“I still want to go,” Shi Hao murmured softly. This path was treacherous—since ancient times, nearly all who had embarked upon it had met their demise, ending in failure.
Yet he refused to yield. He was determined to take that pivotal step, forging a path unlike any other, to witness the vistas of a different world!
“You must think carefully. The likelihood of perishing is far greater than that sliver of hope. One could even say this is a path of certain death,” Qi Daolin reminded him calmly.
In his eyes, such hope was more akin to temptation than true illumination. Should Shi Hao stubbornly persist, he would inevitably meet the same fate as his predecessors—his blood staining the pages of another failed chronicle.
“How can I know it’s impossible without trying? Step by step, I’ll carve out a different path,” Shi Hao muttered to himself before fixing his gaze on Qi Daolin, earnestly seeking knowledge of the ancient paths others had taken.
Qi Daolin remained silent, studying him. Seeing Shi Hao’s calm resolve—not a fleeting impulse—he finally nodded. “It seems I must seek another disciple, then. Best to prepare early.”
Shi Hao was speechless. Was Qi Daolin already writing him off, convinced he would fail and perish?
With a sweep of his wide sleeve, Qi Daolin let loose a cascade of bone scriptures, burying Shi Hao beneath them—all records of past sages.
Shi Hao was astonished. Around him, the bone scriptures formed a small mountain—some golden, others silver-bright, some wreathed in violet mist—all extraordinary, radiating auspicious signs.
Among them were also plain, aged bones, devoid of luster, bearing the weight of time, inscribed with the wisdom and paths of ancient sages.
Shi Hao picked up one at random and was instantly captivated.
“Beast Sea Calendar, year 936,852—Kun Yu was born, bearing the Celestial Diagram, his radiance illuminating the land…”
Shi Hao was stunned. This was an ancient figure from the Beast Sea region, born with extraordinary omens. As he read on, he confirmed the man’s unparalleled brilliance.
“Kun Yu soared across the heavens, dimming the stars. At nineteen, he traversed rivers and seas, suppressing the prodigies of three thousand provinces, unmatched under the sky. Later, he abandoned the Ancient Flames to seek a new path… and perished that same year.”
Though his life was brief, Kun Yu’s brilliance was unparalleled in history. Yet, in his quest for a different path, he ultimately fell.
Later annotations detailed Kun Yu’s path, leaving Shi Hao deeply shaken as he studied them closely.
This was undoubtedly a forbidden text—one even major sects might not possess. Such records were typically banned, as they could mislead future geniuses.
Shi Hao immersed himself, reading each line dozens of times, pondering and analyzing the successes and failures of Kun Yu’s path.
He set the scripture aside, having memorized it all.
Next, he picked up another aged bone, its surface dulled by time. As he read, his heart stirred—this was another extraordinary figure.
“Fire-Gold Calendar, year 1,243,291—Five Emperors illuminated the heavens, yet their twilight neared. Fire-Gold Mo emerged…”
By the end, Shi Hao was deeply moved.
In that era, the Fire-Gold Clan ranked among the Ten Great Clans, hailed as an Imperial lineage. With five emperors ruling their age, they sought to elevate their prodigy, Fire-Gold Mo, to even greater heights—only to meet tragedy.
“The Five Emperors summoned allies and sages, merging their paths into flames to forge Fire-Gold Mo’s divinity. Yet the seeding failed, and the Imperial Clan fell. The Fire-Gold Vessel Seal became a lost echo in the tides of time.”
Shi Hao sighed. What a waste.
He quickly perused the other scriptures—all chronicles of past paths, invaluable experiences, secret classics.
These bone scriptures were priceless. To most, they were mere curiosities, but to someone like Shi Hao, they were celestial treasures!
“These things…” Shi Hao looked up at Qi Daolin. It was rare for one person to possess so many, given their ties to major sects’ secrets.
“I stole them all,” Qi Daolin admitted frankly, even with a hint of pride.
Shi Hao was speechless. No wonder Qi Daolin was hunted by sects—if he could amass such a trove, who knew what other treasures he had?
This man was truly a “unique character,” living up to his infamous reputation.
Of course, Shi Hao felt no disdain—only admiration. To outsiders, they might seem like kindred spirits.
“You’re not the only genius in this world. Many have sought different paths—I was one of them,” Qi Daolin said.
Clearly, he had failed. Yet unlike some young supremes of history, he had survived.
He admitted that after venturing far down that path and foreseeing the inevitable, he had wisely retreated rather than foolishly throwing his life away.
“A true hero knows when to act and when to yield. To charge blindly into certain death is folly,” Qi Daolin declared, unashamed of his retreat—even proud of it.
Shi Hao understood his intent: a warning not to stubbornly walk a doomed path.
After all, this road was perilous—perhaps no one had ever succeeded, a path drenched in the blood of fallen geniuses.
“I know,” Shi Hao nodded before immersing himself in the scriptures, studying the paths and methods of ancient sages, distilling their wisdom.
This was the foundation, the soil for success. Only by learning from predecessors could he kindle the spark of his own triumph.
