A pall of death, swirling about him, had drunk deep of Wang Lin’s vital essence. Now, with a reluctant sigh, it loosened its grip and surged towards Li Muwan. It spiraled before her, and the lifeblood wrenched from Wang Lin’s form was channeled, by an arcane art, directly into her nascent soul, her Yuan Ying.

“The Ritual of the Seventh Evening,” intoned the Ancestor of the Xiang Clan, his voice like dry leaves rustling, “demands perseverance for seven days. If this Yuan Ying can endure that long, then assuredly, it shall awaken and be restored.”

Wang Lin, silent and hollow-eyed, gazed upon Li Muwan’s Yuan Ying. Within his heart, there resided neither regret nor lament.

As if sensing his sacrifice, Li Muwan’s essence quivered. Her Yuan Ying, spectral and frail, possessed no eyes to weep, yet a profound, silent sorrow emanated from its ethereal form.

The deathly aura, a conduit now, relentlessly ferried life force into her being. Slowly, painstakingly, Li Muwan’s Yuan Ying began to solidify, to regain its lost substance.

Time, like grains of sand, slipped through their fingers. The first day passed, then the second…

But on the third day, the nascent soul, in its slow return to wholeness, faltered and ceased its progress. For the life force of Wang Lin was utterly spent.

“Alas,” breathed the Ancestor, “the Ritual of the Seventh Evening is a technique born of ancient ages, a supreme art for defying fate itself. So potent is it that even the dead may be fully restored to life, provided there is sufficient life force to fuel the transformation!

“Yet the transmission of vitality through this ritual is not equitable. Seven evenings it demands, each representing a stage in this perilous dance with oblivion. With each passing day, the required life force multiplies a hundredfold, until, on that final, pivotal seventh day, the need is unimaginable! Your own essence, mortal though you are, could only sustain the process for two days, perhaps a sliver into the third, even were I not to claim half as payment for my…assistance.”

He paused, his gaze like winter ice. “Xu Mu, have you access to any further source of life essence?”

With no fresh influx of vitality, Li Muwan’s Yuan Ying once more began to dissipate, this time with greater speed and ferocity, as if poised to shatter into oblivion and disappear forever.

“Continue…to draw from me,” Wang Lin whispered, his eyes soft as he regarded Li Muwan. This woman, who had waited centuries for him, bound only by the whisper of a promise.

A thousand years spent treading the lonely path of cultivation, and only this one had found her way into the depths of his heart. And only now, after her departure, in the endless solitude and fragmented memories, did he understand the truth: he had always cared… deeply.

He watched her, his gaze unwavering, as she teetered on the precipice of existence, a lost soul seeking a home.

A distance lay between them, not vast, but like the banks of a river. On one side stood he, and on the other, she. Between them flowed a current of a thousand years of pain and sorrow, a river inexorably flowing towards the sea of eternity. Yet even the fiercest currents could not wash away the steadfast gaze, the unwavering wait.

In the air, he could almost hear the plaintive melodies of her zither, laden with sadness. In the rise and fall of its notes, a bridge was forged between them, allowing them, even in this desperate hour, to feel the other’s presence.

The deathly shroud, once solely hers, now severed, one tendril caressing Li Muwan, the other entwined about Wang Lin.

Life essence was drained from his body, flowing along the conduit of death, into Li Muwan’s Yuan Ying. Even if a hundred, a thousand times his own vitality was needed to grant her a single breath of continued existence, Wang Lin would not falter.

He watched her in silence, a gentle smile gracing his lips. His features aged before her eyes, wrinkles etching themselves deeper, his vitality draining away, making him appear as if he had lived through a thousand years of life in a single heartbeat.

His reserves were dwindling rapidly. With each desperate surge of energy, Wang Lin felt the call of the Heavens, drawing him towards the void.

He exhaled a deep breath, and a surge of potent vitality exploded from within him, a storm of life energy that swept through the chamber. Even the countless heads impaled upon the walls flickered with a spectral light.

“Eh!”

From within its coffin, the Ancestor of the Xiang Clan stirred. The lid shifted, revealing a skeletal husk, as dry and withered as ancient parchment.

A cold, merciless gaze, tinged with the chill of death, flickered within those hollow sockets, fixing itself upon Wang Lin.

Across the vastness of the Alliance Star System, within a hidden sect, Wang Lin’s true self, his Main Body, masquerading as a low-ranking disciple, sat in meditation. Within him, life essence was being consumed at a terrifying rate.

Yet he did not resist the draining flow. He simply gazed serenely at the heavens, his silence profound.

His normally icy stare was softened by a tenderness, a love as fragile as the dawn.

The life force, channeled from his Main Body through an arcane connection, poured into the Yuan Ying of Li Muwan. Slowly, imperceptibly, it began to solidify once more.

Time crawled onward, the third day bleeding into the fourth…

On the fifth day, the Main Body of Wang Lin was fading, his fiery red hair turning dull and lifeless. The loss of life was staggering, too great even for his ancient godhood to bear.

But as twilight fell, after four long days of struggle, Li Muwan’s Yuan Ying was whole again, the pall of death banished. A fragile spark of life flickered within.

But without a continued source of energy, it was not enough. The light could not hold.

