The figure dissolved, and the mist coalesced into a shimmering staircase, stretching upwards from Wang Lin’s feet, its end unseen. He inhaled deeply, a spark of resolve in his eyes, and stepped onto the ethereal path. With each footfall, the stairs behind him faded into nothingness.

Meanwhile, upon the shard-continent where the Repository resided, the three elders were deep in discourse. Suddenly, a beam of light erupted from the Repository, growing brighter and more intense until it was nearly blinding.

Chen, the elder of the Chen family, his gaze fixed upon the radiant column, remarked calmly, “It seems the Immortal Fate of this friend Xu begins. I wonder what manner of celestial art he will uncover within the fourth level!”

The spirit-bound Lu, deprived of his mortal shell, nodded in agreement. “Cultivation and Immortal Fate are intertwined, though subtly. In certain circumstances, one can bolster the other. I suspect he shall find a worthy art within the fourth level.”

Song, the last of the three, remained silent, his eyes blazing as he scrutinized the light emanating from the Repository. “Something is amiss!” he declared, his voice a low rumble.

Chen and Lu exchanged bewildered glances before turning their attention back to the Repository. Their faces paled as four more beams of light sprang forth, arraying themselves alongside the first, piercing the heavens. Ripples of energy, like ethereal rings, spread across the sky, creating a spectacle of otherworldly grandeur when viewed from below.

“Five beams! He has ascended to the fifth level!” Lu exclaimed, his spectral eyes wide with disbelief.

“It appears we underestimated this friend Xu,” Song muttered, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “His cultivation must be at the very pinnacle of the Yang Solidification realm, perhaps even toeing the threshold of Nirvana Peering! Barely enough to meet the standards of the fifth level!”

Chen furrowed his brow. “If his cultivation had truly reached Nirvana Peering, he would never have been allowed entrance to the Realm of Lightning. Unless…”

He was cut short as yet more light erupted from the Repository, this time two beams, soaring skyward to join the others.

Seven radiant pillars now pierced the heavens, a sight of breathtaking majesty. Yet, the three elders could only stare in stunned silence.

“Impossible,” Song whispered, his voice laced with disbelief as he gazed at the sky. “Seven beams… that marks the seventh level! It cannot be!”

Lu, his spectral form rigid, simply stared, his mind reeling.

Chen was similarly overwhelmed. “What manner of cultivation is needed to reach the seventh level? There is no way Xu Mu possesses such strength! Unless… unless he possesses a rare celestial seed, one that bypasses even the need for testing to enter the seventh level!”

Even as the words left his lips, two more beams of light exploded from the Repository, completing the sequence. Nine radiant columns now reached into the clouds, a sight that crashed upon the minds of the three elders like a thunderclap.

Words failed them. They simply stood and gaped at the sky.

Five beams could perhaps be explained by a slight concealment of Xu Mu’s true power, a surprising but not entirely impossible feat. Seven beams, however, shattered their assumptions, making it impossible to attribute the phenomenon to anything less than a divine stroke of fate.

But nine… nine beams of light sent tremors through their very souls. There could be no other explanation. This was an unparalleled blessing, an Immortal Fate of the highest order.

The sheer impact of the nine beams was immense. Even the patriarchs of their respective families, when the Realm of Lightning first opened and they sealed this shard-continent, had only reached the eighth level.

The ninth… no one had ever breached the ninth level.

Meanwhile, Wang Lin’s journey ended as his feet reached the top of the staircase. He stepped forward, and his vision cleared, revealing a small pavilion.

The pavilion was not large, and upon the walls hung a dozen wooden frames, each containing a single, softly glowing jade tablet.

Directly before him, upon the wall, was a painting. It depicted a tree, half of its leaves withered and brown. At its base sat a child, seemingly meditating in a lotus position.

In the upper left corner of the painting, written in ink, were the words:

“Summon winds and conjure rains, transform beans into soldiers. Earth cracks and mountains crumble, the shadowed moon finds clarity.”

Wang Lin studied the painting, unable to discern its true meaning. The words, however, intrigued him.

“Summon winds and rains… these must refer to two separate techniques. Transform beans into soldiers, another technique. As for the latter half, ‘earth cracks and mountains crumble’ is similar to the first phrase. But what of ‘the shadowed moon finds clarity’?”

Unable to penetrate the painting’s mysteries, Wang Lin turned his attention to the rest of the room. It was simple, even spartan, lacking even a table. Upon the floor was a solitary stone cushion, deeply worn, bearing the marks of long years of use.

