A ten-zhang chamber, its rough stone walls bare and silent, stood in utter stillness.
Boom!
Suddenly, flames surged, countless symbols converging like a boundless ocean, vast and turbulent, roaring as they swept forth—these were the runes of the myriad heavenly laws!
Shi Hao was submerged within. Holding an immortal seed, he sat cross-legged at the center, sealed within the ten-zhang chamber, enduring the crushing weight of the myriad heavenly laws.
The runes transformed into raging flames, burning fiercely like exploding suns and moons, resplendent as a phoenix’s rebirth, its blood staining the starry sky, its first cry echoing!
This was an indescribable spectacle, a magnificent tableau.
Thousands of runes and countless patterns intertwined, tens of thousands of “Dao principles” stretching like ribbons, intersecting and weaving into a vast net.
Pop!
A soft sound—a vivid splash of blood blossomed at Shi Hao’s brow, unbearably tragic, before being incinerated clean in the surging runes.
This was the agony he endured: seated in seclusion, immobile, the “myriad laws” pressing upon him, burning his true self, tempering his soul and bones, teetering on the brink of annihilation.
Boom!
A deafening roar. Around Shi Hao, space twisted—he was forging a furnace, with heaven and earth as the crucible and the myriad laws as the flames!
A cauldron took shape, exquisitely crafted, brimming with Dao resonance. Within its mouth, chaos mist churned, sealing him inside.
Outside the cauldron, endless runes turned to flames, refining the vessel, tempering his body and soul, birthing the scriptures of the heavens and manifesting supreme laws.
In an instant, the myriad laws resonated, and the place erupted!
Outside, a mere snap of fingers passed.
Within the stone hall, fragments of time froze, then flowed again—time here was chaotic, weaving and shifting, as if forming its own separate world.
Inside the ten-zhang chamber, the myriad laws thundered.
The cauldron was riddled with holes. Shi Hao, charred black, endured the crushing weight of the myriad laws, hammered and burned by endless runes, nearly shattered.
Back on the bluestone path, enduring the tempering of three thousand Dao principles had already been a life-and-death struggle, teetering on the edge of annihilation. Now, with ten thousand laws pressing upon him, the challenge was unimaginable!
Yet, he had grown many times stronger, having taken that step and cultivated a strand of immortal qi, vastly increasing his endurance.
Otherwise, the weight of ten thousand laws would have shattered him instantly, reducing him to ashes without a trace of doubt.
But even so, with a wisp of immortal qi coiling around him as protection, the danger was beyond measure. His life flickered like a candle in the wind, dim and unsteady, ready to be snuffed out at any moment!
Boom!
A deafening explosion—the furnace forged from heaven and earth shattered, and Shi Hao suffered a devastating blow.
Half his body was riddled like a sieve, pierced by countless runes, his injuries horrifying. Anyone witnessing this would pale—what kind of suffering was this?
Shi Hao set down the “immortal seed.” The Mother Qi of all things receded, the laws of heaven and earth dimmed, and the surrounding Dao runes vanished, restoring silence.
He took out a sacred herb, consumed it, and silently began healing.
This was torment akin to hell, unbearable for ordinary people, fraught with peril and the constant threat of death.
Here, he had ten chances to revive, but Shi Hao refused to waste even one. Thus, he swallowed sacred herbs to heal. His path was too terrifying; he couldn’t squander opportunities.
In truth, different people walked different paths, each requiring unique conditions.
Take Little Rascal, for example, who cultivated the Dao of Nature—her path was not as violently intense, sparing her the agony of being crushed to dust or burned to ashes.
Shi Hao’s path was different. He had chosen a treacherous road, one that could allow him to cultivate two strands of immortal qi—but how could such a feat be easily achieved?
After all, strictly speaking, one path could only yield a single strand of immortal qi.
This recovery took him over ten days—how much time passed outside remained unknown—before his wounds were fully healed.
Then, Shi Hao entered seclusion again, forging another cauldron, burning his soul with the myriad laws, tempering his bones!
Again and again, he emerged, refined his insights, endured countless injuries, and meditated in silence.
Finally, during his last attempt, he lost control. The cauldron shattered, and he was submerged in the flames of the myriad laws. Even discarding the immortal seed was too late.
The myriad flames engulfed him like ten thousand immortal blades, piercing his body, unbearable even for his immortal qi and supreme blood.
He sat unmoving, unable to evade—only to resist. Amidst the agony, he comprehended the process of the myriad laws burning his soul and slashing his flesh, seeking enlightenment within.
Bang!
After an unknowable span, he exploded—body and soul—turning into streams of light, reduced to dust!
In that final moment, Shi Hao felt an indescribable emptiness, as death claimed all, plunging him into eternal darkness.
