Beneath the Vermilion Bird Star, hallowed ground of the vanished Xian-Yi clan, a chasm yawned into the world’s very heart. Upon its precipice sat Yun Quezi, an elder draped in crimson robes, his hair as white as the winter’s first snow. Upon his brow, a verdant sprig pulsed with arcane energy, unfurling eleven jade leaves, yet wanting still a final, fragile half.

Should that final segment bloom, the elder would transcend, becoming one of the Twelve-Leaved, a being in Xian-Yi lore akin to an Yin Void cultivator amongst mortals.

Silent as the ancient stones, Yun Quezi remained unmoving, a sentinel against the march of ages.

Then, upon the horizon, four streaks of celestial light descended, piercing the veils of the sky. Yun Quezi’s eyes snapped open, fixing upon the heavens. A spark of recognition ignited within, but as he prepared to speak, he froze, his gaze drawn inexorably to one figure amidst the descending quartet.

Wang Lin touched down upon the scorched earth, his eyes sweeping over the abyss and the ancient sentinel. After a heartbeat of silence, he spoke, his voice echoing in the stillness, “Venerable Yun Quezi, it has been a long journey.”

The elder, Yun Quezi himself, recoiled, shock warring with disbelief in his gaze. He tore his attention from the imposing figure of Ta Shan, a maelstrom of emotion churning within. “Mastery knows no age. Cast aside the honorific, Wang Lin. Is this warrior of mine Xian-Lian kin?” he questioned, gesturing towards Ta Shan.

Ta Shan, his face carved of granite, offered Yun Quezi not even a glance.

“He is of the Xian-Xuan,” Wang Lin sighed, stepping towards the gaping maw of the abyss. Ta Shan followed close behind, while Da Tou Tong Zi, the large headed child, grinned foolishly at Yun Quezi before trailing after the others.

That simple, vacant smile sent a wave of primordial dread crashing through Yun Quezi’s very soul. His face turned ashen, his eyes widening with a mixture of horror and understanding.

Lei Ji, ever mindful of Wang Lin’s power, followed with reverence. The sight of Wang Lin bending the very essence of the Vermilion Bird Star to his will had shaken him to his core, for such feats were whispered to be the domain of only the most legendary figures in the Alliance Star Domain.

With a bitter laugh, Yun Quezi yielded, stepping into the shadow of the abyss.

Wang Lin moved with a measured pace, exploring the ancestral halls of the Xian-Yi. The clan, scattered to the winds of fate, had abandoned this place, leaving only echoes and memories.

Deeper and deeper they descended. Wang Lin recalled his previous visit, when he had reached only the eleventh level before being hunted by the Xian-Yi’s Third Ancestor. Only the ancient painting, sealing a woman of the Xiang clan, had saved him from certain death.

From the Third Ancestor’s fearful words, Wang Lin knew the painting held a connection to the Xian-Yi’s ancient past.

As they progressed, the air grew thick with impenetrable darkness, heavy with the chill of centuries undisturbed. The oppressive cold would have tormented Wang Lin in his younger days, forcing a retreat.

But now, the frigid tendrils were insignificant. He did not even need to channel his spiritual power, for the cold seemed to recoil from his presence, possessed of a strange sentience.

Indeed, as they continued their descent, the icy vapors formed a swirling vortex before them, as if clearing a path for the approaching god.

Wang Lin pondered the nature of the Xian-Yi and Xian-Xuan, clans clearly intertwined. The reaction of Yun Quezi to Da Tou Tong Zi only affirmed his suspicions: This race, though immune to the faint aura of Xian Jade, crumbled before the raw Xian Yuan that flowed from true immortals.

Xian Yuan – that was the key.

Yet the thought of Xian Yuan brought its own anxieties. The Xian Wu he possessed, a gift from Qing Shui, was finite. Every immortal art spent a portion of it. Without a means of replenishment, it would inevitably be exhausted.

Qing Shui’s teachings, the arts of summoning rain and creating soldiers from beans, demanded vast reserves of Xian Yuan. Without them, study and execution were impossible.

That was why Qing Shui had insisted Wang Lin enter the Ascension Pool, and why he bestowed the immortal beans.

But the Ascension Pool carried too great a price, a path Wang Lin refused to tread. Though he now possessed Xian Yuan, every attempt to replenish it, even by absorbing Xian Qi from Xian Jade, had failed. It would not coalesce within him.

Even Da Tou Tong Zi, when absorbed, could not help. Thus, Wang Lin rationed its use, each act a carefully weighed choice.

At last, they arrived once more at the eleventh level.