Wang Lin approached and examined the cushion. It appeared ordinary, unremarkable. Yet, when he reached out to touch it, his hand passed straight through.

A frown creased his brow. He turned his gaze to the jade tablets on the walls, and after a moment, his expression darkened.

His initial excitement evaporated.

Though each frame held a jade tablet, they were all like the cushion – illusory, non-existent.

With a sigh, Wang Lin realized that everything in this room could be seen, but not touched. He was trapped within a mirage.

“I should have stayed on the fourth level. Surely, it could not be worse than this!” he muttered. His gaze swept the room, finally settling upon the painting before him. With a thoughtful expression, he crossed his legs, sat upon the floor, and fixed his eyes upon the artwork, his mind sinking into deep contemplation.
“The Ninth Layer, graced by a Celestial Sovereign, could be no simple matter. What may appear as illusion to my eyes, a mere flick of the wrist might unravel for such a being. Thus, the presence of this painting here seems strangely significant.”

Wang Lin fixed his gaze upon the canvas, studying it with unwavering intensity.

Time trickled by, and Wang Lin slowly regained his composure. Unwilling to leave the Ninth Layer empty-handed, he reasoned that the painting before him held the key.

Abandoning all reservations, he focused his mind, pouring his entire being into the artwork, seeking to decipher its secrets.

Gradually, Wang Lin’s expression softened, his eyes unblinking, his spirit wholly absorbed by the painted scene, silently contemplating its essence. As time flowed, his eyelids gently closed.

Though his eyes were shut, the painting remained vivid in his mind’s eye. He felt as if he had stepped into its very world. After what seemed like an eternity, he opened his eyes, muttering to himself, “No… there’s a barrier, a veil that prevents me from truly merging with the painting.”

After a moment of contemplation, his eyes sharpened, drawn to the figure of a young acolyte beneath a tree within the artwork.

He remembered distinctly that the acolyte had been seated in meditation, his hands still. Yet now, the painted boy’s fingers were intricately intertwined in a mudra.

This discovery sent a jolt of energy through Wang Lin, and he began to observe with renewed focus.

More time passed, a full seven days melting away. Through his focused study, Wang Lin realized that the acolyte’s hand gestures shifted every two or three hours, but so subtly that only the most meticulous observation could detect the change.

Over those seven days, Wang Lin committed the entirety of the acolyte’s mudras to memory. On the eighth day, he sat cross-legged, his own hands mimicking the gestures, forming each mudra in turn. With each hand seal, the entire chamber shuddered. Startled, Wang Lin paused, examining his surroundings. After a moment’s hesitation, he resumed.

Again, the same mudra produced another tremor in the chamber, as if it were shrinking. Astonished by this discovery, Wang Lin accelerated his hand movements, but after a few more tremors, the chamber fell silent. Baffled, Wang Lin turned his gaze back to the painting, his hand seals growing ever faster. He began to feel as if his physical form was dissolving, his very soul drifting towards the painted world.

As he completed the final mudra, Wang Lin’s mind erupted in a cacophony of sound. He slumped to the floor, his soul reeling, his vision blurring.

When his sight cleared, Wang Lin’s soul recoiled in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief.

He was surrounded by a void. Behind him stood a great tree, half withered, its leaves rustling in a gentle breeze.

Looking down, Wang Lin saw that he was clad in a Taoist robe. He had entered the painting and become the acolyte himself! Stunned by this bizarre transformation, Wang Lin rose to his feet and gazed at the sky. To his upper right, he noticed several blots of black ink. These were the very words he had seen from outside the painting: “Summoning Wind and Calling Rain, Scattering Beans to Form Soldiers, Earth Shattering, Mountains Collapsing, Moon – Sometimes Clear.”

As Wang Lin watched, the words began to change, dissolving into droplets of ink that fell like rain upon the surrounding void. Instantly, the emptiness vanished, replaced by a cacophony of voices.

Out of the void materialized countless figures, their faces obscured. Each figure, upon appearing, immediately sat cross-legged. Soon, Wang Lin was surrounded by a dense throng of indistinct shapes.

A low murmur of conversation filled the air, but strangely, Wang Lin could hear the sounds, yet could not distinguish the words.

Suddenly, the cacophony ceased. From the void emerged a single figure, equally indistinct, yet his very presence radiated an aura of immense power.

The figure floated in the air, sitting in a meditative posture, as if smiling. A clear voice echoed through the scene.

