A tempestuous rage seized the skies above the Demon Spirit Lands. Whirlpools of churning air ripped through the firmament, as if some unseen titan sought to rend the very fabric of existence. Sand and stone danced a chaotic jig across the ravaged earth below.

This sudden upheaval sent tremors of fear through the hearts of the land’s denizens. They craned their necks, gazing in terror at the tumultuous heavens. The spiraling vortexes multiplied, until they consumed the entirety of the Demon Spirit Lands’ vista, a storm birthed from the very void above.

Within the Wood Sprite Dominion, a remote, seldom-trod ravine lay hidden. A blanket of moss clung to its depths, and the air hung heavy with dampness, birthing a thick fog each dawn.

Now, as the first tendrils of mist began to uncoil, the rising sun tentatively pierced the gloom. Peering through the dissipating veil, one could discern a pool nestled in the ravine’s heart, its surface a flawless mirror.

Yet, at the very instant the sky erupted in its chaotic dance, the pool shattered its serenity. A ripple spread outward, emanating from a central point where something, impossibly, began to rise. At first, its form was obscure, but with agonizing slowness, its contours solidified. A face emerged! A visage of unearthly beauty, so striking as to transcend mortal standards. Its eyes, in particular, burned with an inner light, and a subtle, knowing smile touched its lips as it gazed upwards.

“It has begun…” the face whispered, “A wait that has spanned eons…”

Far across the Demon Spirit Lands, a different scene unfolded. A vast plain stretched towards the horizon, carpeted in verdant grasses dotted with wildflowers. A sweet, intoxicating fragrance wafted upon the breeze, its touch a balm to the spirits of any demon kin who breathed it. Small tribes had sprung up around the grassland, drawn by its inherent peace.

Even the Soul Reaving Clan had ventured here, only to find their banners of souls strangely weakened. The captured spirits within seemed cowed, unwilling to venture forth. Those forced into manifestation quickly dissipated, as if consumed by some unseen force. The Soul Reaving Clan, thwarted, abandoned this strange land.

From above, the grassland seemed ordinary, yet any master of enchantments would immediately recognize its true nature, their brow slick with sweat. It was a sprawling nexus of ancient wards and powerful enchantments, capable of cataclysmic devastation if unleashed. Deep beneath the surface lay a传送陣古老的传送陣, a relic of the仙界崩潰前, an era beyond memory.

This仙界之陣was a key, a gateway. With the right token and the proper incantation, it could transport one to one of the Demon Spirit Lands’ five仙府. Four of these仙府were known, scattered throughout the lands, but the fifth remained lost, its location a secret guarded by time itself. To unlock the fifth, all four outer仙府must be opened to their final chamber.

Now, within one of these outer仙府, a place of ethereal beauty and timeless elegance, a young man sat in quiet contemplation. The chamber was adorned with carved jade and shimmering mother-of-pearl, yet a chilling emptiness permeated the air.

The仙府was shaped like a square, a network of corridors and chambers ringing a central, towering hall. Within this hall, the young man sat cross-legged, a scroll of bamboo slips held in his hands. A cup of steaming tea rested on a nearby table, its fragrant vapors rising and dissipating into ephemeral blossoms.

He sipped from the cup, his expression serene. But as the strange vortexes twisted the sky outside, he set aside the scroll and lifted his gaze, his eyes piercing through the illusion and reaching towards the distant anomaly.

“They have come…” a voice spoke, not his own, but that of a woman entering the hall. She was slender and graceful, her delicate features framed by cascading dark hair. Her eyes, like pools of starlight, held a captivating charm. She wore a gown of azure and white, embroidered with intricate floral patterns that emphasized her lithe form.

A gentle smile touched the man’s lips as he gazed at her. “We have waited long years for this. Let us hope success is ours this time.”

The woman sat beside him, her eyes filled with tenderness. She nodded, “Our plans have been meticulously crafted. If we tread with caution, there should be no unforeseen obstacles.”

They exchanged a knowing smile, their love a tangible warmth in the otherwise cold and desolate仙府. Their presence alone chased away the chill, a testament to the power of their bond. They were the 云仙道侶, Wang Wei and Hu Juan, who had entered the Demon Spirit Lands countless years ago and never departed.

“And how fares he?” Wang Wei asked, his fingers tracing the bamboo slips. His youthful appearance belied the vastness of his age, and the hidden arrogance in his eyes hinted at a past of unparalleled power.

Hu Juan chuckled softly. “The sword spirit possesses remarkable fortitude. He has mastered the eighth layer of the ‘Immortal Spirit Art’ you bestowed upon him, and now strives for the ninth. He should breakthrough soon.”

