Wang Lin vanished without a trace, only to reappear within the city walls, unseen, unheard.

Twilight bled across the land, painting the world in hues of violet and shadow. Wang Lin’s gaze fell upon the scene before him, his eyes drawn to the newly erected tombstones. With a soundless sob, he knelt upon the earth, two streams of tears tracing paths down his weathered cheeks.

He choked back a sob, a whisper escaping his lips, “Father, Mother, Tie Zhu… I have returned.”

The tears flowed freely now, each one a testament to the sorrow and longing that consumed him. He knelt there, lost in the echoes of the past, as the sands of time trickled by, an eternity compressed into a moment of grief.

Ta Shan and the Great-Headed Boy arrived as well, standing just behind him. Ta Shan remained his stoic, icy self, as always. But the Great-Headed Boy’s gaze was one of wonder and something like fear. He had not known where they were, but now, seeing Wang Lin’s reverence, he understood. This was the ancestral home of Xu Mu, Wang Lin’s human name. The Great-Headed Boy, who knew no family, felt a foreign pang of emptiness in his chest, and a flicker of something akin to longing. A ghost of a childhood he would never know.

Wang Lin gazed upon the spirit tablets, his heart aching with each passing moment. At last, he rose, his eyes tracing the lines of the familiar dwellings, as if transported back across the gulf of a thousand years. Back to the memories he held most dear, to the roots of his soul.

He pushed open the gate to the courtyard, the hinges groaning a mournful song beneath the weight of time. Beneath the ethereal glow of the moon, the scene was unchanged. The dining table stood where it always had, though the family that had once gathered around it were long gone.

Faintly, he could almost hear the voices of his past, carried on the whispering wind.

“Tie Zhu, how goes your studies?”

“Ah, Tie Zhu, you must study hard, you have talent, I know. This next examination could set you on the path to greatness. Don’t end up like your father, trapped in this village for eternity, alas…”

“Enough, you badger him constantly! Our Tie Zhu will pass with flying colors. I know it.”

“Tie Zhu, your Fourth Uncle is a good man. These past few years, thanks to his help, your father’s wood carvings have fetched a fair price. If you ever find success, do not forget to repay his kindness.”

A wave of sorrow emanated from Wang Lin, a palpable aura of grief. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped into the courtyard, crossing the threshold of a home he had not seen in a thousand years.

He opened the door to the house, the wood resisting after so many years. Though his face was that of a young man, his eyes betrayed the passage of ages. Like an ancient wanderer, he ran his hands across every surface, imbuing it with his memories.

Wang Lin traced the contours of the wall, visions of his childhood dancing in his mind’s eye. His heart grew heavy, overflowing with longing for his parents.

He bade Ta Shan and the Great-Headed Boy to wait outside, and retreated into the ancestral home. There, surrounded by the echoes of his past, he allowed himself to forget the cruel world of cultivation. He banished it from his mind. Here, there was only the warmth of his youth, the memory of happiness found in his parents’ embrace.

Silence reigned, enveloping him in a cocoon of tranquility. Within that quiet sanctuary, Wang Lin’s spirit was cleansed, renewed. The stories of his childhood unfolded in his mind, vivid and vibrant.

He sat there, lost in the past, his face shifting between joyful smiles and moments of profound sadness. Those days, those precious moments, he would never experience them again. Only in his memories could they live.

His joy was solitary, his laughter soundless. A tear traced a path down his cheek, a silent testament to his sorrow…

The moon waned, yielding to the dawn. As the first rays of sunlight pierced the darkness, bathing the world in golden light, they crept through the windows and spilled across the floor of the ancestral home.

Stirred by the dawn, Wang Lin emerged from his reverie. He took one last, lingering look around the house, etching it into his memory before rising to leave.

Ta Shan had stood vigil all night, unmoving as a statue. The Great-Headed Boy, his eyes brimming with conflicting emotions, remained close by. The night had forced him to confront his own tormented youth. The years of abuse had caused him to shut off many emotions, but tonight, he felt a flicker of something new. Something he could not name.

He thought of the mother who had despised him, the look of disgust in her eyes. He saw her in his minds eye. That memory had always been a source of pain. But now, it felt…less.

Wang Lin, Ta Shan and the Great-Headed Boy made no attempt to hide themselves. Their sudden appearance in the now bustling city was immediately noticed by the patrolling guards. Shouts echoed, and a wave of soldiers advanced upon them, their faces grim, their weapons bared. An aura of cold hostility spread through the air.

From every direction, a force of cultivators, their power ranging from mere Foundation Establishment to the lofty heights of Spirit Transformation, descended upon them. Divine Sense washed over the intruders, an attempt to restrain and subdue.

“Bold trespassers! How dare you defile the sanctity of the Royal Ancestral Shrine! Do you realize the enormity of your crime? One punishable by the annihilation of nine generations!” A voice thundered from atop the walls.

Blades flashed in the morning sun as the cultivators arrived, their anger genuine, their faces contorted with rage.

“You three slipped past our defenses and into the Royal Ancestral Shrine, you must all be cultivators yourselves. Whatever sect you hail from, were you not warned that none may tread upon this sacred ground save for those of the Royal Blood?” The speaker was an elder, a cultivator who had reached the Spirit Transformation stage.

Ta Shan remained impassive, his gaze never wavering, the Great-Headed Boy simply rolled his eyes.

Wang Lin lowered his gaze from the tombs of his parents, then looked up at the ten or so cultivators hovering in the sky, and spoke softly, “Who built these tombs?”

His voice was soft, but it carried a weight that defied its gentle tone. It was a command, a decree that brooked no argument.

