Chapter 140: Drop One Stone and Subdue the World (补月票更16)

Seeing Li Hao’s calm, composed smile, Li Wushuang was momentarily stunned.

Beyond that single expression of concern, she suddenly felt a strange distance between them—almost as if they were strangers. Or perhaps, they had never truly been close.

After the brief exchange, silence fell.

They were cousins by blood—Li Hao and Li Wushuang—yet, in terms of connection, she now felt they were less familiar than even the disciples of the Tancheng Palace, who seemed so effortlessly at ease with him.

After a brief pause, Li Wushuang recalled her father’s words, the hidden dangers in Liang Prefecture, and immediately sent a mental transmission:

"The Demon Beasts beyond Liang Prefecture’s borders are restless. Be careful. If danger arises, send a distress signal. Father is currently residing and presiding over Liang Prefecture—he can rush to your aid at any moment."

“Mm. You too,” Li Hao replied, nodding, recalling the military report he had read.

Li Wushuang stared at him intently. She could faintly sense it—the young man before her, no matter how dazzling the fame of the Divine General’s Residence, could never be bound by it.

“If there’s an opportunity… I hope we meet again in Qingzhou,” she whispered softly.

Li Hao remained calm, offering no reply.

Li Wushuang sighed inwardly, then turned and walked back to her seat.

Once she had left, the other Masters still lingered, their gazes fixed on Li Hao, murmuring among themselves.

Not long after, several Masters approached, exchanging polite greetings—clearly seeking to cultivate a relationship.

They had all heard of the incident in Qingzhou, knowing Li Hao had severed ties with the Divine General’s Residence. But no one took it seriously.

After all, who wouldn’t want to step into the hallowed gate of such a prestigious lineage? Who would truly be foolish enough to walk out? They assumed it was just youthful pride—something that would fade, and he’d return eventually.

Now was the perfect time to build a connection—like offering warmth in the snow. In the future, it would be a blessing, a favor to be repaid.

Li Hao easily saw through their intentions. He felt neither disappointment nor surprise. He offered only polite, distant replies—cold enough to make the attempts feel awkward. Soon, the invitations dwindled, and no one dared to embarrass themselves further.

Masters were aloof, yet even they had families, disciples, sects—sources of vulnerability.

And where there was weakness, there was the desire to hide it. Thus, they sought alliances, smiled for favor, stepped into the arena of fame and power.

When one climbs the ladder of cultivation, one inevitably must pause, wait, and hope for the right moment.

The age of lone wolves is long gone. Even a Four Foundations Realm immortal, free to wander the heavens, must bow their head before the iron hooves of the Great Yu Divine Dynasty.

Otherwise, they’d be driven out like stray dogs, with no place to return.

Not long after, as the sun passed the noon mark on the sundial, a figure soared across the Dragon River from the opposite bank.

Clad in a long white robe, the wind whipping the fabric like a banner, the man wore a snow-white hood, his beard and hair pure white, his face rosy and serene—like an immortal from legend, ethereal and ageless.

"Sky Mechanism Mountain Sage," the waiting Masters instantly recognized.

He landed gracefully, lifting his hood to reveal long, flowing silver hair. With a warm smile, he swept his gaze across the crowd and said:

"Esteemed Masters, you have traveled far—from all corners of the realm. I am deeply grateful for your presence."

"Please, you flatter us," came the murmurs.

"Mountain Sage, you are too kind."

Below, Li Hao glanced around. There were at least two hundred Masters present—plus their families and attendants, making the gathering nearly two thousand souls.

But with the arrival of the Sky Mechanism Mountain Sage, the once-noisy throng fell into a hushed stillness.

After the formal greetings, the Sage turned to the main event—the rewards of this grand gathering.

Besides the mutual exchange of martial insights, the Heavenly Insight Tower had prepared special prizes for the occasion: Combat Scriptures, treasures, Spiritual Medicines—everything a martial cultivator would cherish.

Even more enticing, the Master voted best by the crowd would receive not only divine treasures and a celestial weapon, but also the right to enter the Treasure Scripture Pavilion of the Heavenly Insight Tower, where they could freely select one Ultimate Technique.

This reward was staggering.