After an unfathomable time, his consciousness gathered anew, his blood droplets trembling, coalescing once more.
“I live…”
Three short words, weightier than divine mountains, loftier than the heavens. He felt an ineffable silence, a joy and gratitude for life.
Without experiencing death, how could one understand the brilliance of life?
A realization dawned in his heart, but when he tried to speak, no words came—only silent contemplation within.
Blood gathered, flesh reformed, bones reconstructed—his body remade. Sparks of spirit condensed into divine sense, reforming his soul, his primordial spirit manifesting once more.
Shi Hao revived, a newborn aura suffusing him, as if he had traversed the darkness of the primal age, undergone a cycle of reincarnation, and now stood reborn.
Silent as stone, he sat unmoving, like a fossil.
He roused from his awakening but remained still, for he saw an image upon the rough walls of the ten-zhang chamber.
A young man, peerless in grace and talent, unmatched among his peers, revered as the Little Immortal King.
He had already cultivated a strand of immortal qi but remained unsatisfied, striving to ascend further, to stand among the mightiest!
He had chosen a path like Shi Hao’s—burned by the myriad laws, enduring endless torment, yet never retreating.
Finally, with a muffled pop, the Little Immortal King exploded, his flesh mangled, his soul extinguished, reduced to ashes.
“Was it worth it? This path is a dead end—it cannot succeed,” someone asked the Little Immortal King within this very chamber.
The young man’s body reassembled, reborn—clearly, like Shi Hao, he had died once before.
“Worth is irrelevant. This is my conviction, my path, my Dao!” His eyes were deep, calm yet resolute, unwavering in his determination to walk this road.
Then, the vision faded.
Shi Hao pondered deeply. In the previous era, another youth had come here, seeking enlightenment within the ten-zhang chamber, tempered by the myriad laws.
Just now, he had witnessed the Little Immortal King’s trials.
Shi Hao reflected for a long time, comparing their experiences, before entering seclusion once more.
Outside, time flowed, not overly long.
But within the chamber, Shi Hao’s seclusion felt like an entire cycle of reincarnation.
This time, he interrupted his cultivation repeatedly, consuming sacred herbs to heal, avoiding death too easily.
Thud!
Yet, after many attempts, he was still slain by the myriad laws, his body charred, dying a second time.
Another journey through darkness, another rebirth—like a cycle without reincarnation, unaware until awakening that he had died and now lived again.
Such trials would shatter the resolve of most, but Shi Hao treated them as invaluable experience, a whetstone to hone himself, to grow stronger!
Upon the rough stone walls, the vision reappeared.
“Will you continue? Your Dao foundation will waver. This path is too difficult—it cannot succeed. You court self-destruction.”
The Little Immortal King, peerless in grace, remained steadfast. “Without this path, how can I rival those few? I refuse to be inferior!”
“They had fortune and opportunity, their paths irreplicable. Yours is but a broken road.”
“How can I know without walking it? If I cannot surpass them, how can I stand on the vast battlefield? If I am not the strongest, how can I turn the tide?”
“You are too stubborn.”
“My father has fallen in battle, his blood not yet cold. Renowned in this era, he still fell. If our generation cannot surpass, we too will perish. There is no retreat. I will follow his footsteps to the battlefield, shed my blood until this era’s end.”
Shi Hao’s heart stirred, unable to remain calm!
Finally, he exhaled, shaking his head, setting aside thoughts of the past era. Instead, he studied the Little Immortal King’s gains and losses, comparing them to his own.
The third time, Shi Hao entered seclusion, surrounded by towering flames that became mountains, rivers, suns, and moons, all pressing down upon him.
Again and again, he interrupted his cultivation, consuming sacred herbs to survive—yet he still perished.
Then, the Little Immortal King appeared once more, unshaken, striving in the final days of the Immortal Ancient Era, hoping to change everything.
The fourth time, the fifth time…
By the ninth, Shi Hao had died nine times. This path was too brutal—the cauldron shattered, his body and soul reduced to ashes, a harrowing ordeal.
Throughout, he witnessed the Little Immortal King’s journey, mirroring his own: shattered, dying, unable to transcend, failing to cultivate a second strand of immortal qi.
Upon the rough walls, the vision surfaced again.
“Choose another path. Some have succeeded, their power equally peerless,” came the advice.
“The choice is made. There is no turning back,” the Little Immortal King replied calmly.
“You can turn back. Why must you burn the myriad laws, seek transcendence? The heavens will not permit it—you are doomed to fail!”
“This is my path, my Dao! If one day, the heavens change, the laws shift, and the cosmos transforms—what then, without transcendence?” The Little Immortal King’s voice was low.
Shi Hao’s eyes blazed as he watched, silent but deeply moved.
Only one chance at revival remained.
The tenth time, he closed his eyes and entered seclusion.
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