The Northern Travel Record World.

Accompanied by the familiar feeling of the heavens spinning and the earth shifting.

Song Lin opened his eyes. No peculiar scene unfolded before him.

An ordinary world.

The vegetation was lush, a small stream meandered, the scorching sun shone brightly, and a spring breeze brushed by, cooling the body with refreshing clarity.

A squirrel leapt onto Song Lin's shoulder, unafraid of humans. Its pair of jet-black eyes met his gaze before it darted back up a tree.

This was probably a Small Thousand World.

Heavenly Immortal level was enough to access a complete Medium Thousand World, yet Song Lin had never seen one in its entirety—only fragments from Mao Zhong's terse descriptions.

At this thought, Song Lin's Divine Thought stirred, condensing into a sharp sword.

Crack!

As he attempted to slice through space, he found it impregnable.

"Hm? What's going on?"

Furrowing his brows, Song Lin experimented several more times, even producing a lantern, yet he could not break through this space.

Trying innumerable methods, he finally gave up.

"Well, let's first find the native creatures, then."

Transforming into a White Crane, Song Lin roamed the sea of clouds.

He traversed mountains and rivers.

This was a "Heavenly Circle and Earthly Square" world—vast in territory, sparse in population, with civilization still in its primitive tribal stage.

Where exactly have I ended up?

Song Lin couldn't help but wonder if he'd entered the wrong place.

Wasn't I supposed to be in the highly advanced Middle Thousand Heavenly Court?

Where are the Four Directions Buddhas, Five Directions Five Elders, Eight-direction Immortals, and the All Heavens Star Lords?

Song Lin opened the interface again. It confirmed he was in the right world.

"Never mind, I'll cultivate first."

The density of Heaven and Earth Essence Qi and Innate Ancestor Qi in this world rivaled that of the Kunlun Immortal Realm, perhaps even offering easier Great Dao insights on some levels.

Now traveling in his true body, there was no distinction between reality and narrative—his physical cultivation progress here was identical to that in his original world, not to mention the time dilation of ten to one.

Thereafter, Song Lin settled here.

By the stream, he built a thatched hut. He refrained from using any Magic Treasures, consuming any pills, or employing any Divine Skills, relying solely on his soul to connect with nature.

To seek enlightenment is to perceive with the heart; reliance on external aids only creates so-called cognitive barriers, blinding oneself.

One year, two years, ten years, a century.

The sun rose and set, flowers bloomed and withered.

A Taoist in white sat cross-legged on a boulder by the flowing stream.

Autumn deepened, crimson maples blazed like fire, fallen leaves blanketed Song Lin's shoulders, and the marble boulder beneath him had been worn into a groove, testament to his dedication.

Over the years, Song Lin did not idle but further perfected the Taiyi Jinhua Scripture.

In his current realm, he could influence reality with his spirit alone, without casting a single spell.

The stream gushed, flowers bloomed, and faint golden lotus projections flickered sporadically around him.

Various animals gathered silently around Song Lin, imitating his meditative posture.

Squirrels, foxes, wolves, tigers, leopards, birds, fish in the water—even nearby trees leaned their trunks closer.

Unfazed, Song Lin ignored them, and neither tiger nor wolf caused him harm.

"Awooo!!"

The forest reverberated with the rising and falling howls of wolves.

Rustle, rustle!

Leaves scattered as a group of humans suddenly emerged.

They wore animal hides, human skulls hanging from their necks. The more esteemed among them seemed to have even more numerous adornments.

Their appearances were grotesque and abnormal, led by a man with eagle talons for hands.

Spotting Song Lin, their eyes lit up, and they muttered incomprehensible words. A warrior holding a stone axe stepped forward, wolf fangs gleaming with a chilling light in his mouth.

"Roar!!"

The warrior charged at Song Lin with his axe raised.

His every step made the ground quake.

This was no ordinary savage.

The beasts before Song Lin trembled in fear, but whether squirrel or sparrow, none retreated, resolutely shielding him.

The warrior sneered disdainfully.

Leaping high, the axe in his hand erupted with pitch-black yin energy, coalescing into a ten-zhang blade of deadly radiance.

Just then, Song Lin opened his eyes, a flash of golden light momentarily illuminating his gaze.

Bang!

The warrior exploded into a mist of blood.

The tribesmen, terror-stricken, attempted to flee but found themselves immobilized. They murmured unintelligible pleas for mercy until even their mouths could no longer move.

Approaching the tribal leader, Song Lin pressed his fingertip to the man's forehead, and in an instant, countless memories flooded his mind, granting him understanding of the language of this realm.

This tribe was called the Barbarian Demons.

As the name suggested, they worshipped ferocious beasts, mimicked them in devouring humans, and over time, a portion of their kind awakened beastly powers.

They roamed, hunting humans, their hands stained with blood—a notoriously vile faction of this age.

"Since you so admire beasts, then become them."

Song Lin produced the White Dragon Whip.

Snap!

The whip, like a phantom, struck each member of the tribe. Their bodies shrank, sprouting jet-black fur, and they transformed into rats that scattered in all directions in terror.

Song Lin then approached the group of wolves, tigers, and leopards.

"Although I have no need for protectors, your actions merit recompense. I shall grant you a stroke of fortune."