After all, the Treasure Scripture Pavilion of the Heavenly Insight Tower housed an unparalleled collection of texts—its reputation rivaling even the Listening to Rain Pavilion of the Li Clan, and in some ways surpassing it.

Within it lay Ultimate Techniques so powerful, even a Four Foundations Realm cultivator could harness them—though mastery remained the true challenge.

Once the rewards were announced, the formal martial discourse began.

The talks were informal. Not every Master needed to step up. It was voluntary, based on personal desire.

Most had come to test their own martial paths, to identify flaws and refine direction—this was a rare opportunity.

Soon, an Old Sect Master stepped onto the Discourse Platform. After a few polite words, he expounded on his path—the Yin-Yang Path, born from the rhythm of day and night, the dance of emptiness and fullness.

As he spoke, the audience grew more familiar with his cultivation, but since he didn’t reveal his Ultimate Technique or signature moves, it wasn’t a complete exposure—just a promotion of his sect’s foundational philosophy.

Hearing it, Li Hao thought of the Yin-Yang Reversal Sword.

He had mastered that sword art through his Sword Dao, and naturally absorbed its core Yin-Yang principles. The concept was nearly identical.

But mastery of the Yin-Yang Reversal Sword didn’t mean one could enter the realm of a Master through Yin-Yang principles.

On the contrary, this Master had used the Yin-Yang Path to create sword styles, palm techniques—anything that echoed the rhythm of balance.

The key lay in the Dao.

Once one truly grasped the Dao, the Dao followed the will. Eating, walking, lifting a hand—every motion was a technique.

The sword art was merely skill. The integration of the Yin-Yang Path was the sword’s intent.

But the Master’s Path was the Dao itself—so every movement was both technique and Dao.

To cultivate skill through Dao was easy.

To climb from skill back to Dao? That was like rowing upstream—impossible.

Yet, thanks to his Character Panel, Li Hao had already internalized the Yin-Yang Path during his cultivation of the sword art.

So he understood every word. Worse, he sensed the man was holding back—concealing his true Ultimate Technique.

After all, even a master wouldn’t pass such a secret to his own disciple without hesitation.

As the Old Sect Master finished, tossing down the challenge: "I welcome your insights," silence followed.

Then, another Master stepped up—this one, the Ape Path.

He called it so because he had studied monkeys from childhood, drawing wisdom from their nature, and thus entered the Dao.

His disciples began their training by observing apes.

His combat scriptures all drew from primate movements.

Martial discourse wasn’t just about words—it was also about fists and feet.

Soon, the two Masters began sparring, yet with perfect control—no real harm, just a test of principle.

They were evenly matched.

The Ape Path Master wielded a heavy iron pole, his movements unpredictable and fluid, chaotic yet purposeful.

The Yin-Yang Path Master’s attacks were equally elusive—blending real and false, hard and soft, like mist on water.

As they fought, they also learned from each other.

When the exchange ended, both had gained insight.

But the entire session had already lasted an entire hour.

Previous Master Discourse gatherings lasted from three days to half a month.

This wasn’t a brief event.

Li Hao had expected novelty.

But as he listened, he found it dull.

He grasped the Dao instantly. Yet the speaker droned on—long-winded, repeating points, as if afraid no one would understand.

He wanted to skip ahead, fast-forward—but this was real life. No progress bar. No time control.

He sat, restless, like needles pricking his skin.

Finally, more Masters took the stage.

One followed the Immortal Transformation Path, inspired by the metamorphosis of butterflies.

Another, the Five Elements Path—using the five internal organs as foundation, cultivating five great mountains of energy, building attacks and defenses that were steady, enduring, and eternal.

Another, the Crimson Flame Path—drawing from the fire of the five elements, using fire to break through all laws.

Li Hao listened briefly. He understood each path instantly.

His combat scriptures were so varied, many of them had originated from these very masters.

He had absorbed countless martial philosophies.

That was why he could cultivate a mind vast enough to embrace all things under heaven and earth.

And as he listened, he realized: the simpler the Master’s Path, the deeper one could penetrate it—and the faster one could reach the Grand Master Realm.

The Crimson Flame Path Master even defeated the Five Elements Path Master by a half-step.

The Ape Path Master had also bested the Yin-Yang Path Master in a contest of Dao depth.

