Wang Lin’s gaze sharpened. The man held no trace of spiritual power, nor could he possess any divine soul essence, yet he flew. Clearly, he was no ordinary being.

More importantly, the sigils etched upon the man’s face stirred a haunting familiarity within Wang Lin. Seeing the man retreat, Wang Lin surged forward without hesitation, giving chase.

As Wang Lin burst forth, the spatial rift behind him swiftly mended itself, vanishing completely.

The man’s terror intensified. As he retreated, the runic markings upon his face writhed, extending to his brow. In an instant, a seven-leafed plant bloomed upon his forehead.

As the plant unfurled its leaves, an otherworldly power enshrouded the man, granting him a burst of speed that defied comprehension. With a flicker, he seemed to teleport, vanishing from sight.

Wang Lin’s eyes widened at the sight, a gleam of realization dawning within them.

“An Emissary of the Fallen Realm!”

He moved even faster, his right hand forming a mystical gesture. Primordial force coursed through his veins as he slammed his palm against the void. Immeasurable power rippled outwards, distorting the fabric of reality. The air ahead shimmered and buckled, revealing the fleeing emissary, his teleportation foiled.

The man’s eyes widened, confusion giving way to sheer dread. Before him stood Wang Lin, his gaze piercing, unwavering.

A strangled cry escaped the man’s lips as he stumbled back. Wang Lin’s brow furrowed. He reached out, his hand grasping the void. The retreating man froze, as though seized by an invisible hand, and was yanked back towards Wang Lin’s side.

As Wang Lin held the man captive, ready to question him, a disturbance rippled through the air. He spun around, his senses on high alert. From the land below, a hundred trails of iridescent light shot upwards, each radiating a palpable aura of power. They hurtled towards Wang Lin with alarming speed.

In a heartbeat, the streams of light converged, dispersing a hundred paces before Wang Lin. They coalesced into a multitude of figures, clad in homespun robes.

These figures were all men, mostly middle-aged, their faces etched with a mixture of trepidation and defiance as they fixed their gaze upon Wang Lin.

Runes adorned their faces and exposed limbs, each brandishing the ghostly image of a plant upon their brow. Most had their leaves drawn tight, revealing only a glimpse of their shape.

An elder, his face a tapestry of wrinkles beneath a crown of white hair, stepped forward. He gazed upon Wang Lin with a blend of awe and apprehension, his eyes darting to Wang Lin’s right hand.

“Celestial Immortal, what brings you to our humble abode?” the elder asked, his voice laced with deference. His eyes remained riveted upon the bestial tattoo on Wang Lin’s hand. Wang Lin maintained a mask of composure, but within him, a tremor of understanding ran deep. After millennia of cultivation, such unwavering control was second nature. Yet, the elder’s words stirred something profound within his core.

To be called a ‘Celestial Immortal’ by common folk was commonplace, but to hear such words from the emissaries held a weight of significance. And even more so, it was not a mere honorific. Had he not visited the halls of relics, Wang Lin may not have pondered the implications, but the situation had now become impossible to ignore.

“You can perceive my cultivation?” Wang Lin queried, his voice calm and measured.

The elder nodded, his gaze locked onto Wang Lin’s right hand, his voice rife with excitement as he said, “An Immortal of the Eighth Order. A humble servant such as myself can certainly discern it.”

Wang Lin fell silent, studying the elder. The title of “humble servant” and the unwavering attention to his hand painted a strange, almost unbelievable picture. A daring idea began to take form.

*Could it be that these people are ignorant of the fallen state of the Immortal Realm? If that is the case, then surely they have lived in isolation for countless eons!*

Breaking the silence, Wang Lin’s eyes gleamed as he spoke slowly, “How long has it been since a Celestial Immortal last graced your lands?”

The elder’s face clouded with sorrow, his voice heavy with respect. “Since Celestial King Xiaoyao delivered his final edict, many ages have passed. The specific span of time has been lost to us.”

“Xiaoyao…” Understanding dawned upon Wang Lin. This was why they focused on his hand. He raised his hand, revealing the bestial tattoo. Staring intently at the elder, he asked, “Do you recognize this?”

A fervor burned in the elder’s eyes. “The Celestial King Xiaoyao’s divine treasure, the Father-Mother Dao Bone, is immediately recognizable! Surely, Celestial Immortal, bearing such a treasure, you are closely tied to the King. Have you arrived seeking the Cauldron of Profound Shadow?”

Wang Lin scanned the elder, saying nothing, his gaze drifting to the land behind him.

The elder hurried to placate him. “My deepest apologies if our hospitality is lacking, please, come in and rest. Our Spirit Fruits have long matured, and I will immediately have them brought forth as an offering for the Celestial Immortal.”

With the elder leading the way, Wang Lin followed, his expression betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. The rest of the emissaries kept a respectful distance, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and apprehension.

The emissary he had captured, freed from Wang Lin’s grasp, regarded him with palpable fear.

Led by the elder, Wang Lin drew closer to the land, flying over it shortly after. Before him lay a vast, verdant plain.

As far as the eye could see, the green expanse stretched endlessly. A gentle breeze carried the scent of fresh grass, a soothing balm for the spirit. The elder continued forward without pause, guiding Wang Lin with utmost reverence.

At the heart of the plain lay a cluster of ancient buildings, scattered and weathered, imbued with the weight of ages.

The aura of time was faint, but Wang Lin, since delving into the art of soul extraction, was acutely sensitive to such things. A thousand paces from the buildings, Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed. He halted in mid-air, his gaze drawn downwards.

The grass beneath was indistinguishable from that of the outer plains, but Wang Lin’s knowledge of formations, honed by personal experience and tutelage from Li Yuan in the Immortal Realm of Lightning, allowed him to perceive the truth.

He instantly recognized the presence of a grand formation, a powerful seal protecting the buildings.

The elder, noticing Wang Lin’s scrutiny, said hastily, “Oh Celestial Immortal, that seal was placed by Celestial King himself to keep our people safe from the mist beasts.”

Wang Lin, unfamiliar with ‘mist beasts’, simply nodded, his thoughts hidden from view. A growing curiosity gripped his mind.

*Xiaoyaozi, emissaries from the fallen realm, and a cauldron of profound shadow… What is this place?* As Wang Lin contemplated, a commotion arose in the distance.