Wang Lin, a wineskin clutched in his hand, watched the boat drift slowly down the river. A melody, plucked from strings unseen, wafted toward him, an echo of centuries past. Yet, the tune was but a shadow of its former self, a mimicry devoid of the soul it once held. Even the player, he knew, was not the blind maiden of old.

He took a long pull from the skin, and sighed. “The Emperor has a flair for the dramatic.”

The middle-aged man beside him remained silent. They sat thus, upon the riverbank, sharing the wine as the day bled into twilight. A blanket of darkness enveloped the land; the moon hid her face this night. Only the music, ceaseless and ethereal, and the flickering lanterns upon the boat, painted the void with meager light.

Time trickled by like the river itself. As dawn’s pale fingers stretched across the eastern sky, chasing away the shadows, the ground around Wang Lin became a graveyard of empty wineskins.

“Lord Bello knows of your arrival, brother,” the middle-aged man said softly, his gaze fixed on the discarded gourds. “He sent me to deliver a message.”

Wang Lin’s face betrayed no surprise. He had suspected this from the moment the Emperor arrived the previous night. This land of妖靈, the realm of monstrous spirits, was now undeniably Bello’s dominion. With each spirit he devoured over the past century, Bello’s power had grown exponentially.

Wang Lin drained the dregs from his wineskin.

“Grant but one place in the fifth manor to Lord Bello’s kin. In return, the four counties of the Nine of 妖靈之地 shall be a gift to the炼魂 tribe! Furthermore, Bello pledges to never interfere in your affairs, including the remnant spirit of the Cloud Demon!”

The existence of the obsidian statue was a secret, easily hidden from most, but impossible to conceal from the ancient demon Bello. Wang Lin knew this. Bello’s inaction these long years, his willingness to allow the炼魂 tribe to flourish and the Cloud Demon’s essence to remain untouched, had all led to this moment.

“Agreed,” Wang Lin said, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

The middle-aged man rose and bowed deeply, his voice somber. “My task is done, brother. But I have a personal request.”

“The spirit bound to my Emperor’s Blade was once the daughter of a dear friend. Alas, fate is a cruel mistress. She met a tragic end and became my blade’s spirit, bound to this land for countless years, never able to leave 妖靈之地. I ask, brother, that you take this spirit with you, that she may find her way back to the wheel of rebirth, or perhaps even a new destiny…”

The Emperor’s face was etched with sorrow. With a gesture, a beam of sword energy shot forth from the Imperial City, carrying with it the Emperor’s Blade! Wang Lin pondered for a long moment. “Why not ask another?”

The Emperor shook his head. “Many have entered 妖靈之地 over the ages, but aside from a select few, I trust none of them… and those few were needed to protect this blade, a task that took precedence.”

Wang Lin sighed. He had sensed it last night, a faint aura of death clinging to the Emperor. Though their lifespans were longer than mortals, even the spirits of 妖靈之地 were not immune to the ravages of time. Without intervention, the Emperor would return to the void within half a cycle.

Having known him, Wang Lin could not refuse. He nodded.

A smile bloomed upon the Emperor’s face, tinged with a hint of melancholy. With a wave of his hand, the Emperor’s Blade shimmered and transformed into a young maiden. Tears welled in her eyes, though as a blade spirit, she could not shed them.

“Be good. And try not to be so willful…” the Emperor said, his voice tender, as if he were speaking to his own daughter.

With a sigh, the Emperor bowed deeply to Wang Lin. “Thank you, brother.”

He turned and strode away, disappearing into the distance, leaving Wang Lin alone with the wineskin and the sorrowful maiden.

“Let us go,” Wang Lin said, draining the last drops of wine. He set the skin aside, rose, and walked toward the empty sky.

The maiden looked back at the Imperial City, her eyes filled with a final farewell. She knew that she would never see the Emperor, the man who had been like a father to her, again. His life was fading, a fate irreversible.

Consumed by sorrow, she transformed into a wisp of smoke, returning to the Emperor’s Blade, a mournful cry echoing from within. She followed Wang Lin.

The Emperor’s Blade, a streak of silver, followed Wang Lin as he moved forward. Soon, with a flick of his sleeve, Wang Lin stowed the sword in his storage sack. He then activated his仙府 jade tablet, and with a flash of golden light, vanished without a trace.

Within the fourth cave of 妖靈之地, Situ Nan and his companions struggled against a seemingly endless array of enchantments. As they broke through each barrier, ancient relics and treasures emerged.

For the likes of Situ Nan and the others, dismantling the spells was not too difficult and they had made quick progress, moving toward the heart of the cave. However, by now the power of the enchantments had reached a crescendo, and it was clear that brute force alone would not suffice; they must understand the structure of the enchantments before they could proceed.

Just then, on the platform outside the cave, a flash of golden light announced Wang Lin’s arrival. Without pausing, he entered the cave, passing through the shattered remnants of spells. Some had been breached long ago, but most were the work of Situ Nan’s group.

