Upon the crimson star of Suzaku, within the capital city of the Great Dynasty, the entire royal bloodline had gathered. In the heart of the city, a vast plaza lay before them, upon which the gathered kin knelt, their faces a mixture of fervent anticipation and dread.

Silence reigned.

Before them stood the ancestral shrine, nestled within the heart of the royal city. Unlike the gilded halls of power, this place was marked by simple, unadorned stone. Within, rows of spirit tablets stood in silent vigil.

Wang Lin stood within the shrine, his gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar names etched upon the tablets. Finally, his eyes settled upon the topmost plaque, which read: “The Spirit of Ancestor Wang Zhuo.”

A wave of memories crashed over Wang Lin, visions of Wang Zhuo in his prime.

He had returned, but a chasm of mortality separated them.

Wang Zhuo had kept his promise, spoken so long ago to a younger Wang Lin. He had guarded the family line, allowing Wang Lin to pursue his path, until the very end of his mortal coil.

Wang Lin sighed, a whisper lost in the hallowed halls. This world, this star of Suzaku, felt alien to him. Even amidst his own kin, he felt no stirring of familial warmth, only a profound sadness.

For the first time, Wang Lin felt the true weight of ages, a relentless river of ice flowing around him, washing away the vibrant hues of memory.

Outside the shrine, the assembled members of the Wang clan dared not even breathe. Their hearts hammered in their chests as they stared at the ancestral figure before them, ancient and powerful, a stranger yet somehow familiar.

At the forefront of the kneeling throng were eight elders. They too were prostrate, their gaze fixed on Wang Lin, sensing the profound weight of years and sorrow that clung to him.

Wang Lin’s gaze drifted down from the topmost plaque, settling upon another: “The Spirit of Ancestor Wang Yu.”

The name tugged at a distant memory. During the war between the Immortal Relic clan and the Suzaku Kingdom, young children had been captured. Wang Yu had been one of them.

“He too has passed beyond the veil…” The weight of the ages grew heavier on Wang Lin’s shoulders. A complex tapestry of emotions swirled within him. Centuries had slipped away, leaving him stranded in a transformed world, struggling to find even a single face from his past.

Lost in contemplation, Wang Lin turned and stepped out of the shrine. He looked upon his descendants, kneeling before him. Though their blood flowed in his veins, he felt no connection, no sense of kinship.

“Be warned,” he spoke, his voice echoing through the plaza. “From this day forth, no cultivator shall interfere in the affairs of mortals! As for this Great Dynasty, let those with ambition and wisdom rise to lead, and preserve its legacy.

But if only the foolish and corrupt remain, then let this power be cast aside! Though past transgressions have burdened you with resentment, I see only misery throughout this mortal realm. If this is the fruit of my clan’s actions, then let you be common folk!”

Having settled the debt to his descendants, Wang Lin cast a cold gaze upon the gathered kin. With a flick of his sleeve, he ascended into the heavens, the very air parting before him. Tasha and the giant-headed boy followed close behind, and the three-zhang tall giant, Lei Ji, also joined him.

Silence fell upon the plaza in the wake of Wang Lin’s departure. At long last, the eight elders rose, their faces grim. One of them fixed the surrounding clansmen with a steely glare and spoke in a voice that cut through the air: “We have angered the Ancestor, we are all at fault! From this day forward, the clan laws shall be rewritten, and any who violate them shall be put to death!”

Wang Lin walked the earth, his heart heavy, untouched by the settling of his family affairs. He turned his gaze towards the heavens, setting his course for the Cloud Sky Sect.

As he traveled, a sudden shift in the air drew his attention. Ahead, a colossal centipede, dozens of zhang in length, writhed across the land, carrying several cultivators upon its back. Among them stood a figure with the bearing of an immortal sage, clad in yellow robes and carrying a long sword.

The wind whipped around him, causing his robes to ripple, giving him an ethereal appearance.

