A chill, sharp as winter’s bite, seized Xu Fenghan the instant the lash descended. A torrent of fractured thoughts, a chaotic flood of memories, surged within his mind. These disparate echoes coalesced into a cacophony of being, threatening to tear his very soul asunder.

His steps faltered, his pace slowing against his will. Even his Dao-intent, his very essence, trembled, threatening to unravel.

He could not fathom the nature of this whip, nor the source of its dread power. In that moment of hesitation, Wang Lin sprang forth. Not toward Xu Fenghan himself, but onto the half-formed lotus bloom that was the outward manifestation of Xu Fenghan’s shattered Dao.

A cuckoo in the nest! Wang Lin’s sable hair billowed, defying the windless air. His raiment snapped and crackled with barely contained energy. His gaze, though emanating from a face etched with pallor, burned with an otherworldly intensity.

Standing upon Xu Fenghan’s Dao-forged lotus, Wang Lin turned, his eyes like twin brands, fixing upon his foe. To stand upon the lotus was to stand upon Xu Fenghan’s very Dao. While no physical blow was struck, the symbolic violation, the psychological assault, was a masterstroke of cruel brilliance. Xu Fenghan, having barely suppressed the maelstrom within his mind, witnessed this desecration and his face turned ashen. The cracks in his Dao deepened.

Wordlessly, Wang Lin regarded Xu Fenghan, then with a flourish, he settled into a meditative posture. At this subtle sign, the power of the Yellow Springs surged forth with renewed intensity, swirling around the lotus in a chilling, spectral embrace.

“Defeated… in the battle of Dao,” Xu Fenghan gasped, a crimson torrent staining his lips. A bitter laugh escaped him as he retreated, his hands already weaving intricate seals. The power of his inner world, his cultivated essence, flowed swiftly, gathering upon his hands.

“I still possess primordial magic!” Xu Fenghan snarled, his face contorted with hatred for this nameless adversary. Primordial energy condensed, coalescing between his outstretched hands. A flickering flame of deepest black, like a candle in a lightless abyss, materialized. Within its heart, a monstrous presence seemed to writhe, a devourer of souls imprisoned in fiery torment.

In an instant, the flame flared, engorged as if by a bottomless well of power. It swelled, spewing forth tendrils of choking black smoke, which congealed in the air, birthing a grotesque demon with a single, spiraling horn. The creature bore a resemblance to the scattered demons of legend, but lacked their inherent power.

A chilling premonition washed over Wang Lin. He struck the lotus with his open palm, propelling himself into the air. His left hand pressed against his brow, and he launched himself directly at the monstrous apparition.

His speed was a blur, and as he drew near, the third eye at the center of his forehead cracked open. A concentrated beam of crimson light erupted forth, focused and unbroken. He was a figure of unsettling beauty.

The demon, newly formed, roared its defiance, then spun, and with a sickening crunch, devoured Xu Fenghan whole, swallowing him with ravenous greed.

Its hunger sated, the creature turned, its demonic eyes locked on Wang Lin. With a deafening bellow, it charged. Its gargantuan claw slashed through the air, leaving a trail of crackling energy in its wake, like the rending of the very fabric of existence.

At that moment, veins pulsed upon Wang Lin’s face, the third eye upon his brow opened fully, unleashing a fan-shaped wave of intense crimson light.

The demon was bathed in this unholy radiance, and its form seemed to shimmer, growing translucent. Even Xu Fenghan, curled within its belly like a macabre babe, became visible. As the demon’s claw descended, Wang Lin thrust his right hand forward, his voice a guttural command, “Halt!”

The Art of Immobility descended, a force of overwhelming weight, as if the heavens themselves pressed down. The demon staggered, frozen in place, but only for a fraction of a heartbeat. It was enough. The demon, saturated in crimson light, now emitted streams of black smoke, writhing in silent agony. Its howls were a symphony of madness. Even within its belly, Xu Fenghan’s eyes snapped open from some dark, internal slumber.

Wang Lin’s face was drained of color. He could not sustain the power of his third eye for long. Its expenditure of primordial energy was immense. After a mere two breaths, the eye snapped shut, the crimson light extinguished.

Yet, in that fleeting instant, Wang Lin’s right hand plunged into his satchel. A celestial sword appeared, its blade raised high. *The Severing Stroke!* The heavens roared, the earth trembled. This was no mere strike against flesh or energy, but against the very threads of reality. When the foundation of the universe is cut asunder, all magic unravels! As the blow fell, the power granted by Xu Ligou came to fruition, a wave of pure sword qi, imbued with the ancient essence of countless blades, filled the sky.

The celestial sword descended, yet the demon’s form remained unscathed. Even Xu Fenghan, trapped within, merely blinked. But both were held immobile.

Then, cracks appeared upon the demon’s hide, tendrils of malevolent energy leaking forth, dissolving into the ether. When the last wisp of darkness had vanished, the lifeless form of Xu Fenghan was revealed.

He was gone. Wang Lin, tasting blood upon his lips, knew the arduous task of slaying a Yin Void cultivator. He sheathed the celestial sword, swept the fragments of shattered artifacts from the cratered ground with a flick of his hand, and vanished.