He swung the whip against the beasts and even the surrounding trees.

The animals began to take human form—their fur turned into clothing, their figures stretched and grew, claws fell away, and their limbs became human appendages.

Through years of cultivation, Song Lin had mastered the use of the White Dragon Whip.

The whip possessed the essence of life itself, capable of altering a being's life form. In essence, it could awaken latent potential.

To call it "awakening" was still inaccurate; the whip also had the ability to degenerate, as evidenced in its subjugation of the tribe earlier.

Combined with his expertise in the Great Dao, the whip was an impeccable tool.

Beyond awakening beings, it could manipulate certain rules—flowers blooming out of season, water flowing upward, and more.

As long as it aligned with Song Lin's Dao comprehension, almost any alteration was within reach.

"Thank you, Immortal!"

The newly transformed demons knelt in gratitude.

With a single swing, Song Lin had saved them centuries of arduous cultivation; how could they not be grateful?

"Off with you, off with you."

Song Lin sought no repayment and had no interest in forming a faction. The Innate Eight Trigrams Dao Golden Core had yet to coalesce; his heart, long since devoid of agitation, now brimmed with tranquility.

He wasn't in a hurry; patience yielded finer results.

This was the greatest insight he'd gained in his years of seclusion.

The demons did not depart, instead instinctively guarding the streams where Song Lin meditated.

More and more animals, even humans, came to this place.

They coexisted peacefully, gathering together and imitating Song Lin, closing their eyes in pursuit of the Dao.

Over time, many cultivators emerged.

Another five hundred years passed, and the area became renowned as a sacred site of cultivation.

They did not know Song Lin's name, referring to him only as the Grandmaster. Among humans, he was titled the Emperor's Master, while demons called him the Demon Master.

The abundant Essence Qi of this realm made cultivation relatively easy. In five hundred years, numerous powerful practitioners arose.

Song Lin did not withhold paths to transcendence; to the deserving, he generously imparted cultivation techniques.

In this way, he provided them avenues for advancement.

As the adage goes: where people gather, factions form. Depending on species, techniques, and territory, gods, immortals, humans, ghosts, and demons splintered into countless groups.

With power came greed—cravings for more resources, higher status.

They fought over territory, waging brutal wars.

Though they dared not battle on the mountain, below it, blood flowed like rivers.

A thousand years passed.

The demons split into two great kingdoms.

Weary of endless conflict, they agreed on a final battle to determine the victor—the loser would submit to the other, hailing them as emperor.

The war shook the heavens and rent the earth.

At the climax, the sky parted by a brilliant white light—a single whipstrike descended.

Seeing the whip, some ancient demons recalled the events of millennia past.

Back then, they had poured their hearts into the pursuit of the Dao, their minds so simple and pure. Yet now, standing here...

"Demon Master, I was wrong!"

Many cultivators suddenly felt repentant, but their sins could not be undone.

Under the lash's judgment, demons reverted to their original forms, human cultivators lost their paths, and their memories were wiped away.

The world reverted to its state a thousand years prior.

By the stream upon the mountain.

Only two green-clad women and one boy and one girl—both Taoist disciples—remained by Song Lin's side.

The green-clad women were tree spirits: one was named Bixian, the other Qingxian.

The boy and girl were humans, and following Song Lin's naming conventions—since they were Taoist disciples, one male and one female—they were dubbed Qingfeng and Mingyue.

These individuals had not sought luxury, instead embracing simplicity, devoted entirely to diligent cultivation.

They viewed the mortal world through Song Lin's Round Light Spell, rendered speechless by what they saw.

"Do you understand?"

Song Lin asked.

The group nodded blankly; it was unclear whether they truly understood or not.

Song Lin sheathed the White Dragon Whip, now refined into an Immortal Artifact. Its strike just moments ago had broken through prior constraints.

He sang a Taoist Song of his own creation:

"Splendor is but a fleeting divine dream…"

The clamor of the world returned to serenity.

Song Lin resumed his seclusion, continuing to ponder the Fourth Golden Core.

Unbeknownst to him, throughout history, apart from a select few Great Powers, almost no one had condensed a Fourth Great Dao Golden Core at the Heavenly Immortal Stage.

Further insights past this realm did not count—Heavenly Immortal was the foundation. The higher the foundation, the better.

This was because three births lead to all things, while four defied reason altogether.

One day, the disciples descended the mountain to gather herbs and hurriedly returned to Song Lin.

"Grandmaster, something terrible has happened," Qingfeng exclaimed breathlessly.

"What is it?"

"An old codger stole my herbs."

"And then?"

"He said he planned to use them for alchemy. I couldn't beat him," Qingfeng admitted.

"Where is he now?"

Curious, Song Lin inquired.

Could there be another cultivator present?

Descending the mountain, Song Lin indeed saw an elderly man with white hair standing beside a tripod cauldron with two handles. Surrounding him were messy piles of sulfur, saltpeter, and charcoal.

The cauldron's exterior was riddled with rust, giving it a shabby appearance.

Seeing someone approach, the old man greeted Song Lin with a cheerful nod.

Peering through the cracks into the cauldron's interior, Song Lin was stunned.

Inside was a star!

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