“Yellow Dragon Sovereign!” The sight of the man sent a jolt through Wang Lin. His eyes narrowed, recognizing the face from a portrait he had seen in the Demon Spirit Land.

The centipede moved with incredible speed, disappearing over the horizon in the blink of an eye. But Wang Lin clearly felt a gaze, emanating from the centipede’s back, lock onto him.

“Not bad, little one!” The words reached Wang Lin’s ears as the gaze passed over him, followed by a faint laugh that quickly faded into silence.

Wang Lin’s brow furrowed as he watched the creature vanish. After a moment of contemplation, he quickened his pace, pressing on towards the Cloud Sky Sect. Something felt amiss, and Wang Lin chose not to act rashly.

Within the Cloud Sky Sect, Tie Yan remained seated in the main plaza, patiently awaiting Wang Lin’s arrival. He knew that Wang Lin would come.

Time was slipping through his fingers. His cultivation had regressed to the late stage of Transformation God, and he was unable to break through to Infant Soul, slowly being consumed by the march of years.

Given his natural talent and Wang Lin’s guidance, Tie Yan should have been far stronger. But a century ago, a fateful event had changed everything, a sacrifice he had made willingly.

On that day, a figure slowly emerged from the void before Tie Yan. Wang Lin stood within the Cloud Sky Sect, his eyes taking in the familiar scenes, finally settling upon Tie Yan.

Tie Yan stood up, his face alight with emotion. Taking a deep breath, he said respectfully, “Tie Yan greets my benefactor!”

“Where is Zhou Ru?” Wang Lin asked calmly.

A complex expression crossed Tie Yan’s face. After a moment of silence, he said with a bitter smile, “Zhou Ru left the Suzaku star a hundred years ago…”

Wang Lin raised his gaze to the heavens, a deeper melancholy settling over him. After a long sigh, he looked at Tie Yan and said, “Is that why your lifespan is dwindling, your cultivation regressing?”

Tie Yan nodded in silence. Zhou Ru’s cultivation was not high enough to leave Suzaku on her own. Tie Yan had willingly sacrificed his own lifespan and life force, combined with most of the immortal jade he could acquire, and with the help of Suzaku’s Crown Prince Zhou Wu Tai, had barely managed to push Zhou Ru’s cultivation to the Infant Soul stage.
“Blasphemy!” Wang Lin, his brow furrowed in displeasure, cast a fleeting glance at Tie Yan, but held his tongue. With a swift motion, his right hand struck his storage bag, unleashing a torrent of Immortal Jade, which shimmered and danced in the air. Then, Wang Lin’s hand clenched in a phantom grip.

A series of echoing crashes ripped through the air as the Immortal Jade shattered, dissolving into countless motes of pure Immortal Qi. This Qi swirled and coalesced within Wang Lin’s hand, forming a pulsating, cotton-like sphere, its essence so potent that it saturated the very air.

Holding the sphere aloft, he pressed it firmly against Tie Yan. The warrior’s body convulsed, as though an inferno had been unleashed within his veins.

Again, Wang Lin delved into his storage bag, and with a flick of his wrist, cascaded a mountain of Immortal Jade onto the plaza. Without another word, he turned and ascended into the heavens.

“Zhou Ru’s diminished power was the cause, and your restoration, the effect. As for this Jade, consider it my humble gratitude for your protection of my Wang family descendants. Henceforth, leave the affairs of the Wang clan be, and focus on your own cultivation!”

Tie Yan trembled as the Immortal Qi coursed through him, rapidly repairing his ravaged cultivation. He watched Wang Lin’s departing form, and with solemn respect, nodded his head.

Suddenly, nine radiant streaks of light rent the sky, descending with blinding speed to land before Tie Yan. They were nine longswords, driven hilt-deep into the earth, each radiating a palpable aura of sharp, honed steel. Their energies intertwined, forming a vortex of pure sword intent that threatened to scour the very heavens.

“These blades are my gift!” Wang Lin’s voice, carried on the ethereal winds, echoed from the boundless skies above, a whisper in the clouds.