Soon, Wang Lin caught sight of Situ Nan and the others.

The three Dust Dao cultivators were meditating, their bodies surrounded by swirling mist, a clear sign that the prior battles had taken their toll, and they were now recovering their strength.

Beside them sat Da Tou. Much to Wang Lin’s surprise, Da Tou, assisted by 雷吉, was deeply immersed in deciphering the calculations to break another enchantment, indicating that he had some aptitude for their intricate design.

浮風子, who had also studied spellcraft, had proven an invaluable asset, and became the group’s main assault power. Situ Nan and the woman in silver stood guard in the rear, ready to deal with any unexpected traps or retaliations when a spell was broken, just in case.
With measured steps, Wang Lin approached, drawing the gaze of all present. Sima Nan, grown weary from days spent within, eyed the surrounding wards with mounting impatience. His understanding of such arcane weaving was rudimentary, a mere dabbling. He believed that strength of cultivation could shatter any enchantment, no matter how intricate.

Bound by duty to oversee the repercussions of the wards’ opening, he could not depart. Else, he would have long since cast off restraint and attempted a forceful breach.

Seeing Wang Lin’s return, Sima Nan’s eyes lit with a mischievous spark. “About time you showed your face! I’m about to go stir-crazy here. This Immortal’s Abode isn’t exactly small. We’ve stuck to the main path; who knows what treasures lie hidden elsewhere? I’m off to scout ahead!”

Without waiting for a reply, Sima Nan bounded towards a nearby bamboo thicket and vanished within.

Knowing Sima Nan’s capabilities, Wang Lin held no fear for his safety. Besides, the poison within him was currently suppressed thanks to their efforts on the Water Spirit Planet. At worst, he would be surrounded, a predicament from which Wang Lin could easily extract him. Allowing him to depart, Wang Lin approached Fufeng Zi and gazed ahead.

A hundred paces distant flowed a small river, its waters shimmering with ethereal light. A gentle mist clung to its surface. A stone bridge spanned the stream, the sole connection between the two banks.

This bridge, it seemed, was the only gateway.

“This place is most peculiar,” Fufeng Zi began, nodding to Wang Lin. “We have been stalled here for five hours. No matter how I calculate, I cannot discern the nature of these wards. Yet, I sense that a forceful intrusion would unleash a cascade of unforeseen consequences. We must avoid such action, unless absolutely necessary.” He spoke with deliberate care, fearing Wang Lin, ignorant of the arcane arts, might demand a rash assault.

Wang Lin’s expression remained impassive. His eyes focused on the stone bridge, but he offered no comment.

“This Immortal’s Grotto is fashioned in a rectangular fashion, you see. Our current position marks the boundary between the outer and inner rings. Beyond this river lies the heart of the Abode. However, the wards here are exceedingly complex, likely insurmountable in the short term. Big-Head has proposed circumventing the bridge, tearing a hole in the warding along the riverbank.” Fufeng Zi glanced towards Big-Head, who stood nearby, his eyes gleaming with feverish intensity. He punctuated his words with rhythmic blows, unleashing gusts of qi towards the unseen barrier.

“The Three Dust Daoists are depleted from their journey and are currently recovering. Sima Daoist’s plan hinges on their restoration. Once replenished, we would launch a joint assault, seeking to shatter this barrier. However, I remain unconvinced.” Fufeng Zi frowned, his gaze fixed on the flowing water.

In his estimation, Wang Lin’s cultivation journey was likely short. In truth he knew something of Wang Lin’s history.

“To achieve such power in but a millennium is astounding, surely. I fear Wang Lin possesses scant knowledge of warding arts. After all, he lacks the time to master such skills! It seems the burden of unraveling this Abode falls to Big-Head and myself.” Fufeng Zi sighed inwardly. He knew his own mastery of warding was far from complete. While he could manage the outer rings, he felt increasingly outmatched as they ventured deeper.

Wang Lin’s brow furrowed as he studied the bridge. He understood Fufeng Zi’s unease. A forceful breach, as the elder had said, threatened to trigger a chain reaction of unknown scope.

“This, I suspect, is the first true trial to enter the heart of the Immortal’s Abode.”

The hundred paces before them seemed innocuous, but Wang Lin perceived hidden dangers beyond Fufeng Zi’s explanation. This place resonated with a distinct nature, wholly different from the wards of the outer ring.

“To confirm my suspicions, I must experiment.” Wang Lin’s eyes flickered with inner light. “Silver Corpse!”

From a short distance behind him, the silver-clad maiden’s eyes sharpened. She stepped forward, nimble and silent, until she stood beside Wang Lin. Her keen gaze met his, awaiting his command.

“Advance ten paces,” Wang Lin commanded, his eyes fixed upon the stone bridge. His voice was calm, devoid of emotion.

Fufeng Zi frowned. In his eyes, this was a foolish gamble. Such action risked activating the wards.

He cast a glance at Wang Lin, then retreated a few steps, observing in silence.