The earth shuddered, and Wang Lin felt a tremor rising from the abyss below, a disturbance that shook the very bedrock. The very ground quaked in response to this surging power.

The force of the tremor amplified as it spread across the land, causing the entire Eastern Ember Star to tremble violently.

“What is this…?” a serene voice echoed, resonating through the heavens in that instant. It carried the weight of ages, as if it did not originate from the earth itself, but had pierced through the veil of time and space, emanating from the ancient realms of cultivation tens of thousands of years past.

Qing Shui’s right eye flashed a crimson hue as he gazed down at the ground before him, his expression unwavering.

“The war between the Alliance and the Celestial Slaughterer has begun. This individual, first among the Sealed Immortals, seeks the fulfillment of the Xiang family’s promise. However, his request is beyond my mortal ability. I beseech our ancestor to enact the Celestial Weaver’s Art!” the elder Xiang spoke with reverence.

As Xiang Yundong finished his plea, Wang Lin felt an unimaginable spiritual sense wash over him, pinning him in place. In a moment of profound terror, he fought to suppress the urge to flee, striving instead to maintain an illusion of calm.

The divine sense was overwhelming, yet it did not fully penetrate his being. Within the third eye on his brow, the power of his origin pulsed, a protective barrier that enveloped him.

The spiritual gaze swept over him and then retreated.

“Let him descend alone!” the ancient voice boomed, and the ground before them quaked more violently than before. A fissure rent the earth, revealing a gaping chasm that plunged into the depths.

Xiang Yundong bowed in acquiescence, then turned to Wang Lin, his face etched with a faint smile. “Xu Mu, descend. I will await your return.”

Wang Lin nodded, glancing towards Qing Shui.

Qing Shui’s crimson eye flared once more as he spoke with a chilling tranquility, “If any dare harm a hair on his head, the blood of every clan on this Eastern Ember Star shall stain the soil.” Though his tone was soft, the underlying ferocity caused Xiang Yundong to grimace, a sound that was barely audible.

Gratitude shone in Wang Lin’s eyes. Few had earned his appreciation in this life – Situ, Zhou Yi, Dun Tian… and now, Qing Shui.

Taking a deep breath, Wang Lin bowed to Qing Shui and Xiang Yundong, then turned and stepped into the chasm, descending into the unknown.

The fissure was vast, and Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed as he plunged downwards. The walls were smooth and featureless, radiating an aura of utter lifelessness, a palpable sense of decay.

As he descended, the air grew heavier, the aura of death more suffocating. By the end of the path, it had thickened, becoming almost tangible, and the weight began to constrict around Wang Lin.

He felt as though he was a flickering candle flame, besieged by a relentless, icy wind that threatened to extinguish him at any moment.

The oppressive death aura intensified as he fell, imbued with a savage energy. Waves of chilling cold clawed into Wang Lin’s body. Had it been any other cultivator, they would have been instantly paralyzed, their vital flame snuffed out in an instant.

However, in the first steps of his path to immortality, Wang Lin had cultivated the very essence of death and reincarnation. His early techniques, the Yellow Springs Ascension Sutra, had instilled in him a deep familiarity with the essence of decay.

Now, he circulated his primal essence, causing the Yin and Yang Fish to materialize around him, a swirling vortex of opposing forces. This protected him, pushing the encroaching death aura away and mitigating its most potent effects.

The chasm seemed endless, devoid of any bottom. After a half-shichen, Wang Lin was still descending. His expression remained serene as he circulated his primal essence, opening his Karma Dao and integrating it with his surroundings.

After what seemed like an eternity, and as the death aura grew so thick that even the Yin and Yang Fish began to slow, his body jerked, and his feet touched solid ground.

Before him lay a tunnel, shrouded in an impenetrable darkness. Even Wang Lin’s heightened senses could only discern the barest outlines of the space beyond.

“Come hither!” the ancient voice echoed, resonating within the silent tunnel, filled with an eerie quality. After a moment’s hesitation, Wang Lin’s eyes hardened with resolve, and he stepped forward, venturing into the darkness.

The tunnel was not long, and after a half-shichen’s walk, Wang Lin reached its end. The sight that greeted him caused his eyes to widen in disbelief.

Heads! Countless heads, an ocean of heads.

Beyond the tunnel lay an impossibly vast space, stretching beyond his vision. As far as he could see, there was no end, only a boundless expanse of skulls, exuding a chilling, sepulchral aura.

The scene before him was a literal sea of heads!

Even Wang Lin’s iron will wavered. He involuntarily recoiled, his face contorted in horror.

There were so many skulls, beyond counting, a sight that would shatter the mind of any who dared to look upon them. An overwhelming aura of death churned into a tempest at the heart of this macabre landscape.

The impact of the death aura struck Wang Lin with the force of a physical blow, leaving him breathless. His horror reached its peak.

