"Cursed to keep living..." Zhi Xuan murmured, pouring more wine into his cup. The clear ripples reflected his sapphire eyes. "Perhaps... that is the truth about immortality."

  Zhi Xuan raised his cup and took another swallow of the wine. He placed the cup back on the table as his head began to bow; his face softened and appeared calm, and those sharp sapphire eyes closed for a moment, as if he were a mere mortal exhausted after returning from the fields.

  "When you pour the wine, it is the beginning of all forms of life," the tavern owner said, tapping his fingers on the table. "When the wine falls into the cup, that is life in motion. When the wine is slowly consumed from the cup, that is the time passed by every living being in this world. When the cup is empty and placed back on the table, that is the end, which is death."

  Zhi Xuan was stunned in a suffocating silence, letting the echo of the old man's words seep into his long-frozen soul. Outside, the night wind of the Holy City howled, shaking the red lantern in front of the tavern and creating a restless dance of shadows on the wooden walls.

  "Empty..." Zhi Xuan whispered, his voice hoarse, nearly drowned out by the whistling wind. He stared at the clay cup that no longer held a single drop of clear liquid. "If the cup placed back is death, then for a practitioner chasing immortality, the cup is never truly set down. We keep pouring, keep drinking, trying to cheat time so that the cup never runs dry."

  "Reincarnation," Zhi Xuan muttered. He closed his eyes again and bowed his head. His surroundings felt silent and dark; he could no longer even perceive the tavern owner. "Reincarnation... what... is the true meaning of Reincarnation..."

  The question hung in the air, not as words, but as a spiritual vibration traveling to every corner of the silent tavern. Under the influence of the Immortal’s Brew, Zhi Xuan's consciousness seemed to be pulled out of his physical shell. He no longer felt the weight of the Heavenly Sword on the table, nor the coldness of the Holy City night.

  In the darkness of his mind, he saw an endless river—the vast and calm River of Samsara—but within it floated millions of cups. Some were filled with blood, some with tears, and some were hollow and empty.

  "Reincarnation..." Ruo Xianxue whispered, this time without a hint of mockery. Her voice sounded distant, as if coming from the other side of the horizon. "You indeed possess the Law of the Four Seasons, but can you endure it when your doubt regarding Reincarnation is itself a part of the rotation of that very Wheel? You consider yourself a cycle, but have you ever truly seen the cycle arrive?"

  Zhi Xuan did not answer. His divided mind was forced to stare at a slow-spinning whirlpool in the center of the River of Samsara. He saw seeds of souls falling into the current, sinking, then reappearing in different forms—as a blade of grass being trampled, as an insect living for only one full moon, or even as an emperor leading thousands of armies.

  "Seeking the Dao, forming a Law, painting with a brush without needing a canvas, but using the sky itself," the old man's voice brought Zhi Xuan back to his senses. "This is the Dao—manifesting one's understanding of the Dao upon the world."

  Zhi Xuan opened his eyes slowly. The figure of the tavern owner before him now looked different; he was no longer just a frail old man, but a silhouette merging with the dim light of the lantern, like a spectator who had watched thousands of worldly dramas unfold.

  "Painting without a canvas..." Zhi Xuan murmured. He raised his right hand, moving his fingers through the empty air. "If the sky is the canvas, then we are the ink. Is this... Weaver Transformation?"

  Weaver Transformation—Zhi Xuan had seen it a few times. Those practitioners floated high like great deities, commanding domains capable of trapping, imprisoning, and manifesting their understanding of the Dao. It was different from Soul Transformation, which focused on uniting the Divine Spirit and Divine Essence Blood to produce a sturdy, oppressive Divine Soul. Weaver Transformation was for those who understood a Law and manifested it outwardly.

  Zhi Xuan felt his chest throb—a resonance that did not come from his physical heart, but from the center of the Heavenly Wheel of Samsara within his soul. The understanding that had been locked behind a thick mist slowly began to reveal itself. If Soul Transformation was about solidifying one's existence before the heavens, then Weaver Transformation was about how that self weaves the threads of natural law into a new reality.