Having settled his debt to the Cloud Sky Sect, Wang Lin journeyed on, his celestial spirit emanating the symbol of Yin and Yang. The balance of the world pulsed in his blood as he severed the final link to the Cloud Sky Sect, and his understanding of cause and effect deepened with each passing moment.

“In the second step of cultivation, the comprehension of intent is paramount. The intent of causality… for every cause, there must be an effect. Only when cause and effect cycle seamlessly, can one achieve true fulfillment. And through countless cycles, one can truly master the self-generation of causality. I did not expect my return to Suzaku to subtly align me with the Dao of Causality,” Wang Lin mused, closing his eyes. His divine sense unfurled like a tidal wave, engulfing the entirety of Suzaku Star in an instant.

“The Dao of Causality… I must repay all those who have shown me kindness, and atone for the mistakes of my past…” In deep contemplation, his divine sense swept across Suzaku like a raging tempest, its reach expanding until every corner of the world was imbued with his presence.

Within the Harmonious Union Sect of the Zhao Kingdom, a Fifth-Rank Cultivation Nation on Suzaku Star, a beautiful woman sat in lotus position in her cave on the sect’s rear mountain, gathering Qi.

The location was reserved for inner sect disciples, its spiritual energy far superior to that found elsewhere. As she meditated, a light chuckle echoed outside her cave.

“Senior Sister Zhang, do not forget your promise of the previous month! You were granted one month of cultivation in my cave, and in return, you will be my dual cultivation partner for three days! Only four days remain!” The voice was filled with a frivolous levity, and after a moment, it faded away.

The woman opened her eyes and sighed. As an outer disciple of the Harmonious Union Sect, she knew the spiritual energies of the outside world were insufficient to reach the ninth level of Qi Condensation, and she could only breakthrough in this place.

“The family genealogy speaks of Ancestor Zhang Hu, who was also a cultivator. A millennium ago, he joined the Heng Yue Sect. Alas, a thousand years of blessings have culminated in me becoming nothing more than an outer disciple of the Harmonious Union Sect.” A bitter smile touched her lips. As she closed her eyes to continue her cultivation, her gaze suddenly snapped forward, her eyes widening in shock.

Before her, without a sound, stood a young man clad in white robes. His features were unremarkable, yet he possessed an aura of indescribable power.

Wang Lin gazed serenely at the woman. With a flick of his storage bag, spirit stones, Immortal Jade, and a gleaming flying sword materialized before her.

“I have an old debt to your ancestor. The cause of the past, bears fruit today.”

With a melancholic sigh, he turned and departed, leaving the woman speechless in his wake. Zhang Hu was long dead, but Wang Lin’s divine sense had detected a faint trace of his bloodline within this woman.

In the War God Palace of the Fire Burning Kingdom, a Fourth-Rank Cultivation Nation, a beautiful woman adorned in a palace dress sat meditating within the grand hall. Having reached the late stage of Spirit Transformation, she was preparing to attempt the Infant Soul stage, surrounded by a meager amount of Immortal Jade.

Across from her sat a young man, appearing youthful, yet his eyes bore the weight of ages. His cultivation also reached the late stage of Spirit Transformation. He sighed, his voice heavy as he addressed the woman. “Junior Sister Zhou, the Immortal Jade is scarce, not enough for both of us to absorb. You must take it this time. If you can reach the Infant Soul stage, our Fire Burning Kingdom may be promoted!”

The woman pondered, then looked at the man. Her voice was soft, as she said, “Senior Brother Zhou… if I succeed in reaching the Infant Soul stage, we shall become dual cultivation partners…” As she spoke, a sigh escaped her lips, and for reasons she could not explain, the image of a man from her past surfaced in her mind.

The man chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. “My life force is waning. You need not feel obligated. I do this willingly. Besides, I heard… that he has returned to Suzaku Star…”

As they fell into silence, a figure materialized silently within the hall.