No one could break through in isolation.
The outside world was restless, especially in Fire Province’s divine mines, but Shi Hao paid no heed. He was lost in a radiant world, pursuing his path.
During this time, he became a martial fanatic, pestering Qi Daolin for guidance, forgetting sleep and food in his obsession.
Though Qi Daolin claimed he would seek another disciple, foreseeing Shi Hao’s failure, he still instructed him earnestly.
Eventually, Shi Hao emerged from the ancient paths, calming his mind to reflect and deduce.
“Truly a path of death,” he murmured. Even with the sacred object—the Heaven’s Womb—the odds of failure were staggeringly high.
“Regardless, I must press forward!” Shi Hao’s gaze was resolute. To retreat now would mean abandoning all hope.
On the ground, the oval “Heaven’s Seed” had stabilized, swathed in primal mist, nourished by the world’s essence and absorbing myriad laws, still incubating.
After discussion, Shi Hao and Qi Daolin agreed: the best place for this Heaven’s Womb, infused with immortal gold and intertwined with the Great Dao, was within Shi Hao’s brow.
There, his spirit could observe it, preparing for the day he would use the world as a crucible, igniting himself with the laws. For now, he needed to attune himself to it.
When the battle of the three thousand provinces’ geniuses began, he would replace the immortal gold, sealing himself within the “egg” to temper his true form.
“Hmm?” Even under Qi Daolin’s protection, Shi Hao nearly faltered while absorbing the sacred object. The primal mist’s weight fluctuated wildly, nearly cracking his skull at its heaviest—a single wisp could crush a mountain.
Fortunately, Qi Daolin was extraordinary. He taught Shi Hao a rudimentary form of the Eight-Nine Heavenly Art, combining the Kun Peng Technique, Thunder Emperor Method, and others to stabilize the object.
The sea of consciousness was mysterious, capable of housing life-bound treasures. Adding one more was no issue.
“This is the Eight-Nine Heavenly Art, a method to command treasures. I withheld it earlier fearing you’d harm yourself—it’s not meant for this realm.”
Qi Daolin explained that mastering this art required reaching an extreme level, where flesh, bone scripts, and spirit fused seamlessly.
Shi Hao, with his freakish physique, could barely manage the “rudimentary form.”
Typically, Venerable One or Divine Flame realm cultivators attempting this would shatter—only the sturdiest foundations could bear it.
Had it not been necessary to suppress the sacred object, Qi Daolin wouldn’t have taught him yet, fearing mishap.
Shi Hao felt his skull’s scripts flicker, a thrilling pressure building within.
“This is good. Using the Heavenly Art as a cage to contain the immortal gold will temper your techniques,” Qi Daolin smiled.
Shi Hao focused, realizing the benefits—the pressure forced him to frequently employ the rudimentary Heavenly Art, driving his techniques and scripts, a form of cultivation in itself.
Moreover, observing the “womb” and grasping its laws greatly benefited his spirit. Though he hadn’t yet replaced the immortal gold, he could still study and comprehend the Dao.
Outside, unrest continued. Disciples of various sects anticipated the arrival of You Yu and Yun Xi, who might visit the Supreme Dao Field.
Meanwhile, Fire Province was in uproar—the Heaven Mankind Clan’s divine mines had been plundered, sending shockwaves through the land.
“Boom!”
Within the broken mountain gate, terrifying flames erupted from Shi Hao’s skull, his spiritual fluctuations so intense even Qi Daolin opened his eyes to watch.
“This brat kept clamoring to plant the Calamity lotus in a pond. Seems he digested some spirit-nourishing wonder drug—now its effects manifest.”
Qi Daolin, with his keen insight, grasped the situation instantly. His brows twitched in surprise. “Could it be the Golden Bodhi Fruit? That aura… he actually succeeded!”
Even he was astonished. History recorded many attempts at this realm, all ending in failure—often explosively.
Yet Qi Daolin knew some had succeeded, else the ancient method wouldn’t exist. It simply wasn’t recorded in bone scriptures.
Shi Hao sat motionless as a boulder, his skull glowing, his hair radiating divine light.
He’d long known the Golden Bodhi Fruit could strengthen his spirit, but its effects had lain dormant until today, when the new object in his skull stimulated his sea of consciousness, triggering this transformation.
His spirit expanded as the drug’s power fully unleashed, rapidly enhancing his mental strength.
Within his skull, his consciousness took form—a radiant, miniature figure seated in splendor, vastly more powerful.
“A significant leap from before,” Shi Hao sensed clearly. His spirit had evolved, now human-shaped.
Simultaneously, his body shone, scripts layering over him, every pore exhaling terrifying blood qi that surged skyward like a crimson curtain before retracting.
Then—boom!—he broke through.
Shi Hao’s eyes blazed with light, like swords stretching hundreds of feet. He had advanced to the late Venerable One stage.
His accumulated insights, combined with his enhanced spirit, had propelled him to new heights, making him fearsomely strong!
Shi Hao rose to his feet, gazing beyond the mountain gate.
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