Chapter 52: Merit Ranking

Li Hao summoned his Spirit Soul. A golden-hued Soul Form soared from above his head, drifting across the sky like a radiant spirit.

Within moments, he spotted two wandering children at the edge of the village. Without moving his body, his Spirit Soul plunged downward in a swift descent. With a casual sweep, the ground erupted in a storm of sand and flying stones—two remaining fugitives were pierced through and slain in an instant.

Meh River Completion Rate: 90%

The Spirit Soul turned back, and Li Hao took a single step forward—fifteen li in an instant. In the next breath, his figure materialized directly behind the village’s mountain, beside the black-robed scholar.

The scholar, sensing Li Hao’s sudden appearance, blinked in mild surprise.

Li Hao had already noticed: this man was unlike the other villagers. His expression wasn’t blank or soulless—it carried thought, will.

The woman-shaped Soul Form clinging to the scholar’s back suddenly lifted her head, her gaze icy and piercing as she locked onto Li Hao.

“You shouldn’t be here, Realm of your kind,” the scholar murmured, voice calm yet edged with warning.

Li Hao shrugged. “I didn’t mean to. Didn’t care enough to notice.”

A brief silence. Then the scholar said, “Before you strike… can I finish my work first?”

Li Hao glanced at the man’s hands. One held a palette of pigment, the other a brush stained with blood. Before him stood a painting—a woman’s portrait.

The face in the painting… was eerily similar to the one on his back.

“You’re into the Painting Dao?” Li Hao raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. He hadn’t expected a being of the dead to possess such an artistic inclination.

The scholar said nothing. He merely dipped his brush again and continued adding delicate strokes to the canvas.

Li Hao leaned in, intrigued, observing closely. The man’s skill was decent—among the best Li Hao had seen among those he’d encountered before.

“You’re different from the villagers outside,” Li Hao remarked.

The scholar frowned. He disliked interruptions while painting, but Li Hao’s presence was too powerful to ignore.

“They’re merely my slaves,” he said coolly.

“So you’re the lingering resentment behind this Meh River,” Li Hao concluded. “If I deal with you, the river should collapse.”

“You can’t kill me,” the scholar replied, voice distant and cold. “Even if you destroy this place, I’ll return.”

“Then why won’t you move on?” Li Hao sighed. “You’re already dead.”

The scholar’s brush paused mid-air. A faint, bitter smirk curled his lips—but then, as if remembering something forbidden, he stopped himself. He let out a few hollow laughs, then turned back to his work, ignoring Li Hao entirely.

Li Hao circled him slowly, scanning the surroundings. When he realized the scholar wasn’t responding, he focused on the painting.

The brush didn’t use ink—only blood. The result was grotesque, violent, almost demonic.

But Li Hao wasn’t judging the image. He was analyzing the technique.

“The brushwork here is too soft,” he muttered. “The blood’s too thin. You need more—dip deeper, let it bleed into the paper. That’s how you get natural flow.”

Silence.

The scholar’s hand trembled slightly. He turned slowly, eyes sharp and piercing. “You… understand painting?”

“Just a little,” Li Hao replied with a shrug.

The scholar studied him. Though Li Hao only possessed the Continuation of Soul Realm, his existence was sustained by the unique power of the Meh River. For centuries, he’d been trapped within this place—Tan Palace Academy—watching countless martial cultivators pass through.

Some were terrifying, stronger than the boy beside him, capable of obliterating the entire river village with a single gesture. Others were weak—no different from the villagers outside. Dozens had died here over the years, some even daring to reach him. All were killed without mercy.

He’d seen all kinds. But someone like this boy—so young, so powerful in the Martial Path, and yet knowledgeable in an art like Painting Dao—was rare.

“The Painting Dao is profound,” the scholar said, “even if you’re gifted, it’s not something you can master with a little effort.” He turned back to his canvas, dismissing Li Hao.

Oh come on, Li Hao thought, narrowing his eyes. I just said I knew a little—did you actually think you were that good?

Sure, his martial path was impressive. But art?

“The Painting Dao is deep,” Li Hao said plainly, “but you’re just a beginner.”

“What?” The scholar snapped his head up, eyes cold.

“You’ve got at least sixteen flaws in this painting,” Li Hao continued without pause. “It’s stiff, lifeless—your soul is absent. You truly lack spirit.”

“You dare?” The scholar’s voice cracked. His pale, corpse-like face flushed with rage. He glared at Li Hao, trembling.