“Yang Xiong, Zhou Zihong, greetings after so long!” A wistful voice echoed, and the man and woman were startled and looked up.

Wang Lin, clad in white robes, gazed upon the familiar faces. Their appearance was unchanged, a result of the spiritual elixir he had gifted them in the Outer Realm Battlefield.

“Wang Lin!”

Wang Lin smiled, glancing at them. He offered no further words, but with a flick of his storage bag, a torrent of Immortal Jade cascaded forth, filling the entire hall.

“That you two should become partners is a cause for celebration. Consider this Jade, Wang’s gift!” Wang Lin clasped his hands in a sincere gesture of congratulation. After a moment, he produced a handful of elixirs, placed them down, and with a final bow, he turned and ascended into the heavens.

Within the Giant Demon Clan of a Fifth-Rank Cultivation Nation, Chi Hu’s features were largely unchanged, though bearing the marks of time. The lifespan of the Giant Demon Clan differed from cultivators. He had risen to become the clan’s chieftain.
**On Suzaku, Whispers of Destiny**

Chihu’s cultivation had reached the cusp of Spirit Transformation, a mere thread separating him from the realm of Ascendance. Yet, such was the might of his physical form and the awakening of his nascent arcane talents, that he dared challenge even Ascended cultivators.

In the centuries that passed, Chihu had grown in stature and stability. Upon Suzaku, his influence held sway, the Gigantes clan becoming a bulwark of the planet’s strength.

But the relentless march of time could not wash away the melancholy he held for a friend of bygone days. The return of Wang Lin to Suzaku was a matter known to him, as befitted his station. Even the clash between Wang Lin and the great-headed Imp had been witnessed through his divine sense, leaving his heart in turmoil.

One day, as he sat in meditative repose, his eyes snapped open. Before him, an apparition materialized – Wang Lin, as if etched into eternity, gazed upon him.

“Brother Chihu, it has been too long.”

“Zeng Niu…” Chihu uttered, a bittersweet pang in his voice. He could not immediately muster a proper greeting.

“Let bygones be bygones.” Wang Lin retrieved a pouch, from which a torrent of celestial jade cascaded, forming glittering mountains around them. He then produced a vial, within which shimmered the crimson blood of the Thunder Gigantes.

“These jades shall fuel your ascent to Ascendance. Within this vial lies the blood of your Gigantes forebears, that it may amplify the potency of your arcane talents. Farewell, Chihu!”

With a drawn-out sigh, Wang Lin turned and vanished.

Chihu stared at the place where Wang Lin had stood, his eyes a tempest of conflicted emotions.

**In the Sea of Demonic Cultivation, Seeds of Vengeance Sprout**

Deep within the Sea of Demonic Cultivation, amidst a desolate realm of bleached bones, an aged and world-weary figure sat in meditation. His cultivation had reached the late stages of Spirit Severing. With each breath, he drew in vast quantities of Yin energy, yet a grimace of agonizing struggle contorted his face.

Veins bulged upon his temples, forming a web of inky black markings. With relentless absorption, he managed to suppress the encroaching darkness.

At length, he exhaled a ragged breath, his face etched with exhaustion, his robes soaked in sweat. “Crimsonblood Ancestor,” he rasped, “If I, Li Qiqing, do not avenge this, then let me be forfeit of my humanity!” His features twisted with a primal, all-consuming hatred.

Such was the intensity of his animosity that a faint cerulean aura emanated from his body, extending a hundred paces. Drawn by this unfamiliar energy, a pack of demonic beasts emerged from the depths, their fetid breath reeking of malice. Yet, as soon as they crossed the boundary of the cerulean mark, they emitted agonized shrieks.

Their bodies withered with unnatural speed. A glint of cold fury sparked in the old man’s eyes. He surged forward, and in an instant, he was upon one of the beasts, his hands rending its flesh. He sank his teeth into the beast’s underbelly and sucked with savage ferocity! The beast withered before his eyes, reduced to a mummified husk in mere moments. He repeated the gruesome act, draining the life from each creature in turn.