A chamber of modest size, its floor crisscrossed by channels carved into the stone. These channels, linked together in a bizarre rune, flowed with a viscous red liquid. Blood red symbols were emblazoned across the floor.

The level was empty, save for the sound of the crimson tide sloshing and slithering through its ancient pathways.

“This is one of the ancestral runes of the Xian-Yi. There are nineteen levels in all, but none of our lineage, save for our first forebears, has ever descended past the sixteenth. The final three are forbidden,” Yun Quezi said, his voice hollow as he gazed upon the unsettling spectacle.

Wang Lin nodded, his divine sense already pinpointing the entrance to the twelfth level. With a blur of motion, he plunged towards it.

The twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth levels fell before Wang Lin like cobwebs. His power met no resistance.

The sixteenth level was very similar to those above, and the floor was emblazoned with blood runes, these more complex, so much so that even a simple glance brought on confusion, but Wang Lin steeled his mind and resisted the illusions, and laid out before him were thirteen coffins, covered with runes of their own.

At the level’s heart was a pool of jet black liquid, radiating an intense cold that permeated the air. Strangely, the crimson liquid flowing through the runes originated from this pool, completing a morbid cycle. As the red liquid entered the pool, it turned black. As it exited, it glowed red.
Here, secrets lay dormant. Wang Lin strode forth, nearing the pool of obsidian water, his gaze piercing.

“These Sixteenth Halls… in ages past, only those ancestors who had bloomed with twelve leaves of enlightenment could tread here. These sarcophagi, they hold the remains of our Xian-Yi forebears. Legend whispers that within the Eighteenth Hall, the very font of our Xian-Yi power dwells! And beyond, in the Nineteenth, the war spirit of our first ancestor slumbers…” Yun Quezi paused, his voice hushed. “Wang Lin, friend, if you can breach these barriers, reach the Eighteenth Hall, I implore you, for the sake of old kinship, allow this old one to commune with the ancestral wellspring.”

He gazed upon Wang Lin, the memory of the small child he once guided fading, replaced by the visage of a mighty cultivator whose very step could shatter the stars of Vermillion Bird.

He often pondered, in quiet moments, if he had not guided the boy toward the Nascent Soul, would this great power even exist today…?

Wang Lin met Yun Quezi’s gaze, offering a nod. Yun Quezi had shown him kindness, though later, he learned of the man’s ulterior motives.

A frigid air emanated from the black pool, guarded by a seal of formidable strength, one that even a cultivator at the peak of Yang Realization might fail to shatter.

Furthermore, the seal demanded the Xian-Yi blood. Without it, passage would prove all but impossible.

“No wonder the Seventeenth Hall has remained untouched for so long,” Wang Lin mused, his eyes fixed on the pool. “Such potent sealing is beyond the reach of ordinary mortals.” He had come to the Xian-Yi ancestral halls with purpose.

The source of this drive lay with the Yao family he had battled within the Luo Tian Star Field. They had wielded talisman paper, etched with a force so bizarre that it had bound all his power!

That moment remained vivid. Upon his person, he still bore such a talisman.

After a moment of contemplation, Wang Lin spoke calmly, “Da Tou, unleash your full power! Aim your most potent Immortal Art upon the pool!”

Da Tou, the Child of Power, wasted no words. Immense Immortal Energy surged within him, erupting into a tempest of celestial aura, commanding the very heavens themselves.

Yun Quezi recoiled, pale, as a force within his soul threatened to bend him to its will. Resist, and be torn asunder!

With a guttural cry, Yun Quezi struggled, veins throbbing.

Fortunately, Da Tou’s attack was not directed at him. It gave him a chance to resist. He focused all of his Immortal Yuan, touched his ears, and his head transformed, swelling more than double in size. Red and blue tendons broke through his eyebrows, creating a massive shock which blasted towards the water pond.

With a heavenly boom, the pool rippled and slowly started to swirl.

Wang Lin’s eyes glittered. He saw the seal weakening under Da Tou’s assault. The change was subtle, but as the opening was about to disappear, Wang Lin formed sword fingers. Lighting gathered from every direction, wrapping around his fingertips. With a step, he pointed at the pool.

Infinite thunder erupted. Following Wang Lin’s fingers, it shot into the pool like thunder dragons. There was another roar, and cracks appeared on the floor of the Sixteenth Halls. Cold air expanded, and the water rose and began to squirm into a black rune.

This rune was far too complex to see every line, but Wang Lin didn’t need to see them all. He wasn’t trying to earn the seal’s respect, but to shatter it!