“Today, Xiaoyaozi unveils his first painting for the Vault of Celestial Treasures. A Sovereign lends his brush, and even calls me to observe. Therefore, I have invited fellow immortals to gather for this small event, and to listen to my discourse as the painting is created. My Path is thus!”

As the figure spoke, he raised his right hand, unleashing a tempestuous wind. This wind was black, filling the heavens, and sweeping across the sky, it transformed into nine black dragons. Their roars and immense presence caused the very heavens to tremble. The dragons opened their jaws, spewing forth a chilling wind. The power of this wind was so immense, so unimaginable, that Wang Lin felt his very existence flickering like a candle flame, vulnerable to being snuffed out by a single gust. It seemed that all life, all creation, could be shattered by its touch. The strange power within exceeded even Wang Lin’s wildest imaginings.

“This is the Summoning of Wind! The Great Dao made simple. The Summoning of Wind is thus, capable of extinguishing the flame of all life!”

Wang Lin’s soul shuddered violently. A pain beyond comprehension coursed through him, as if he were being torn apart. His spirit began to crumble, splintering into fragments.

Just then, a gentle force emerged from the void, gathering Wang Lin’s shattered soul. A clear voice chuckled, “The Sovereign’s art is indeed extraordinary! This art of Summoning Wind… I shall use it as the subject of a verse upon Xiaoyaozi’s painting. This painting shall be placed in the Ninth Layer of the Vault of Celestial Treasures. In the future, those blessed with Celestial Fate will enter the painting to seek enlightenment. Whether they grasp its essence rests upon their fate!”

As the voice spoke, Wang Lin’s fragmented soul was gathered up, transformed into ink, and swept across the canvas, forming two characters.

“Summoning Wind!”

At that moment, a tremendous force emanated from the characters, catapulting Wang Lin’s soul back, reassembling it. His vision blurred, and he was ejected from the painting, returning to his physical body lying on the floor of the chamber.

Wang Lin gasped, his eyes snapping open, revealing his shock. The echoes of the painting still resonated in his mind.

“This… is this Celestial Fate?” Wang Lin inhaled deeply, staring in disbelief at the painting on the wall. Everything he had experienced felt so real.
“Celestial Emperors… Immortals Sovereigns… and even the reclusive painter, the Wanderer of Xiaoyao…” Wang Lin murmured, his gaze fixed upon the tapestry. At last, the veil lifted from his eyes. The artistry resonated with a familiar echo, mirroring the style of the paintings he had discovered within his own enchanted storage realm!

A long silence descended. Then, Wang Lin rose, his back turned to the countless jade treasures lining the gridwork chambers. He strode away, for in comparison to the celestial art now etched upon his mind, the riches of the nine levels paled into insignificance.

As he departed the ninth level, a staircase materialized beneath his feet. He descended, his gait measured, his eyes still clouded with the lingering visions conjured by the painting. A sense of unreality clung to him, as though he were yet adrift within its woven spells.

“Celestial art… the Breath of the Wind!” Wang Lin breathed, each word a prayer. He reached the lowest step, and in that instant, he vanished without a trace.

Upon the shard-continent where the Vault of Relics stood, Chen, Lu, and Song had, after days of agonizing deliberation, begun to recover from their shock. But disbelief still gnawed at their hearts, a festering wound of wonder and suspicion.

Unbidden, a serpent of envy coiled within each of them. This jealousy, once a mere flicker, grew into a conflagration, threatening to consume all reason.

For what celestial art dwelled upon the ninth level? They could only speculate, and with each conjecture, their desire for possession intensified.

At that moment, the shimmering gateway of the Vault of Relics pulsed with light. Wang Lin emerged, his eyes vacant, his steps uncertain. He passed by the three elders, a figure lost in the wilderness of his own mind, and continued onward, his destination unknown.

The elders exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. They perceived Wang Lin’s disoriented state, and within each of their eyes, a ruthless determination ignited.

“Forgive me, Fellow Daoist Xu,” Chen, the elder of the Chen clan, hissed under his breath. “Though I championed your entry into the family, I find my hunger for the celestial art of the ninth level outweighs my loyalty. If you were clear of mind, I might hesitate, but this… this daze is a gift from the heavens, an opportunity bestowed upon me!” A murderous glint flickered in Chen’s aged eyes.

Without further hesitation, the three elders surged forward, each wielding their most potent artifacts and channeling their most formidable celestial spells. They converged upon Wang Lin, their intent as sharp and unforgiving as the edge of a forgotten god’s blade.