Wang Wei’s eyes gleamed with approval. “Then my assistance was not in vain.” A shadow crossed his face, and he shook his head. “Yet, one mystery remains unsolved. Could Qing Ai have survived? How else could the Rain Immortal Sword reform and become a sentient blade? Alas, he remains silent, and I am loath to violate the remnants of Qing Shuang by searching his memories.”
“Perhaps, the Lady Qing’ai yet lives…” Hu Juan whispered, her voice barely audible above the growing tempest.

Even as unnatural skies churned and a monstrous vortex tore into reality, it was not only the Cloud Immortal Couple, nor the sinister fissure cleaving the valley, that betrayed the impending doom. Deep beneath the Jade Palace of the Wind Demon Prefecture, a darker transformation was underway.

Here, a thousand fathoms beneath the earth, lay the prefecture’s unholy heart: a sprawling labyrinth of caverns, riddled like a honeycomb around the Imperial City. Each cavern, a nexus of shadowed paths, ultimately converged upon a central, gargantuan grotto directly beneath the palace. Within these myriad chambers lay the slumbering guardians: skeletal remains, blackened and reeking of corruption. The miasma that seeped from their bones was instantly drawn away, channeled through the twisting passages.

At last, the accumulated essence of death from across the prefecture coalesced within the central cavern. This cyclopean chamber, a ring of stone stretching a thousand paces, held at its heart a single, towering pillar. Upon its summit, a woman sat in grim meditation.

Her visage was a tapestry of horror. Scars, ghastly and innumerable, crisscrossed her face, a grotesque map of suffering. Though stitched and bound, these wounds pulsed with dark blood with each breath, transforming into crimson welts that resembled a nest of monstrous centipedes crawling across her flesh. Not only her face, but her arms as well, were a canvas of brutal, echoing pain.

Below her, a seething ocean of corpse-reeked fog roiled and churned like a living sea. Wisps of this foul mist would occasionally rise, swirling about her form and burrowing into her scars. Each intrusion sent shudders through her, an agony almost unbearable, yet clenched teeth and an iron will held back the scream that threatened to tear free.

“Wang Lin! I, Yao Xixue, endure this torment because of you!” she hissed, her voice a rasp of venom. “I yearn to taste your flesh, to avenge my father! What is this pain compared to your death? What is the loss of my beauty, when set against your utter ruin!” In her eyes blazed a hatred that could scorch the heavens.

She would never forget the desolate moment when she found herself abandoned in the Demon Spirit Land, overwhelmed by helplessness and haunted by the looming threat to her father. Then, the sudden, inexplicable pang in her heart, a chilling kinship that confirmed her worst fears: her father was lost. And for this, her rage towards Wang Lin bordered on madness.

To exact her vengeance, she had sacrificed all. She knew that true power could only be granted by the ancient demon spirits that dwelled within this land. Through trials of unimaginable hardship and soul-wrenching humiliation, she had persevered.

Finally, in the Wind Demon Prefecture, she had won the favor of the Wind Demon, granting her access to this forbidden place for a dark and twisted inheritance. She would never forget the chilling words that echoed in her mind as the demon’s power surged through her.

“I can grant you strength, a power beyond reckoning, to wreak your revenge. But the price… is your soul. Your consciousness will slowly fade, until you become merely a vessel, a shell for me.”

“I accept,” she had breathed, “so long as I can have my vengeance!”

Yao Xixue closed her eyes and began to draw in the agonizing corpse-energy once more. As she inhaled, she raised her right hand. Her entire hand was now an unnatural shade of green, the nails elongated and sharp, radiating a frigid chill. With a deep, shuddering breath, she slashed a long, ragged gash across her left arm.

The searing pain shook her to her core, yet her expression remained cold and resolute. She was long accustomed to such torment. The moment the wound appeared, the endless sea of corpse-energy surged forward, pouring into her body.

With each surge, the gash slowly closed, shrinking until it was nothing more than another scar. “Wang Lin,” she whispered, her voice filled with hate, “I will never let you escape me!”

At that moment, far above, in the vortex-torn sky, Wang Lin stepped into this world. As he emerged, a tremor ran through his soul. He turned sharply towards the Wind Demon Prefecture, an overwhelming sense of hatred washing over him.

The sensation vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving only a lingering unease. Wang Lin frowned. Behind him, Situ Nan and the others emerged from the vortex, a company standing against the chaotic sky, gazing down upon the ravaged landscape.