The cultivators reeled from the shock of it, each man’s face suddenly ashen. The Spirit Transformation elder, more attuned to the subtle currents of power, felt it most acutely. He felt as though his own Intent was being swallowed whole.

An invisible force compelled him to answer, a feeling of impending doom should he refuse. Almost instinctively, he stumbled back, his voice strained, “This… This was erected by the Mortal Royal Family! It is the former home of their Ancestor, and the childhood residence of the Vermillion Bird Star Ancestor himself!”

As he spoke, his gaze fell upon Wang Lin once more, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. The man was vaguely familiar, but he could not place him.
“The Royal Bloodline…” Wang Lin murmured, casting a silent glance at the weathered tombstones of his parents. With a resolve forged in sorrow and duty, he turned, ascending into the cerulean expanse above, the hulking form of Tasan and the jovial visage of Big Head Child following close behind. Their departure seemed imminent, their journey set.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

A tempestuous roar, like the wrath of a celestial dragon, echoed from the horizon. Dark, roiling clouds, driven by unseen forces, surged towards them, blotting out the sun. From the heart of this swirling chaos, a voice, thick with righteous fury, boomed across the land.

“Insolent fools! How dare you trespass upon the sacred ancestral grounds of the Royal Clan! For generations, the Xuandao Sect of Zhao has been entrusted with the stewardship of this hallowed place. Your actions betray a shocking disregard for our sect’s authority!”

As the bellowing subsided, a figure emerged from the turbulent clouds. An old man, his hair as white as winter snow, his eyes gleaming with the piercing light of honed power. With each stride he took, a palpable aura, the undeniable mark of a nascent Infant Soul cultivator, radiated outward, silencing the wind and bending the very air to his will.

The surrounding cultivators, witnessing the old man’s arrival, bowed their heads in deferential respect. His prestige, woven from years of dedication and strength, was clearly paramount in this land.

“Xuandao Sect…” Wang Lin’s gaze softened slightly as he regarded the elder, a flicker of understanding dancing in his eyes. He offered a curt nod, his voice calm and measured. “You have achieved the Infant Soul stage. Does this mean the kingdom of Zhao has ascended to the Fifth Grade of Cultivation?”

The old man, his anger still simmering, paused, a furrow appearing on his brow. He retorted, “The Kingdom of Zhao achieved Fifth Grade status three centuries past. This is known to every cultivator on Suzaku. Who are you, stranger?” Despite his gruff words, a disquieting sense of familiarity tugged at the edges of his memory, a feeling that he had encountered this enigmatic figure somewhere in the distant past.

“Fifth Grade…” Wang Lin lowered his eyes, taking in the fertile lands below. A subtle smile played upon his lips, born of a quiet joy. He remembered Zhao as a humble Third Grade kingdom in his youth. Time, it seemed, had been kind, elevating it to a level he had only dreamt of.

Raising his gaze once more, Wang Lin studied the old man intently. It was then that he noticed something subtle, an ethereal whisper that sent a ripple of recognition through his soul. A faint, almost imperceptible trace of energy, an echo of his own being, lingered within the old man’s aura.

He recalled the time, long ago, when he had attained the Celestial Transformation in Zhao and scattered ten Spiritual Seeds upon the land. This elder, he realized, must have been one of the chosen few.

“All these years, it has been the Xuandao Sect that has guarded this place?” Wang Lin asked, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. “Are all the cultivators here disciples of your sect?”

The old man, his brow deeply creased, scrutinized Wang Lin and his companions. The fire of his initial anger inexplicably waned, replaced by a strange sense of kinship towards the enigmatic figure before him. Hesitantly, he replied, “It is not solely the Xuandao Sect. Across Suzaku, various sects rotate their disciples to serve as guardians. Those chosen are individuals who have demonstrated exceptional merit, profound potential, or are deemed worthy of focused development within their respective orders.”

“The safeguarding of the Royal Clan’s ancestral grounds is considered a profound honor amongst all cultivators of Suzaku!” The elder spoke with surprising candor, even he himself questioning the reason for his uncharacteristic openness.

Wang Lin’s gaze swept over the other cultivators, assessing their talents. It was clear, even to his seasoned eyes, that the elder spoke the truth. Their aptitudes were undeniable.

After a moment of contemplative silence, Wang Lin sighed softly, a touch of poignant emotion coloring his voice. “Thank you, all of you,” he said, his gratitude genuine. With a sweeping gesture of his sleeve, an immense, gentle force radiated outwards, coalescing into shimmering particles of light. These radiant motes descended upon every cultivator, even the soldiers standing guard with their weapons, imbuing them with their celestial grace.

The cultivators gasped, their bodies jolting slightly as a wave of warmth flooded their veins. Their expressions shifted, a mixture of confusion and wonder etched upon their faces.

“You…” The Infant Soul elder stared at Wang Lin, his bewilderment growing with each passing second. The sense of familiarity intensified, pressing upon him like a forgotten memory struggling to surface.

“You have done well. My Spiritual Seed did not fall upon barren soil,” Wang Lin stated simply, turning to depart. Tasan and Big Head Child followed closely behind, their figures fading into the ethereal distance.

“Spiritual Seed… Seed…” The old man’s body trembled violently as understanding finally dawned. He recognized the source of that faint, familiar energy. His face contorted in a surge of emotion, a level of elation he had not experienced in centuries. He cried out, his voice laced with awe and reverence, “The Ancestor of the Wang Clan!”

The pronouncement echoed amongst the assembled cultivators, sending tremors of shock and wonder through their hearts. They stared at the receding figures, disbelief warring with nascent faith.

“He… He is the Ancestor of the Wang Clan?”

“The protector of Suzaku, the single most revered figure in all the ages… Wang Lin, the Ancestor of the Wang Clan!”