At the very center of the sea of heads, at the eye of the tempest, lay a platform constructed entirely of skulls, and a weathered, earth-toned coffin rested upon it. The coffin’s wood was crumbling, but radiating from it was a maddening aura.

“What is your name?” the ancient voice echoed from within the coffin, resounding throughout the chamber.

Wang Lin drew a deep breath, suppressing the overwhelming terror and the suffocating aura of death. He bowed respectfully and said, “This humble one is Xu Mu, and I salute you, honored ancestor.”

“So you are the one who seeks to invoke the Celestial Weaver’s Art?” The ancient voice was devoid of emotion, yet it emanated an oppressive presence that permeated the entire space.

“It is so,” Wang Lin replied, steeling his resolve and speaking with a surprising level of calm.

“I can assist you. However, the Xiang family’s promise alone is not sufficient. I will require half of your life force.”
A voice, etched with the echoes of eons, resonated forth as a wave of divine will. Yet, in its wake, the surrounding deathly aura intensified, thickening the air into a suffocating shroud.

Within the ghastly sea of severed heads, an unsettling tremor rippled. As the ageless words hung in the air, each skull stirred, its vacant sockets igniting with an eerie, spectral glow.

The sight was a spectacle of dreadful power. To Wang Lin, it appeared as though the countless skulls had awakened, their empty eyes imbued with a malevolent sentience, their collective gaze piercing him with frigid intensity.

The weight of those unseen legions crashed upon him, extinguishing his life force with alarming speed. A raven cascade of hair was swiftly streaked with the white of winter.

His youthful visage withered before his very eyes, transforming him into a man in the twilight of his years.

An unprecedented weakness washed over Wang Lin, seeping into his soul. His cultivation remained untouched, yet the sensation of decay lingered like a haunting specter.

“Yield forth the one you seek to restore!” the ancestor’s voice boomed, a command laced with ancient power.

After a moment of somber contemplation, Wang Lin reached into his storage pouch. A sphere of protective enchantment, cradling the nascent soul of Li Muwan, soared forth. But as it approached his outstretched hand, a violent surge of necrotic energy seized it, spiriting it away toward the heart of the swirling vortex.

In that desperate instant, Wang Lin forgot all semblance of reason, the insurmountable gulf between his power and the entity before him fading from his awareness. His eyes blazed crimson, and the crimson third eye upon his brow pulsed with raw, untamed energy.

“What treachery is this?!” Wang Lin roared, a primal cry of anguish and defiance, as he lunged forward in pursuit of the swirling vortex of death that held Li Muwan captive.

A chilling chuckle echoed from within the coffin, and a tendril of black miasma coiled around Wang Lin, seeking to bind him. Driven to the brink of madness, he unleashed the full force of his third eye. A fan of crimson energy erupted forth, striking the encroaching deathly shroud with devastating force.

The miasma shattered into nothingness, and Wang Lin surged forward, his speed exceeding the swiftest lightning, intent on reclaiming the enchanted sphere containing Li Muwan’s soul.

“Insolent mortal! I have merely claimed a portion of your life essence to enact the Ritual of the Weaver!” the ancient voice declared, halting Wang Lin in his tracks. He stood, his gaze fixed upon the looming coffin, his eyes gleaming with icy resolve.

Enshrouded in the deathly embrace, the protective sphere surrounding Li Muwan shattered with a resounding crack. To Wang Lin’s agonizing relief, the soul of Li Muwan remained unharmed, suspended serenely in the air.

“Ah, a mere sliver of a soul, forcibly tethered to this realm. No wonder you seek my aid to invoke the Ritual of the Weaver!”

Wang Lin remained silent, his gaze unwavering as he fixed his attention on the ancient coffin.

“When I was at the height of my power, I could have restored such a sliver of a soul with the Ritual of the Weaver, even coax it back to the waking world. Alas, I now possess but a third of my former strength!” As the ancestor spoke, the countless skulls in the surrounding sea flickered with a renewed spectral glow, unleashing a torrent of deathly aura that swirled around Wang Lin, encompassing him entirely.

Wang Lin offered no resistance. The necrotic energy began to draw upon his very essence, stealing away his vitality, his life force.

As his life ebbed away, Wang Lin’s hair turned stark white, falling in clumps to the ground. His flesh withered, etched with the deep lines of age.

His face, once youthful, aged rapidly, transforming him into a wizened old man, a mere echo of his former self.

Wang Lin’s eyes grew dim, and a profound sense of weakness enveloped him, multiplied tenfold. He felt a faint tug from the void, a summons from beyond.

It was as though some unseen force beckoned him, seeking to draw him away from this mortal coil.

After a millennium of cultivation, Wang Lin understood the nature of this pull. It was the wheel of fate, the cycle of reincarnation. His life force was nearing its end, and the celestial order had begun its call, just as it had beckoned Li Muwan in the moments before her demise.