  "All this time, I have only used the power provided by nature," Zhi Xuan thought. His sapphire eyes now radiated a deeper light, as if the stars in the Holy City sky had moved into his pupils. "I used winter to freeze, autumn to wither."

  The old tavern owner smiled slightly, standing up and beginning to clear the empty cups. "Young Master, many practitioners spend thousands of years looking for the end of the thread, yet they forget that their own hands are the ones holding the needle. The sky provides the canvas, but if you only wait for the lines that are already there, you will never paint your own story."

  The old man suddenly smiled thin before vanishing, accompanied by a creeping cold that began to crawl toward Zhi Xuan’s side. The disappearance of the owner left no void, but rather a dense silence—like the air before a great storm hits the earth. Zhi Xuan remained seated, but his hand that had been moving in the air now stopped.

  "Manifesting the Dao," Zhi Xuan muttered, slowly rising and reaching for the Heavenly Sword, binding it to his back once more. "What does it mean to manifest the Dao—an understanding of Law that takes physical form?"

  Zhi Xuan stepped out of the dilapidated wooden tavern, greeted by a midnight breeze carrying the scent of incense from distant temples. The Holy City was now entirely silent, illuminated only by the glow of the protective formations surrounding the marble walls.

  "Manifesting the Dao..." he repeated the words, his footsteps leading him toward a secluded rock garden on the outskirts of the northern district.

  He remembered the battle hundreds of years ago between Zhao Xu and Mo Yuan—how a Weaver Transformation practitioner was not even comparable to a Soul Transformation one, yet they were able to create domains that manifested their Dao until they locked with their opponent's. It was something that seemed impossible back then—painting a sky of their own.

  "Domain," Zhi Xuan murmured. He turned his palm over and stared at it. "If the silence of slaughter is a killing intent so quiet it affects every Dao Heart, then what is meant by a Domain?"

  Zhi Xuan stood in the middle of the frozen rock garden, surrounded by granite pillars radiating an ancient aura. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath until the cold air of the Western Region filled every corner of his meridians. Until now, his power had been about destruction and elements—an explosion of essence. However, a Domain was about creation.

  "A Domain is not just mental pressure," Ruo Xianxue interrupted, her voice sounding like a secret whisper from a buried ancestor. "It is a territory where your law is the only truth. If you say snow must fall in the middle of a scorching heat, then snow will fall. If you say life must stop, then even time will kneel. That is Weaver Transformation—becoming the weaver of your own reality."

  Zhi Xuan released ripples of cold essence from his Heavenly Wheel of Samsara, bit by bit. But this time, he did not let the energy explode outward. Instead, he guided it to blanket the ground beneath his feet with an unnatural gentleness.

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  Slowly, white vapor began to creep from the pores of the marble. Without any gust of wind, the peach blossoms that had fallen on the ground suddenly stood upright again. The withered petals slowly turned white, freezing into pure ice crystals while maintaining their beautiful shape.

  "This is not yet a Domain," Zhi Xuan muttered. "This is still merely the manipulation of elemental law."

  "Ancient Races do not have Domains, Zhi Xuan," Ruo Xianxue replied, her voice low and smooth. "We, the Ancient Devils, Ancient Gods, and you as a bloodline of the Ancient Heaven—in the past, our every word was Law. We did not require what is considered a Domain."

  "But now, an infinite distance of time has passed," Ruo Xianxue continued with a soft sigh. "Well, forget that for now. It is an understanding formed by everything you see and feel. Wait until you reach the late stage of Soul Transformation; that is when you can truly grasp Weaver Transformation."

  Zhi Xuan fell silent, staring at the crystal peach blossoms he had created. Ruo Xianxue's words traveled like the vibration of thunder behind clouds—distant, yet carrying a charge capable of collapsing his mental foundation. The times had changed, and he, who carried a legacy from a long-buried era, now had to crawl through the new rules created by a different heaven.