Though the Yin-Yang Path was broader in scope, the master hadn’t truly grasped its essence.

"The Great Dao is simple…"

Li Hao felt a spark of clarity.

This was what he sought.

He could, of course, master every Dao of heaven and earth—yet it would consume too much time, and yield little gain in cultivation level.

In short—poor return on investment.

So he must seek the core—the essence behind all things.

The journey from complexity to simplicity.

If one keeps chasing endless, intricate Dao realms, one risks becoming like that Yin-Yang Path Master—spending lifetimes expanding the breadth of one’s Dao, only to stall one’s cultivation, and be overtaken by masters who focus on a single, pure path.

A single, perfected technique—one strike, endless results—works everywhere.

If it doesn’t, then the technique hasn’t been perfected.

But if one can condense a complex Dao into a single, flawless move…

Then that move would be terrifying—beyond imagination.

Li Hao listened, searching for a certain Spirit Light—a spark of commonality among all things.

He sought the fundamental truth behind all Dao paths.

But that light remained dormant. Silent.

Suddenly, a voice rang out from the stage:

"Amitābha."

"My cultivation path is the Root of Human Nature—the Wrath Path, born from Greed, Anger, and Delusion."

The young man stepped forward, clad in a saffron robe.

The moment he spoke, the murmurs among the Masters hushed.

"Wrath Path? What?"

"Can emotion truly lead to Dao?"

"No wonder he’s a direct disciple of the Buddha Lord—his path is truly unconventional!"

The crowd stirred. Some looked stunned. Others suddenly understood.

Most masters entered Dao through nature—observing the heavens, the stars, beasts, plants.

But this youth? He entered Dao through the human heart—a rare and strange path.

Li Hao glanced at the saffron robe and narrowed his eyes.

A flicker of coldness passed through his pupils.

Mount Wu Liang.

That venomous woman’s quest for the Elixir had been fueled by Mount Wu Liang.

Possibly, it had been deliberate—an intentional lure.

Otherwise, how could she have known of the Elixir? Without guidance, she’d have chosen another path.

"All living beings possess Greed, Anger, and Delusion. Demon Beasts thirst for blood—greed. They rage uncontrollably—anger. Even plants, turning toward the sun, is greed. Roots spreading through the earth—anger."

The young man spoke calmly, his voice gentle like a ray of sunlight cutting through the cold wind by the Dragon River.

It brought warmth to all present.

Li Hao listened, though he hadn’t studied Buddhist combat scriptures.

Yet he understood—deeply.

This opened a new door to his own pursuit of the Dao.

Human nature could be Dao.

But what did Greed, Anger, Delusion share with beasts, with plants?

What was the common thread?

Or… did all things truly share a fundamental connection?

If not… then the Spirit Light he sought was just an illusion—forever out of reach.

And he would remain a mere Grand Master, entering the Three Immortal Realm, never reaching perfection.

As the youth spoke, Li Hao remained still—thinking.

Then, suddenly, the young man’s gaze swept the crowd… and paused on Li Hao.

He smiled.

"I’ve heard of Emperor Yu’s rare prodigy—a child who entered the Sect Master Realm at fourteen, unmatched in history. May I… ask you a question?"

The crowd snapped to attention.

All eyes turned to Li Hao.

Expectation, curiosity, even mockery—some wanted to see if the legend was real.

They had long wanted to test him, but dared not—afraid of the Li Clan’s might.

Now, the young man had spoken.

Shen Yunqing paled slightly and whispered to Li Hao:

"He’s a direct disciple of the Buddha Lord. One of the top ten in the Qianlong Ranking. He’s ranked first."

She knew the truth—she had witnessed the battle in Qingzhou.

She knew Li Hao had clashed with Li Qianfeng.

And this man? He was Li Qianfeng’s senior brother.

This sudden challenge? It was not curiosity.

It was an attempt to reclaim honor for his junior brother.

Or perhaps, to defend the pride of the Buddha Master.

Everyone knew what happened at the True Dragon contest—the tale of Li Hao, wielding a single chopstick, nearly killing a direct disciple of the Buddha Lord.

It wasn’t rumor.

It was fact.

The banquet guests had seen it with their own eyes.

And the story spread like wildfire—everywhere, retold, never silenced.