His complexion flushed slightly, and he inhaled deeply. Turning back to his meditation spot, he gazed out across the Sea of Demonic Cultivation, his eyes burning with unrelenting hatred.

“Crimsonblood Ancestor… if not for your pursuit of my sister all those years ago, she would never have encountered that Wang Lin…” Li Qiqing, the elder brother of Li Muwan, and her only remaining kin.

Crimsonblood Ancestor was the very cultivator who had hunted Li Muwan. Li Qiqing’s loathing for him knew no bounds. He had risked everything to discover that Crimsonblood Ancestor now lurked within the Sea of Demonic Cultivation. He had come seeking vengeance, but his cultivation was insufficient. Instead, he had been branded with a Blood Mark, his existence now a living hell. Yet his hatred burned ever brighter.

A cold light flashed in his eyes. He knew that each time the Blood Mark flared, Crimsonblood Ancestor would become aware of his location. He was about to flee, when his eyes widened in shock. Every hair on his body stood on end as he stared ahead.

Barely a few paces before him, Wang Lin stepped forth. His face was a mask of conflicted emotion as he regarded the aged man before him.

Li Qiqing stared at Wang Lin for an age. Then, he recoiled, disbelief etched upon his face. “Who are you?” he demanded.

He had seen Wang Lin long ago, and in the intervening centuries, he had glimpsed statues erected in his honor. How could he not recognize him? Yet, the sudden appearance of Wang Lin sent tremors through his very soul.

He knew nothing of Wang Lin’s return to Suzaku! Wang Lin reached into his pouch and drew forth the Coffin of Heavenly Avoidance, which shimmered into existence and settled nearby. Within, Li Muwan lay serenely, a faint smile gracing her lips.

Li Qiqing trembled, his gaze locked upon the coffin. In that moment, the world faded away, leaving only the sight of his sister within the coffin. Centuries had passed since their last meeting, his only family in all the world…

“Sister…” Tears streamed down Li Qiqing’s face. The hardened, vengeful man dissolved, replaced by a brother’s profound love and sorrow.

“Before our parents departed, they entrusted you to my care. Sister, I am a failure… I could not protect you…” A look of unbearable grief ravaged Li Qiqing’s face as he gazed upon his sister. An agony like none he had ever known consumed him.

Wang Lin remained silent, standing beside him, a silent sentinel.

Time seemed to stretch to infinity as Li Qiqing sat by the coffin, lost in a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions.

Suddenly, several whistling sounds cut through the silence. Three streaks of sword light appeared, the foremost a crimson hue. Atop it stood an old man, his cultivation at the late Spirit Transformation stage, his expression one of arrogance. Behind him were two middle-aged men, their eyes filled with reverence for the elder.

“Li Qiqing, there’s nowhere left for you to run!” The old man’s voice was laced with scorn as he closed in. He spotted the coffin and its occupant, Li Muwan, and then noticed Wang Lin.

This peculiar scene startled him. He hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he studied the coffin. He immediately sensed the potent celestial energy emanating from it, and greed ignited in his eyes.

But as his gaze fell upon Wang Lin, he faltered, his brow furrowing in confusion. The man’s face seemed familiar. As he struggled to place him, Wang Lin cast the old man a look of chilling indifference.
His gaze, settling upon the aged one, sent tremors through the elder’s very being. The sword-light beneath his feet shattered, and he stumbled backward, a mouthful of crimson staining the earth as horror bloomed in his eyes. He knew this presence, this aura… “Wang… Wang Lin!”

A gasp escaped the old man’s lips, his soul teetering on the brink of oblivion. Without a word, he whirled, abandoning all pretense of dignity, and fled. As he retreated, his hands seized two of his closest disciples, flinging them forward like sacrificial offerings. “Explode!” he croaked.

Years of cautious paranoia had led him to plant a seed of control within each of his followers. Now, with a flick of his will, the two disciples erupted in twin gouts of gore, a crimson wave crashing towards the approaching figure of Wang Lin.

