The sect bells rang.
Not once.
Not twice.
Five times.
Only one thing triggered five bells in the Heavenly Sky Sect:
A rogue disciple on core territory.
And yet Wang Lin didn't run.
He stood in the middle of the shattered remains of Pavilion Seventeen, dust rising around his boots, blue robes torn across the shoulder, and a glowing egg hovering at his back like a second soul.
The golden lines along the egg's shell pulsed brighter now.
Like a heartbeat.
Like something alive was knocking from the inside.
Wang Lin stared ahead as more footsteps arrived. Inner sect. Core sect. Enforcers. Two elders.
A circle of power. Forming fast.
"They're closing in from six directions.
Spiritual nets, binding rings, pressure arrays. They're not here to fight.
They're here to trap."
"Then let them try."
His voice was low.
Calm.
The kind of calm that sits on the edge of a sword.
One of the enforcers raised a staff.
"You've desecrated a sacred structure, attacked a core disciple, and unleashed an unregistered entity within sect grounds."
Another stepped forward — this one a girl with white robes lined in silver.
"You're given one chance to kneel, surrender the item, and submit to confinement."
Wang Lin didn't speak.
The egg pulsed again.
And from far above, clouds began to gather.
Not storm clouds.
Qi clouds.
Drawn by the egg's pressure.
By him.
The elder to the left narrowed his eyes. "He's forming a presence field. Disrupt it."
Six core disciples moved at once.
Wang Lin vanished.
Dragon Step – Phase Break.
He appeared mid-air above the group, both hands glowing bright blue.
"Too slow."
Crushing Palm — Dual Echo.
Two of them flew backward before they even saw the strike. One smashed into a tree. Another into the courtyard tiles, his legs bending the wrong way.
"Get formation around him!" an elder barked.
Four more disciples closed in.
Too close.
Wang Lin crouched low, twisted, and kicked upward — a perfect arc that sent one spinning through the air, sword flying from his hand.
He landed again, caught the falling blade mid-spin, and hurled it.
CRACK!
The sword buried itself in a wall three meters behind another disciple's neck.
The boy dropped his blade and raised both hands in surrender.
Wang Lin didn't even look at him.
He turned to the final three approaching.
Fast.
Elite.
Twin blades and one caster.
He exhaled slowly.
"Pulse rising. Energy response matching outer celestial threads.
You can break them, but not without backlash."
"Then I bleed."
He dashed forward.
The first blade came low — he deflected with a bare palm.
The second sliced toward his ribs — he spun and stepped into the attack, letting it scratch his robe.
The caster raised her hand — spell ready.
Wang Lin reached her first.
He struck her shoulder.
CRACK.
Her spell fizzled in her throat before it finished.
She hit the wall hard, unconscious before she landed.
The twin swordsman panicked.
He was already falling back when Wang Lin raised his hand again—
But stopped.
Because the egg behind him shrieked.
Not aloud.
Spiritually.
The air pulsed outward.
All remaining disciples collapsed to one knee, clutching their chests.
Breathing — impossible.
"It's hatching."
Wang Lin's eyes widened for the first time.
"How fast?"
"I don't know. It's overriding everything. Even my access.
I can't slow it. I can't see inside anymore."
Wang Lin took a step back and raised both hands.
The egg rose with him — higher, until it hovered overhead like a miniature sun.
Golden lines burned across its surface, flaring like brands.
And then it cracked.
Just once.
A single fracture.
A line of light spilled out.
And the pressure—
Everything stopped.
Disciples froze.
Elders stopped speaking.
Birds fell silent.
Even the air held its breath.
Wang Lin stared up at it, breathing slow.
"Whatever's inside… isn't just bonded to you.
It's part of you."
The light within the egg dimmed again, as if hiding itself.
The crack sealed.
The glow faded.
And the egg lowered slowly into Wang Lin's hands — still warm, still alive, but not yet born.
He turned his back to the stunned circle of cultivators.
Walked.
No one followed.
Not even the elders.
Later that night, high in the inner peaks, two elders met in secret.
"The egg responded," one said. "To aggression. To fear."
"And to him."
"He should not exist."
"Then destroy him."
"…No."
"…Why?"
"Because if we fail…" the elder looked toward the east, where the stars refused to shine.
"…we wake something far worse."
Wang Lin sat in the ruins of his pavilion, cloak wrapped loosely around him.
The egg rested in his lap.
Breathing.
Sleeping.
And beneath the glow of the broken roof, he whispered,
"Sleep for now."
"But when you wake…"
"…we rise."
"And the sky will break."