Beside him, Li Wushuang’s expression darkened.

Her eyes flashed with fury.

Just moments ago, she had admired the man’s path—now, he turned it into an attack on Li Hao.

She saw it clearly—this was no accident.

Li Hao met the young man’s gaze.

Both smiled, but Li Hao saw the coldness in his eyes.

Greed, Anger, Delusion…

So the man had fallen into pride.

Li Hao almost laughed.

He hadn’t sought trouble.

But trouble had come seeking him.

"Discussing Dao? I’m not interested," Li Hao said coolly.

It wasn’t retreat.

It was a challenge.

The rules of Dao discussion were meant to be gentle.

But he had no patience for games.

If he fought, he’d break him.

"Then… you’re not here to discuss Dao?" Qin Wujue narrowed his eyes, smiling faintly.

He was a Buddhist Sage, at the Heavenly Human Divine Form Stage—just half a step from perfect Master, Harmonized Dao Heart.

He had come to test his own Dao.

He had recognized Li Hao the moment he saw him strike the drum.

"Whether I discuss Dao or not… depends on my mood," Li Hao replied, still smiling.

"But I must say—your Dao is too simple. Not worthy of the name."

The crowd froze.

Qin Wujue, a direct disciple of the Buddha Lord, had just spoken a Dao heart born from wrath—profound, rare, and deep.

And Li Hao called it simple?

Qin Wujue’s smile didn’t waver.

"Then, if you find my Dao shallow… tell me, Master Li—what is your Dao? Rumor says you achieved sudden enlightenment at the Human-Heaven Stage during your duel with Marquis Xing Wuhou.

So… is your Dao one of fratricide? Of killing your own kin?"

Silence fell.

The crowd held its breath.

They had all heard of it—but never dared speak it in front of the Divine General’s Residence.

It was a stain on the Li Clan.

Now, Qin Wujue had spoken it aloud.

Some sneered. Others smirked.

They couldn’t touch the Divine General’s Residence—but they could mock Mount Wu Liang.

And so, the words became their voice.

Li Wushuang’s face darkened. Her eyes burned with fury.

It was a disgrace—something she knew was unjust.

She knew Li Hao had no fault.

But to have it thrown in his face like this? It was an insult to the entire residence.

Li Hao stared at him.

His smile vanished.

"…You really want to discuss Dao?" Li Hao asked softly.

Qin Wujue’s lips curled slightly.

"Then, Master Li, please—teach me."

Li Hao said nothing.

He raised his hand.

A stone from the ground leapt into his palm.

In seconds, it spun, polished, shaped—until it became a smooth, snow-white chess piece.

"All things under heaven and earth can enter Dao," Li Hao said, voice calm.

"If you can withstand my one move… then your path still holds value."

As he spoke, the air trembled.

Then, with a gesture like a master placing a stone on a Go board—one move, no retreat—he flicked the piece into the air.

It flew toward the Discourse Platform.

The tiny, nail-sized piece now pulsed with countless strands of Spirit Energy—soft yet firm, wrapping it like a veil of divine light, glowing with radiant hues.

At the same moment, a towering aura erupted behind Li Hao.

A colossal Phantom Image emerged—the Cosmic and Earthly Soul Form.

A hundred-zhang-tall Dharma Body, looming over the inner arena like a god, radiating an awe-inspiring presence.

The Dharma Body raised a hand—massive as a fan—its fingers seemingly pinching the dust-sized chess piece.

But now, the piece glowed like a miniature sun, its energy swirling, radiating a power that dwarfed mountains and stars.

As the Dharma Body’s finger descended, the pressure was immense—like a mountain falling from the sky.

The piece, now a blazing star, plunged toward Qin Wujue—Placing a Stone in Go, no retreat.

Qin Wujue’s face paled.

From the Dharma Body, he felt a terrifying aura—like facing rivers, mountains, sun, and moon.

The falling stone was no longer a mere piece.

It was an infinite mountain—without edges.

The sheer presence left him breathless.

"Infinite Golden Body!"

Qin Wujue sensed danger. He roared, unleashing a Buddha Title Roar—abandoning his previous calm.

His Spirit Soul summoned behind him—his body blazing with golden light, saffron robe fluttering, Buddha beads glowing.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end