The demon lotus, adrift in the Yellow Springs, did not dissipate. Instead, it was drawn into the spectral depths, its essence consumed in a process of Dao-devouring alchemy.

Witnessing this, a thoughtful glimmer appeared in Wang Lin’s eyes.

“A tangible manifestation of Dao-intent… I wonder if it can be forged into a treasure…”

As he flew, Wang Lin extended his spiritual sense. This battle would surely attract unwanted attention. He redoubled his pace, not slowing until he had traversed tens of thousands of leagues.

This fragment of continent was vast, its foundations far more stable than those of the Rain Celestial Realm. Within the Rain Celestial Realm, such a conflict would have shattered the land itself.
Wang Lin, having flown for three days beneath the vast celestial dome, at last perceived the shimmering veil that marked the world’s end. He descended, his gaze sweeping the alien landscape. Not far hence, a jagged mountain peak pierced the heavens, wreathed in crackling, celestial lightning.

With a flicker of motion, Wang Lin hastened towards this tempestuous spire. Employing his enchanted sword, he carved a sanctuary within its heart – a grotto against the storm. He settled within, cross-legged, and began the ancient ritual of meditative breathing, drawing power from the ether.

The battle with Xu Fenghan had exacted a toll. He had unleashed the Force of Nihility and the power of his Third Eye, leaving his nascent soul depleted. Yet, providence had favored him: he had swallowed two fragments of semi-immortal lightning, hoarding their potent energy within his body. Now, he seized the moment, diligently refining this bottled storm, slowly replenishing the Force of Nihility that fueled his being.

Moreover, this realm was the Celestial Realm of Thunder, where even a blade of grass, a single stone, pulsed with the furious essence of lightning. To practice his arts here was akin to finding a sacred ground, infinitely more swift and efficacious than in the mundane world.

He felt as a fish returned to the life-giving stream.

Amidst his cultivation, Wang Lin retrieved the Lotus of Oblivion from within his soul-forged River of the Underworld. Bereft of the spectral river’s embrace, the lotus faded, its petals threatening to crumble into dust.

After a moment’s study, Wang Lin returned the fragile bloom to its spectral home, the River of the Underworld within his soul.

Next, he turned his attention to the fragments of a mystic artifact unearthed from the abyss of the tunnel. These remnants suggested a vessel, shaped like a water-pot, imbued with a strange and unsettling energy.

The emanations were vaguely celestial, yet discordant, and somehow… wrong.

He pondered these shards, his brow furrowing in concentration. Then, a spark of insight ignited his eyes. He fixed his gaze upon the fragments, muttering, “Could it be… a shattered Origin Artifact?”

Meanwhile, across the vast expanse of the Luo Tian Starfield, a crimson streak tore through the void with unnatural speed. At the heart of this sanguine comet resided a planet, stained a deep, ominous red.

The sphere was colossal, radiating an aura that defied definition. It was neither the celestial grace of immortals, the dark allure of demons, nor the raw vitality of beasts, but something wholly, disturbingly, *other*.

Instead of remaining fixed, this crimson world drifted slowly through the star-strewn abyss.

The bloody streak halted before the planet, its light fading to reveal a figure: a man garbed in crimson robes, with hair and brows of the same fiery hue. He possessed a handsome face, weathered by the years to perhaps his fortieth season.

Gazing upon the crimson planet and the star-flecked void around it, a hint of wistful memory clouded his eyes. After a long moment, he clasped his hands in a respectful bow and spoke with solemn gravity, “Yao Kong, son of Yao Luodong, seeks to return to his ancestral home!”

Silence stretched, vast and heavy. Finally, the crimson planet shuddered to a halt, and a voice, rough as gravel grinding on stone, echoed from within.

“When your father renounced his lineage, did he not vow that never, across the ages, would he turn back?”

Yao Kong sighed inwardly. Only dire necessity could have driven him to return to the Luo Tian Starfield, to invoke the power of the Luo Tian Stone, gifted to him by his father on his deathbed.

Yet, if he remained away, peace would forever elude him. This was all for the sake of his daughter, Yao Xixue! He, the one now known as the Blood Ancestor! “I…” he began, only to be cut short by the harsh voice.

“Depart from this place, and return to the alliance of stars your father chose. The name of Yao Luodong is not etched within the halls of the Yao family!”

The voice held an iron resolve, brooks no argument or resistance.

“Grandfather!” the Blood Ancestor cried, his fists clenching. “Your grandson’s only child, Yao Xixue, has been taken from the alliance, her life hanging by a thread! She is the blood of the Yao!”

Silence descended once more, thick and heavy, before a sigh, old as the cosmos, resonated through the void.

“Yao Xixue…” the voice whispered, barely audible. Then, after a long moment, it spoke again. “I see that she is within the Celestial Realm of Thunder. Go, bring back my great-granddaughter. The gates of the Celestial Realm of Thunder have opened. Take my token, go to the Thunder Immortal Palace, and have them send you within. Delay, and even they will be powerless to aid you.”