“Look here,” Li Hao pointed at the canvas. “And here. And here. Every single one is flawed. You can’t see it because your skill is too low.”

“You—!” The scholar trembled violently. The shadowy woman on his back writhed in fury, her form pulsing with dark mist—ready to tear Li Hao apart.

But Li Hao didn’t flinch.

A living soul in the Continuation of Soul Realm? He was still just a living soul. Did he really think he could turn into a golden-haired beast again?

“Give me the brush.”

Without another word, Li Hao snatched the brush from his hand. Then, with a sharp tug, he ripped the painting from the easel, crumpled it, and tossed it aside.

Seeing his masterpiece destroyed like trash, the scholar finally snapped. He let out a blood-curdling scream.

His once-peaceful, handsome face twisted into a monstrous grimace. Blood oozed from his eyes, nose, and mouth—bubbling, gurgling. His black robes flared open, revealing the inner lining—stained crimson.

The robe had been soaked in blood for decades, but the stains had dried and hardened, giving it the appearance of black cloth.

Li Hao didn’t even glance. His Spirit Soul shot forward, effortlessly pinning both the scholar and his Soul Form to the ground, immobilizing them.

You dare get angry after making a painting this terrible? Li Hao thought. I should be the one furious!

His focus sharpened. For the Painting Dao, he held true reverence.

He picked up the brush.

With swift, fluid motion, he dipped the tip into blood and began to paint. The strokes flowed naturally—layered, dynamic, alive.

Within moments, the blood on the brush ran dry. Li Hao grabbed the scholar’s face, wiped the brush across his cheek, gathering fresh blood, then resumed painting.

In mere moments, a figure emerged—lifelike, delicate. A woman standing sideways, head gently lowered, her expression gentle and serene.

The same woman from before.

But now… she lived.

The difference was undeniable.

The best way to silence a stubborn opponent? Crush their pride in their most cherished craft.

Li Hao released the scholar and stepped back, arms crossed. “Compare them. If you still can’t see the difference… then you should put down the brush. Go farm in the village instead.”

The scholar nearly choked on his own breath. Farm?

He lunged forward, fury rising—until his gaze caught the painting.

His body froze.

Ai Yue…

The scholar stood frozen, as if struck by lightning. His eyes locked onto the portrait. His limbs trembled.

Then, two crimson tears spilled from his eyes.

Ai Yue… Is it really you…?

He staggered toward the painting, breath ragged, hands trembling. He reached out, as if to touch the woman’s face—then pulled back, terrified of ruining her.

His shoulders shook. Blood streamed down his cheeks.

The Soul Form on his back—once a dark, malevolent presence—now stared at the painting. Her black, fierce eyes slowly softened, as if awakening from a long slumber.

“Better?” came a voice beside him—dry, matter-of-fact.

The scholar snapped back to reality. He looked at Li Hao, who stood there with quiet pride.

For the first time, the scholar felt no anger.

Instead, he dropped to his knees—thud—and bowed deeply before Li Hao.

“Thank you…” he whispered, eyes filled with tears. “Thank you… for letting me see Ai Yue again.”

Ai Yue? Li Hao raised an eyebrow. Interesting. But he didn’t dwell on it. Seeing the man had surrendered, he helped him up.

“The Painting Dao,” Li Hao said, “is deep. You must not just enter the heart—you must have soul.”

As Li Hao continued lecturing, the scholar turned away, lost in the painting. The world around him faded.

Minutes passed.

Li Hao grew irritated. “Are you even listening?”

The scholar blinked, then smiled—a soft, peaceful smile.

His black robes began to change. The color faded—black to crimson, then to pale red—before finally turning into a pristine white scholar’s robe.

The image of a former scholar, perhaps a scholar of old.

“My wish is fulfilled,” he said, voice light. “Thank you, kind soul.”

On his back, the woman’s Soul Form dissolved the darkness. She shimmered into a form identical to the one in the painting. She floated in the air, then bowed gracefully toward Li Hao—eyes filled with gratitude.

Then, both figures began to fade.

“Ai Yue…” the scholar whispered, his form dissolving into mist. A smile lingered on his lips.

Li Hao stood stunned. What in the world just happened?

Then—his palm burned.

The Golden Paper appeared in his hand.

In golden script, letters carved through the paper like a blade:

> Progress: 100%

> Fengshan Meh River cleared. Reward: 100 Merit Points.

> You have entered the Merit Ranking.

> The Meh River will vanish. Leave immediately.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end