The four imprints in his left palm were not large, but intricate, resembling the depths of the starry sky or the condensed essence of the cycle of life and death.
Four indistinct yet undeniably real Samsara Seals!
Shi Hao stood frozen, bewildered. What had just happened? Was his experience real? Yet here he stood, unharmed, his body unchanged.
In that instant, countless thoughts flooded his mind, leaving him motionless, as if petrified by time itself.
He remembered—when cultivating his second strand of immortal energy, he had nearly perished, his primordial spirit leaving his body and entering a dark prison. There, he had glimpsed countless imprisoned, mysterious souls.
And in that darkness, he had even witnessed the cycle of reincarnation!
“A single glance back, a moment of focus—that is a lifetime of past and present,” Shi Hao murmured, his heart roiling like stormy seas.
Reincarnation, rebirth—these were grave matters, confounding even the most brilliant prodigies across the ages. None could truly unravel their mysteries.
Mortals were easily deceived; some clung to superstitions, believing in heavens and hells, past lives and future ones. But how could cultivators believe such things?
The stronger one became, the more one trusted in oneself rather than fate or predestination. Cultivators defied the heavens, seeking to overturn causality and rewrite destiny.
Otherwise, how could they achieve longevity, far surpassing ordinary mortals?
Yet, despite the endless flow of time, no one had ever deciphered the truth of reincarnation. Was it real?
If not, why did some awaken ancestral souls, like Qing Yi? Why did prodigies manifest Samsara Seals, like Shi Hao now?
If it existed, where was the proof? Who could declare that someone was the reincarnation of an ancient fallen immortal?
Perhaps reincarnation was merely an imprint of time, a strange journey of the soul through the void, an illusory experience after the primordial spirit left the body.
Shi Hao pondered, reflected, and concluded.
He avoided dwelling on the true meaning of past, present, and future—it clashed too sharply with his beliefs.
After an unknowable length of time, he finally raised his head, emerging from his trance.
“Just now, in those moments of distraction, my heart was unsettled. It felt as though everything I experienced had happened before. Could that be a form of reincarnation?” Shi Hao chuckled self-deprecatingly.
Sometimes, he felt as though his actions had occurred before, a déjà vu. Was that truly a glimpse of the cycle?
He shook his head. This was not a mystery he should pursue now. That was the domain of true immortals. Only when he could endure the test of time would contemplating life and death hold meaning.
For now, his only goal was to grow stronger!
“My primordial spirit is truly astonishing,” Shi Hao mused, impressed even by himself. What ordinary Heavenly God could possess such a terrifying soul?
Standing still, his brow glowed as a miniature figure stepped out from his forehead, radiating divine light, wreathed in auspicious energy—utterly sacred and transcendent.
It stood before Shi Hao’s brow like a tiny sun, undoubtedly the pinnacle of the Heavenly God realm. Few in history could rival such a primordial spirit at this level.
An invisible majesty emanated from it.
Moreover, this fist-sized spirit was covered in dense, intricate bone scripts, forming a natural armor that shielded it.
“Primordial True Solution,” Shi Hao murmured. These patterns were the bone scripts of the Primordial True Solution, now fused with his primordial spirit, becoming an unparalleled armor.
As his spirit returned to his body, Shi Hao felt his essence, energy, and spirit reach their peak—his strongest state yet!
Both physically and mentally, he stood at the zenith of his martial path. If he faced the Netherworld Hound again, he was certain the battle would not be so grueling.
Now, he had the confidence to crush his foes. Who among Heavenly Gods could rival him?
Shi Hao retrieved a small white jade cauldron and harvested the remaining Yellow Spring Fruits. The first plant was already barren, devoured by Yellow Spring Worms. The second had borne three fruits, one of which he had consumed. The third still held five golden fruits.
Seven golden, translucent fruits exuded an intoxicating fragrance—yet they were also perilous. Who would have thought consuming one could plunge one into a cycle akin to reincarnation?
A misstep could trap one forever, lost in illusion.
Even now, Shi Hao questioned whether it had been a dream or reality. The four Samsara Seals on his hand were too vivid, a constant reminder.
He did not consume a second fruit. The Grand Elder had warned him—one was enough; more would be futile.