  "Late stage Soul Transformation..." Zhi Xuan whispered. He clenched his fist, and instantly the crystal blossoms shattered into light-dust, reabsorbed into his pores. "I am currently just a speck of dust before the vast secrets of a Weaver. However, the West Flower Towers... they will be a melting furnace for me."

  He turned away, leaving the rock garden silent once more. The silver moonlight was starting to fade on the eastern horizon, replaced by a purple-red hue slowly tearing through the curtain of night. Dawn had arrived, and with it, a new chapter in the Southern Devil's bloody journey was about to be written.

  The great bell of the Holy City tolled again, but this time its sound was heavier and more authoritative, signaling the opening of the long-awaited trials. Zhi Xuan walked through the main streets, which were now starting to be crowded by practitioners. His calm and bland footsteps created a sharp contrast with the noise around him.

  Every time he passed, the crowd would automatically part, creating a wide, empty path. Whispers about Gu Fengyan still sounded like an unpleasant wind, but Zhi Xuan ignored them completely. His eyes were locked on the three giant towers whose peaks were now being swept by the morning sun.

  In the plaza before the West Flower Towers, a large jade altar had been erected. Upon it sat several Elders of the Sacred Pavilion Heavenly Leaf in meditation, radiating an aura capable of suppressing the crowd's emotional turbulence. In their midst stood a crystal notice board flickering with mission lists—the key to obtaining Heavenly Jade.

  "Level one through seven, you get nothing," Zhi Xuan muttered, staring at each mission board. "Level eight through ten, those are the keys to Heavenly Jade."

  Zhi Xuan stood at the very back of the line, his tall figure and flowing dark purple hair creating a natural, invisible distance. His sapphire eyes swept the rows of light-runes dancing on the crystal board. Low-level missions like hunting Verdant Titan-rank beasts or searching for herbs on the outskirts of the Western Region were clearly displayed, but none of them could stir his heart.

  Zhi Xuan let his gaze creep upward, past the trivial missions being scrambled for by ambitious young practitioners. At the very top of the crystal board, the runes began to change color into a thick, deep red, pulsing like a threatened heartbeat. Those were the missions for levels eight to ten—the territory where death and fortune were separated by a hair’s breadth.

  "Look! The Red Runes have appeared again!" shouted a man with a scarred face, his hand pointing tremblingly toward the top of the board. "A level eight mission... Bringing the soul cores of five Crimson Lotus rank beasts? Has the Sacred Pavilion gone mad? The last time that mission was opened, three Soul Transformation practitioners from the Central Region never returned—not even their ashes were found!"

  "Yes, it is madness," another replied. "A Crimson Lotus is equivalent to the Soul Transformation cultivation level. If it were one, it might not be a problem. But this—this is five Crimson Lotuses living in a single place!"

  Zhi Xuan narrowed his eyes, staring at those pulsing red runes with a terrifying calmness. Five Crimson Lotus soul cores. To him, it wasn't just a mission; it was five life-and-death battles, but if it came to Zhi Xuan, it was nothing more than harvesting fertilizer.

  "Seven hundred Heavenly Jade," Zhi Xuan murmured, a thin smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "My first mission. This is the start of a good morning."

  Zhi Xuan stepped forward, splitting the crowd which instantly froze. The swish of his robes over the marble floor sounded like the hiss of a snake in the middle of a choking silence. Every pair of eyes followed his movement; some stared with hate, but many more were wide with indescribable fear.

  He stopped right before the jade altar, beneath the shadows of the Elders who were now opening their eyes one by one. The coldness radiating from Zhi Xuan's body seemed to challenge the warmth of the morning sun touching the plaza.

  "Gu Fengyan..." one of the Elders, a woman with hair in a high bun and a gaze as sharp as a blade, hissed his name. "You have just arrived, and you already dare to stare at the red runes? Do you think the Flower Tower is a place to flaunt your arrogance from the South?"

  Zhi Xuan did not bow his head. He raised his right hand, pointing directly at the mission for five Crimson Lotus soul cores. "This Gu did not come here to talk. Give me the mission seal. I will take those five cores before the evening bell tolls seven times."

  Instantly, a wave of whispers broke out like a flood among the practitioners.