With the exception of Floating Wind, it was the first time any of them had set foot in the Demon Spirit Land. Even the Three Dusts, natives of the seventh-grade cultivation nation of Heavenly Fate, had never held any interest in this wild and untamed land. Now, they gazed about with curiosity.

Returning to this place brought a wave of conflicting emotions for Wang Lin. His first thought was not of the Immortal’s Abode, but of the Soul Refining Tribe. His hasty departure years ago had left many things unresolved, many questions unanswered. “The Soul Refining Tribe… I founded it to fulfill the last wish of the Master Duntian. I wonder if it still exists… And Thirteen…” Wang Lin could not forget Thirteen, his loyal and devoted follower.

In all his life, he had met only one individual with such unwavering loyalty. As he remembered Thirteen, another name intruded upon his thoughts.

Hu Pao! Thirteen’s unwavering loyalty and Hu Pao’s bitter betrayal were sharply contrasting images etched deeply into Wang Lin’s memory.
Wang Lin could not forget the siege of the ancient demon city. He had plunged into the heart of it, braving the onslaught of a hundred thousand demon soldiers, all to rescue those two souls. He hadn’t known then of Hu Pao’s treachery, but even had he known, his course would have remained unchanged. Even more vivid was the memory of that day beneath the heavens, when he had spoken words that felt akin to proving his own Dao. “In this world, a cultivator must discern what is to be done, and what must be forsaken. We seek longevity, freedom from the dictates of fate, and should, in theory, avoid calamity and embrace fortune! Yet, Thirteen and Hu Pao are neither kin nor friend, and for their sake, I defied the demon general, thereby defying the entire Heavenly Demon Prefecture! Wise men do not stand beneath crumbling walls, and this act is, without doubt, unwise. But I, Wang Lin, walk between heaven and earth, seeking not to blindly follow paths ordained, but to live a life free from guilt. I am neither a noble nor a villain, neither honest nor deceitful, but there are deeds in this world that must be done for the sake of conviction! In this respect, I am ill-suited to the path of a cultivator! Yet, there are tasks I must undertake! If I abandon Thirteen, what Dao am I, Wang Lin, truly pursuing?”

Wang Lin gazed upon the familiar lands, sighing deeply. He reached into his storage pouch, drawing forth a stone disk, no larger than his palm. This was the key, the necessary artifact to reach the fourth Immortal Abode.

He entrusted the disk to Situ Nan, detailing with painstaking care the intricacies of the ancient seals. Situ Nan, with his deep understanding of Wang Lin, perceived the unspoken intent – Wang Lin sought to reunite with faces from the past.

Without further word, Situ Nan, along with Fu Fengzi, the silver-clad woman, the Three Sons of Dust Dao, and Big Head, prepared to break the seals. The task was arduous, but not insurmountable for those of their caliber. The true challenge lay within the final layers of the Immortal Abode’s enchantments.

Following Wang Lin’s instructions, they activated the disk. In a blink, Situ Nan and the others vanished, reappearing within the Immortal Abode Wang Lin had once claimed, and commenced their assault on the layered protections.

The Immortal Abode was a labyrinth of countless seals. Only by dismantling each and every one could they hope to reach its heart, their ultimate goal! Unlike the abodes of Tian Yunzi and Ling Tianhou, long since conquered, Wang Lin’s abode was incomplete.

Moreover, the Abode’s token remained in Wang Lin’s possession. As long as he was present, barring certain specific locations, he could enter the abode at will.

With his current cultivation, a mere alteration of the token’s spirit would prevent the Abode’s spirit from attacking Situ Nan and his companions, granting them safe passage.

Having resolved this issue, Wang Lin paused in contemplation. Then, unleashing his divine sense, he cast it outwards, encompassing the entirety of the Demon Spirit Land with ease, a testament to his mid-stage Nirvana Shatterer cultivation! Yet, at the very instant his divine sense spread, within the Fire Demon Prefecture, the black stone idol carried toward the capital by the Soul Refining tribe emanated a dense, inky light. This light pulsed with boundless coldness, unleashing a strange power that soared into the heavens, merging inextricably with Wang Lin’s divine sense in a fleeting moment.

The black light from the idol intensified, soon engulfing half the Fire Demon Prefecture’s sky. The countless members of the Soul Refining tribe became disoriented, staring blankly at their ancestor’s idol.

One by one, they realized what was happening and prostrated themselves. Soon, the entire tribe, their eyes shining with fervent excitement, knelt before the idol.

“The Ancestor manifests! The Ancestor manifests!” Waves of exclamations thundered like celestial roars. Ouyang Hua, his eyes wide with disbelief, turned sharply towards Thirteen, who trembled, gazing in stunned silence at the distant sky, a vague sense of knowing stirring within him.