Seizing the moment of chaos, the elder scrambled away, his mind a maelstrom of terror. Only one thought consumed him: escape. A thorn had long festered in his heart, a memory from the borderlands of the Fire Fen Kingdom, where he hunted a female cultivator. A mere youth had dared to intervene, rescuing the woman and fleeing into the perilous Xi Mo Sea.

At the time, he had dismissed the incident as insignificant. But as time wore on, and the name “Zeng Niu” rose to prominence on Vermillion Bird Star, a chilling realization dawned. Zeng Niu… he was the same impudent youth who had rescued the woman and dared defy him! His terror only deepened with the unfolding events – the war between the Immortal Relic Clan and the Vermillion Bird Kingdom, Zeng Niu’s pivotal role, and the revelation that Zhu Quezi Zhou Wutai’s position had been granted by Zeng Niu, the same Wang Lin. He had waited, with bated breath, until Wang Lin’s departure from Vermillion Bird Star before allowing himself to breathe freely again.

And now, here he was. “He shouldn’t remember me…” the elder muttered, clutching at the frail hope of anonymity.

“It is you,” Wang Lin’s voice cut through the air, cold as the void. With a glance, he knew the truth. This craven soul was here to hunt Li Muwan’s brother, their feud likely rooted in the events of that fateful day.

A killing intent ignited in Wang Lin’s eyes. With a sweep of his sleeve, the wave of blood and gore unleashed by the elder’s self-sacrificing disciples was reversed, hurled back at the fleeing figure.

The old man, his face contorted in a mask of fear, attempted to teleport, but was too slow. The crimson tide engulfed him, a symphony of screams emanating from within the crimson cloud. Wang Lin thrust his hand forward, and a thunderous explosion ripped through the air. When the dust settled, nothing remained.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Li Qiqing remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the coffin containing his sister. In his eyes, only Li Muwan existed.

At long last, he drew a shuddering breath, awakening from his self-imposed trance. He stared intently at the still form of his sister, etching her image upon his soul. Then, without a word or a glance at Wang Lin, he rose and walked away.

With the elder’s demise, the blood markings that marred Li Qiqing’s face vanished.

Wang Lin watched him go, offering no word of comfort, no attempt to bridge the chasm between them. He understood Li Qiqing’s silent message: he desired no connection with Wang Lin, no debt, no entanglement.

With a sigh, Wang Lin retrieved the coffin of protection and vanished into the heavens, leaving the planet behind.

The threads of karma had been severed. Aloft, Wang Lin gazed down upon Vermillion Bird Star, a world scarred and diminished, its spiritual essence fading.

“Zhou Wutai,” Wang Lin murmured, “you are Zhu Quezi. I shall settle our debt with the very soul of Vermillion Bird Star.” A ripple distorted the air beneath his feet, and he was gone.

In the empty void, far from any inhabited star system, Wang Lin reappeared before a desolate world. Raising his right hand, he unleashed the full force of his cultivation, an early-stage Nirvana Scryer. His eyes blazed with power as he reached out and seized the planet with an unseen hand. The world shuddered, and an ancient aura emanated from its depths, as though some primordial force were being dragged forth.

He was extracting the star’s soul. He took only a third, before releasing his grip, leaving the planet scarred but not destroyed, and vanished once more. He traversed the cosmos, repeating his act on several other worlds, each extraction taking its toll. Alas, the Great-Headed Boy could not perform such delicate tasks. He had to do it himself.

After a day of tireless toil, bearing the weight of stolen star-souls, Wang Lin merged with the fabric of the heavens, returning to Vermillion Bird Star.

As his presence materialized, an ancient energy emanated from his right hand, where seven wispy orbs pulsed with the stolen essence of stars. Each orb thrummed with primeval power. Without hesitation, Wang Lin flicked one of the orbs into the sky, where it streaked toward the earth and merged with the soil.