  "What?! Before the seventh evening bell?" shouted a practitioner from a local clan. "He wants to slaughter five Crimson Lotus-rank creatures in less than one sun cycle? Even a Sky Dragon wouldn't be able to do that!"

  "How arrogant!" added a genius from the Northern Region standing nearby, his hand clenching the hilt of his sword. "Does he think the beasts in the West are as weak as the insects in the South? Five Crimson Lotuses... that means he must enter the West Swamp Forest. No one can come out of there that fast!"

  The female Elder narrowed her eyes, her spiritual essence surging and creating a pressure that tried to weigh down Zhi Xuan’s shoulders. However, Zhi Xuan remained standing as straight as a pillar of heaven.

  "A level eight mission is not just about strength, Gu Fengyan," the Elder spoke in a low, threatening tone. "The West Swamp Forest is a territory that harbors many high-level beasts. Also, that is not a place to be a venue for competition between cultivators."

  Zhi Xuan did not flinch, but the white-cloth-wrapped Heavenly Sword on his back seemed to radiate an aura like an abyss, even while covered. "Am I permitted to draw this Heavenly Sword during the mission? My promise was only to not kill practitioners or mortals within the Holy City."

  Zhi Xuan's cold statement instantly silenced the clamor in the plaza. The Elders sitting on the jade altar exchanged glances, a flash of doubt crossing their usually calm eyes. They knew letting the Devil of the South draw his weapon in their territory was a risk, but technically, the West Swamp Forest lay outside the densely populated protection of the Holy City.

  The female Elder with the bunned hair snorted, her green aura glowing and then dimming as if conceding defeat in thought to Zhi Xuan’s rigidity. "The West Swamp Forest is a no-man's land, Gu Fengyan. The tower laws only record your success or failure. Whatever you do to those beasts is none of our business. However, remember this..." She moved her fingers, manifesting a red jade mission seal that floated toward Zhi Xuan’s palm. "...if you fail to return before the seventh bell, this mission will be considered your own life sacrifice. The Pavilion will not send a rescue party for the remains of your bones."

  Zhi Xuan caught the jade seal with one fluid motion. "That is more than enough," he replied shortly.

  As he turned to leave the plaza, a youth in very conspicuous golden robes—the heir of the East Sun Clan, Yang Jin—stepped forward to block his path. His handsome face looked fierce because his pride had been pricked by Zhi Xuan’s composure.

  "Wait a moment, Butcher!" Yang Jin shouted, his voice carrying a fire resonance that made the surrounding air expand. "You want to take five Crimson Lotuses alone? Haha! Don't make me laugh. My group and I have been targeting that mission for three days to refine our clan's relic. You think you can just walk in and snatch our fortune?"

  Zhi Xuan stopped his walk, but he did not look at Yang Jin. His sapphire eyes were fixed only on the misty northern horizon. "Fortune belongs to those capable of seizing it, not those who merely stare at it for three days."

  "Impudent!" Yang Jin growled, his hands beginning to be enveloped by a blaze of pure essence fire. "In the Western Region, our clan has special rights over the West Swamp Forest! If you dare set foot there, don't blame me if this solar fire burns the white cloth on your back!"

  "Young Master Yang, stand back!" one of Yang Jin’s guards whispered in a panicked tone, trying to pull his master’s sleeve. "Remember what happened to Young Master Xue yesterday? This man is not an opponent you can challenge with emotion alone!"

  "To hell with Xue!" Yang Jin screamed, shaking off his guard's hand. "Xue is weak trash! I carry the Eternal Sun Mirror, an Immortal Treasure! Let him go, but don't expect him to return in one piece!"

  Zhi Xuan began to walk again, passing Yang Jin as if the youth were merely a withered tree by the roadside. "If your solar fire can warm my path in the cold swamp, I shall be grateful. Besides... do not block my path again, or your sun will set early today."

  "That guard," Zhi Xuan added one last time. "You had better restrain your Young Master. If he truly comes to the West Swamp Forest, I doubt I should be blamed again if he does not return in one piece."