Four days was the limit. Wang Lin could not endure to see the fifth dawn.

“I can do no more,” stated the Ancestor, his voice devoid of emotion. “Your essence is insufficient to restore the Yuan Ying.” He settled back into his coffin. A vortex of death swirled around them, seizing both Li Muwan and Wang Lin, hurling them through the passages, out into the gaping chasm.

As he was flung through the air, Wang Lin moved with desperate speed. Ancient seals and wards flickered to life, surrounding Li Muwan’s Yuan Ying, slowing the rate at which that precious spark of life could extinguish.

The moment they emerged from the fissure, two pairs of eyes focused upon Wang Lin.

Qingshui, seeing him in his broken state, could only stare in stunned silence.
As for Xiang Yundong, he seemed to have foreseen this very moment, casting a fleeting glance upon Wang Lin before withdrawing his gaze.

Lin, with solemn reverence, placed Li Muwan’s nascent soul into a pouch of holding. Turning to face Qingshui, he spoke with a newfound serenity, “Elder Brother, let us depart.”

Qingshui sighed inwardly, his sleeve swirling with unseen power. He swept Wang Lin along, tearing a rift in the heavens, and together they fled afar.

Xiang Yundong watched in the direction of Wang Lin’s vanishing form, a faint smile playing upon his lips. He murmured to himself, “Xu Mu, though I manipulated you, I concealed nothing. Your keen mind surely perceived my intent. To restore your nascent soul, I offered a great measure of my own life force. Thus, we are now even!”

Across the star-strewn void, Qingshui and Wang Lin became twin streaks of light, briefly illuminating the darkness.

“Elder Brother, are you familiar with this object?” Throughout their flight, Wang Lin had remained silent. Now, he broke his vigil, reaching into his pouch of holding. Instantly, the Coffin of Avoidance appeared before him.

Qingshui paused, his eyes fixed upon the arcane vessel. A crimson glimmer flickered within their depths. After a long silence, he spoke in a low voice, “I have never beheld such a thing. Yet, I sense within it a potent aura of the celestial realms. Furthermore, a singular power permeates it, akin to some ancient rule. It seems designed for healing, perhaps?”

Hearing that even Qingshui was unfamiliar with the coffin, Wang Lin sighed softly. He retrieved it, muttering, “It is indeed meant for healing, though the means eludes me.”

Qingshui did not press the matter. He gazed out at the distant stars, and after a moment of contemplation, spoke again, “Xu Mu, though you did not enter the Ascendant Pool, you have nonetheless proven your worth. My path leads to the Alliance, where great dangers await. I fear I cannot have you at my side. Therefore, within the Alliance’s domain, you must rely solely upon your own strength.”

Wang Lin nodded, a trace of bitterness clinging to his heart. He could feel the call of the Heavenly Dao growing ever stronger.

“To summon winds, to conjure rain, to sow seeds of soldiers – of these three celestial arts, you have mastered the summoning of winds. I shall now impart to you the secrets of the remaining two!” Qingshui declared. He formed a sword with two fingers and pressed it to Wang Lin’s brow. A torrent of pure celestial energy surged through Wang Lin’s form in that instant.

At the same time, knowledge of the arts of summoning rain and sowing seeds of soldiers bloomed within Wang Lin’s mind. Qingshui’s actions were nothing less than a transmission of inheritance!

Such inheritance differed vastly from mere instruction. Only between the closest of masters and disciples was it practiced. It ensured the fidelity of the arts passed down, preventing any loss or misinterpretation. It allowed the recipient to grasp the deepest understanding without unnecessary detours.

Qingshui watched Wang Lin, sighing inwardly. Initially, his concern for Wang Lin stemmed solely from his obligation to his own master. His master’s words, though spoken in jest, were the only means by which Qingshui could repay his debt upon awakening. He held little personal regard for Wang Lin; even his rescue was undertaken purely out of duty.

Wang Lin’s failure to enter the Ascendant Pool had disappointed Qingshui greatly. He had decided then that this would be the end of the bond between Wang Lin and his master. From that point forward, there would be no further connection, and he would dedicate himself to unraveling the mysteries of the celestial realm’s collapse and the cause of his own past madness!

But all that changed when he witnessed Wang Lin’s willingness to sacrifice nearly all of his life force for the sake of a woman. It stirred within Qingshui long-dormant memories.

Gazing at Wang Lin, Qingshui saw a reflection of his former self, a searing pain rising within him. He could never forget the sight of the blood-soaked ground upon his awakening, the closed eyes of his beloved, and her tragic beauty.

In that moment, his heart had shattered!

Woven with melancholy, Qingshui’s gaze softened. No longer did he see Wang Lin as a mere means of repaying his master, but with a touch of tenderness.

“You did not enter the Ascendant Pool, and thus, these celestial arts may not reach their full potential. I have little else to bestow upon you, so I shall grant you a strand of celestial essence to merge with your being, aiding you in the execution of these arts!”

The celestial essence flowed into Wang Lin’s body, but Qingshui did not reclaim it. Instead, guided by Wang Lin’s internal energies, it transformed into a single, golden bean shimmering with celestial light, which settled within Wang Lin’s nascent soul.