“The Ancestor… has returned!”

Ouyang Hua took a deep breath, his eyes gleaming with joyous madness. He held the Ancestor Wang Lin in profound respect, a respect born of fear. It was this fear that had kept him in check for centuries, preventing any thoughts of rebellion, despite the Soul Refining tribe’s burgeoning power.

Wang Lin’s eyes flashed with a strange light, a hint of the bizarre in his gaze. His divine sense had, indeed, detected the Soul Refining tribe, finding it vastly expanded since his departure.

But this was secondary to the astonishing sensation of the strange power merging with his own, a power so unique that in his thousand-plus years of cultivation, Wang Lin had never encountered its like.

He could not define the feeling. In the instant the power fused with his divine sense, his mind exploded with countless images, flashing by in rapid succession.

Each and every image depicted the Soul Refining tribe in worship before the stone idol, their eyes filled with an almost frightening fervor. If the idol were to speak a command, they would, without hesitation, give everything, even their lives, to fulfill it.

This terrifying devotion, even Wang Lin found unsettling.

It was these countless scenes of worship, millions of Soul Refining tribesmen venerating the idol every day for centuries, that had generated the strange, incomprehensible power within the stone.

After a moment of contemplation, Wang Lin moved with blinding speed, appearing instantly above the Fire Demon Prefecture’s capital. From his vantage point, he witnessed the awe-inspiring sight of millions prostrating themselves below. Millions – the number might seem insignificant on its own, but to Wang Lin’s eyes, it stretched beyond the horizon, as if the entire earth were consumed by the kneeling masses. Banners planted in the ground flapped wildly, their spectral whispers filling the air, as if welcoming their true master.

The moment Wang Lin appeared, every soul imprisoned within the banners shrieked, a chorus of piercing cries that resonated through the heavens, as if recognizing their rightful owner! Ouyang Hua trembled, his face filled with an emotion unseen for centuries. He stared in disbelief at Wang Lin, who had materialized in the sky above, and choked out, “Ouyang Hua greets the Ancestor! Welcome home, Ancestor!”
The words echoed forth, and upon the scorched earth, countless eyes lifted skyward, drawn to the figure descending from the heavens. Each clansman who beheld Wang Lin in that instant felt a psychic jolt, a thunderous tremor in their very soul. There was no room for doubt. Before them stood their ancestor, the progenitor of the Soul Refining Tribe, absent for centuries! It was the obsidian effigy, that stone-carved likeness of Wang Lin himself, that confirmed their sight.

“Ancestor!” “It is truly our Ancestor!” “The Ancestor has returned! He has not abandoned us! He has come home!”

A cacophony of voices rose, a symphony of ecstatic fervor. Soon, it swelled into a deafening roar, the unified cries of millions shaking the very foundation of the land. Even the heavens themselves seemed to recoil, the clouds parting in deference to the ancestral homecoming.

“Hail to the Ancestor!” The cry, sparked by a single voice, was swiftly adopted by the entire tribe. Millions of throats roared in unison, the sound so intense that Wang Lin himself felt the vibration in his bones. He witnessed it then, a phenomenon that stirred even his ancient heart. From the crown of each clansman, a wisp of pale energy unfurled, streaming towards the capital and converging upon the black effigy. The statue pulsed with light, growing ever more lustrous, imbued with a strange, unsettling vitality.

Thirteen, a figure of renown, burst forth from the crowd, falling to one knee before Wang Lin. His body trembled with elation, yet his voice, the loudest it had been in centuries, boomed across the land.

“Thirteen welcomes the Ancestor’s return!”

Thirteen’s declaration ignited the tribe anew, unleashing a wave of frenzied adoration. The earth throbbed with their unified cries, and even more of the ethereal essence flowed towards the obsidian statue.

Banners of woven souls fluttered like a legion of dark wings, the spirits trapped within coalescing into an endless, swirling mist that engulfed the entire Fire Demon Prefecture. The number of souls was beyond reckoning.

Wang Lin gazed upon his people. He recognized some, their faces etched with the passage of time, elders from his bygone era whose names escaped him.

“I have returned,” Wang Lin’s voice resonated, a gentle yet profound pronouncement that descended upon each ear. Though but a single sentence, four simple words, they carried the weight of a thunderclap, unleashing a fresh wave of euphoric cries.

Amidst the clamor and the unwavering devotion of his people, Wang Lin descended, his feet finally touching the ancient battlements of the Fire Demon Prefecture’s capital.

He, the Ancestor, had returned after centuries of absence. He was home.