“The remaining seven can be gifted, but I must guard the recipients. Otherwise, disaster may strike,” Shi Hao said before turning to leave.
He did not uproot the three trees. Transplanting them would be futile—Yellow Spring Fruits only grew in lands of extreme yin, places of unimaginable horror.
Such places were inevitably piled with countless bones.
The purity of this land stemmed from the fact that these were no ordinary remains—likely immortal corpses, few in number but potent in effect.
“Both here and the nearby valley hold what may be true immortal remains. Pity my current strength bars me from approaching them,” Shi Hao remarked.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t mind playing grave robber, searching for immortal treasures left on those supreme beings.
He retraced his steps briefly before changing course, exploring the hills for other opportunities. After all, this was the Immortal Mound.
Soon, he arrived at a stone forest—jagged rocks jutting like heavenly swords, reclining like old oxen, or spreading like Roc wings.
Threads of immortal mist curled through the area, drawing him closer.
Guided by instinct, Shi Hao ventured deeper until he reached the heart of the stone forest, where a modest yet imposing stone mountain stood.
“Ah, that old farmer again!”
He spotted the same farmer he had seen earlier, lingering here as well. This time, however, the man remained silent, as if listening to some cosmic truth, immersed in enlightenment.
Shi Hao heard it too—chanting, layered and chaotic, filling the mountain with an eerie glow.
With a swift leap, Shi Hao ascended the mountain and peered behind it—only to recoil in shock.
Behind the mountain lay a realm of shadowy mist, dim yet streaked with immortal fog. Ghostly figures lurked within, creatures of all kinds.
Amid the darkness, they growled and roared.
Some sat motionless, chanting scriptures, surrounded by followers absorbing their teachings.
Heroic Spirits!
Countless Heroic Spirits, densely packed like a sea of bones, gathered in one place.
Most were fragmented, save for the powerful ones seated and preaching—though “preaching” was a generous term. They were displaying great divine abilities, subduing their followers.
“This is an immense force!” Shi Hao’s heart trembled. Unleashing these spirits would shake the heavens and earth.
“Look closely. At the very back, some have turned golden, free of yin energy, nearly as strong as in life,” the farmer said, appearing beside Shi Hao.
Activating his Heavenly Eye, Shi Hao indeed spotted golden lights in the depths of the mist—radiant, like suns burning in the night.
His soul nearly froze. Those beings were terrifyingly powerful, exuding immortal auras rather than deathly ones.
“These Heroic Spirits are too strong. If they escape, who could stop them?” Shi Hao shuddered. Even the maimed ones would wreak havoc, let alone the golden ones. The world would descend into chaos!
The farmer spoke, “This place is called the Immortal Mound, but it’s an ancient burial ground. Too many beings were interred here after the great war, including true immortals. Some became Heroic Spirits, creating this horror. But fear not—they cannot leave. This place is sealed!”
Shi Hao leapt higher and saw a yellowed piece of paper affixed to the mountain’s side, inscribed with an ancient character: “Seal.”
A single aged parchment, weathered and yellowed, yet it held the power to suppress countless Heroic Spirits, barring all from crossing its boundary.
“Some say a destined one may come to lift the seal and lead these spirits to war. But caution is needed—missteps could turn them loose upon the world,” the farmer said.
He had been painted onto a stone wall, later gaining sentience. Though his knowledge was incomplete, his words were staggering.
Shi Hao stared at the endless spirits, particularly the golden ones—their emergence would be catastrophic.
“Beyond this, I’ve heard whispers of even more terrifying beings slumbering beneath this ancient land,” the farmer added gravely.
Shi Hao whipped his head around, his mind further unsettled.
“Supreme among Heroic Spirits, they became sovereigns even in the Immortal Ancient Era. Their true origins are unfathomable,” the farmer warned. These spirits were a double-edged sword.
“I’ll remember,” Shi Hao said. Given the choice, he’d avoid this place. But if the day came, he would return without hesitation to break the seal.
With that, he turned away, uninterested in the chaotic chants. They held little meaning for him.
“Farewell. I go to cultivate. The Seed Within—it must succeed!” Resolved, Shi Hao decided to return to Heavenly Deity Institution, leaving the Immortal Mound behind to embark on his path of rebirth.
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