

Three days drifted by like whispers on the wind. As the third day waned, the Binding Immortal Net shimmered with emerald light and, its purpose fulfilled, fell limp, shrinking to the size of a palm.

Wang Lin’s eyes snapped open. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned the crone’s storage pouch. His brow furrowed as he sifted through its contents. He reached out again, seizing the crone, and with a forceful shake, dislodged a veritable hoard of hidden pouches, each secreted upon her person.

He tossed the unconscious woman aside, the Three Talents Sword Formation instantly re-establishing its protective seal.

One by one, he examined the hidden pouches, his keen senses searching for the truth. Finally, his gaze settled upon a pouch, unremarkable in its appearance. He purged its spirit mark and plunged his consciousness within.

It held naught but jade scrolls, a chaotic jumble of varying sizes and hues.

As his senses swept across them, Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed. A familiar energy emanated from a scroll radiating faint azure light.

It wasn’t crafted from spirit stone, nor celestial jade, but from a substance unknown to him. It was neither wood nor stone, yet possessed properties of both, radiating warmth when held.

The instant Wang Lin’s consciousness touched the scroll, his face paled. His eyes exploded with light, then slowly dimmed as the magnitude of the contents within began to dawn upon him. The very essence of his being was captivated, thunderstruck by the knowledge being revealed.

Within the scroll lay the methods for wielding three celestial treasures and a true Immortal Art!

*“To my daughter, Qing Shuang, as you ascend to your new role as Immortal Sovereign of the Rain Immortal Realm, I bestow this gift. The three treasures I fashioned with mine own hands, and the Immortal Art, though of humble origin, is of intriguing merit, I hope you will find it to your liking…”*