Vermillion Bird Star shuddered, not in physical distress, but in the awakening of its ancient spirit. Deep beneath the surface, new spiritual veins bloomed, bringing life back to the dying world.

Wang Lin did not pause. He seized the second orb and cast it into the earth. The planet shook again, its ancient spirit stirring more violently. The network of spiritual veins expanded, feeding the very mountains themselves, which now radiated an ethereal light.

The common folk felt a sudden warmth beneath their feet, a surge of vitality that banished ailments and filled them with a sense of well-being.

The third, fourth, and fifth orbs were cast into the earth. At that moment, a sound echoed through the planet, a mournful cry that only a few of the most sensitive cultivators could hear: the cry of the Vermillion Bird itself, roused from its slumber.
A presence, akin to the mythical Vermilion Bird, stirred within the heart of Suzaku. Dormant energies, long extinguished from the land’s spirit veins, reignited with a vibrant surge. A palpable vitality bloomed anew, resonating throughout the very essence of Suzaku, enriching the air to a degree unseen in centuries. Not only did the ambient mana awaken, but it also stirred within every cultivator, drawing upon their inner reserves, coaxing their spiritual power into a self-propelled dance.

Witnessing this resurgence, Wang Lin merged the sixth soul-orb with the earth. Instantly, Suzaku’s emerald peaks grew richer, its jade rivers sparkled brighter, suffusing the world with a fragrant, nascent life force that rippled across the land.

As the final soul-fragment found its place, the soul of Suzaku pulsed with an awakened fervor. The intensified mana awakened dormant potential within the common folk. Those with faint inclinations toward cultivation found their latent gifts blossoming into vivid reality.

Further, countless low-ranking cultivators, buffeted by this surge of Suzaku’s revitalized spirit, found their stagnant bottlenecks shattered. Across the star, ascetics abandoned their duties, retreating into secluded meditation, ravenously absorbing the liberated energy of the world.

Suzaku Star, though not yet reaching the pinnacle of celestial perfection, was no longer a dying ember, but pulsed once more with the vibrant spirit of its golden age.

Zhou Wutai stood upon Suzaku Mountain, gazing skyward, a profound gratitude etched upon his features. He drew a deep breath and whispered, “Brother Wang, I thank you.”

Within Suzaku Nation, before the ancestral gates of a venerable sect, the elder, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the long-departed Huang Long, smiled softly and shook his head. “Seven stellar souls to restore a single star… it is an extravagant price. Yet, such sacrifice speaks of deep affection for his homeland. That, at least, is commendable. What choices will this child make in the coming war of Luo Tian, I wonder?”

Wang Lin cast a final glance upon the revitalized earth before stepping forward. His form dissolved, only to reappear within a tranquil valley, unchanged from the day of his departure.

“The debt is repaid. It is time to depart,” he mused. “But first, I must visit the land of the Forgotten Immortals. Alas, I still seek the secret to amplifying the immortal essence within my enchanted beans… otherwise, the art of casting soldiers from seed would remain beyond my grasp.” His eyes, serene and unwavering, gazed towards the horizon.

Within the Alliance Starfield, in a solitary void, stood a constellation of stark, ebony structures, their architecture alien and imposing. They resembled colossal swords plunged hilt-deep into the fabric of reality.

At the heart of this grim assembly stood a towering spire, a cyclopean monolith that pierced the heavens. Black iron chains snaked down its obsidian form, tethering it to the surrounding constructs.

This was the Slaughter Domain, one of the pillars upon which the Cultivation Alliance rested. A phantom-like figure materialized in the air above, a hunched, black-clad elder radiating an aura of profound darkness. He knelt, bowing towards the towering spire, and intoned, “The shadow of Xu Mu, the newly-anointed Thunder Immortal of Luo Tian, has been found.”

“Soulshade Servants,” a voice, cold and resonating with icy dread, echoed from within the spire, “bring me the head of Xu Mu! Let it be a gift from the Slaughter Domain to the warriors of Luo Tian!”