Chapter 37: Establishing the Soul Upon Heaven and Earth

One year later.

By the Black Water Demon Lake, the savory aroma of fish soup drifted through the air.

The two elders sat with bowls and chopsticks beside the large pot. Feng Bozhun, adhering to the custom of tasting a spoonful of soup before eating, ladled some into his bowl and savored it slowly, exclaiming:

“Little Rat’s cooking is almost on par with the imperial kitchen.”

“Hmph, I’ve eaten this for a whole year and I’m still not tired of it—strange.”

Li Muxiu was also astonished; he hadn’t expected Li Hao to possess such exceptional culinary talent, and his skill kept improving.

“Have you ever eaten at the imperial kitchen, Feng Lao?” Li Hao asked with a smile.

“Stolen from it.”

Feng Bozhun’s white-haired, youthful face curled into a sly grin, as if savoring the memory, as he smacked his lips: “That half-bowl of leftover soup—still with my saliva in it—must’ve been served to some concubine.”

“You old thief, if you’d served that to Emperor Yu, you’d have lost your head,” Li Muxiu grumbled, clearly aware of this old friend’s past exploits—truly audacious beyond measure.

Li Hao couldn’t help laughing; he’d long known this Thief Saint elder stole everything, even once trying to gift him a silk scarf as thin as a cicada’s wing—rumored to belong to a sect’s holy maiden—until Second Master chased him halfway down the river, barefoot, and forced him to abandon the idea.

It had become a quiet regret in Li Hao’s heart—the first time he thought Second Master was meddling too much…

“When life is good, enjoy it fully—after all, you must try everything,” Feng Bozhun chuckled.

Li Hao picked up his bowl and began eating. As he listened to the elders tease each other, suddenly his mind stirred—a character appeared before him: 【You have comprehended the Culinary Dao Heart】.

Li Hao’s eyes flickered with subtle brightness, then returned to normal—exactly as he’d anticipated.

Ever since he rapidly reached Level Three in cooking, he’d sought to immerse himself in it, often visiting the kitchen to converse with the head chefs.

For this Li family’s young master, a child of heaven, the chefs dared not neglect him; though the behavior was bizarre, they answered every question he asked without reservation.

Through deep exchanges with these chefs, Li Hao’s horizons broadened—he realized the breadth of the Culinary Dao, no less vast than the Chess Dao.

Diverse ingredients, countless seasonings, precise heat control, cooking techniques, methods to remove fishy odors and off-flavors.

Li Hao gradually became obsessed, as if exploring a rich, colorful new world.

Unconsciously, he passed the stage of cooking for experience alone—he came to genuinely love cooking.

Even without gaining experience points, he’d seize every chance to show off, cooking something whenever he could.

Recently, whenever pastries arrived at Shanhe Courtyard, he’d taste them carefully; if they were poorly made, he’d overturn them and summon the chef to personally scold him.

Once immersed, one inevitably becomes serious, strict.

Like a slacker in a game who doesn’t care about losing—the ones who rage and break down are the ones who truly want to win.

Now that he’d received the prompt—comprehending the Culinary Heart—he felt no great joy. After earnestly pursuing something, one no longer fixates on the outcome, just as with his earlier Chess Heart.

Yet now that he possessed this mindset, he could attempt advancing the Control Dao to Level Four.

After their idle chatter and meal ended, Li Hao selected some good bones and fed them to the white fox beside him.

The white fox was one and a half years old, still small and delicate, its fur gleaming pure white. Li Hao regularly fed it spirit fruits infused with medicinal power, and daily fish soup—so the little creature had begun cultivation, reaching Level Five of Tongli Realm.

From a wild mountain fox, it had now become a cultivated demon, exuding a faint aura of demonic energy.

If it reached Zhoutian Realm, it would awaken spiritual intelligence.

Demons reaching Jihun Realm could already “appear and vanish like ghosts.”

After lunch, they fished for the rest of the afternoon.

Li Hao caught only one fish demon of Zhoutian Realm Level Two—his luck today was poor.

Returning to Tingyu Tower, Li Hao carried the white fox back to Shanhe Courtyard. Once locked in his room, he called up his interface, pondered, then used this heart to break through the Control Dao.

Instantly, the Control Dao rose from Level Three to Level Four.

Previously, Level Three had accelerated his meridian opening by leaps and bounds; now, with Level Four, would he gain new insights into the major meridians and the Qi Circulation Scripture?

As the point allocation ended, a flood of information surged into his mind. Long moments passed before Li Hao slowly opened his eyes.

His gaze was clear and bright, filled with surprise.

The world before his eyes had changed in subtle, wondrous ways; the rich insights in his mind told him that this universe was far more magnificent than he’d ever imagined.

The heavens and earth possess spirit!

“Demons and demons perceive the stars, sun, and moon… Jihun requires soul-nourishment; while inheriting soul-nourishment, one must also abide by certain ‘covenants.’”

“Humans may inherit from humans, from demons, or from myriad races.”

“Likewise, humans may receive inheritance from myriad races—from mountain spirits and ghostly entities—from true dragons and divine phoenixes—or even… from the stars, sun, moon, and this very universe!”

Recalling the martial manuals he’d seen in Tingyu Tower, combined with the cultivation methods he’d mastered, Li Hao suddenly experienced a moment of awakening.

To inherit soul-nourishment from a human, one must inherit their will.

To inherit soul-nourishment from a demon, one must inherit their nature.

But to inherit soul-nourishment from heaven and earth, one must inherit their weight!

“I will establish my soul upon heaven and earth!”

Li Hao’s eyes blazed with intense light. He activated the Ten Thousand Forms attribute, enveloping his body—unless he struck with tremendous force, no outsider could sense him.

Then, his entire strength surged along the major meridians; the Yin and Yang meridians simultaneously emerged, converging at the crown of his head.

Instantly, his entire body’s power exploded upward, containing terrifying force.

This power seemed ready to burst forth, shattering the invisible barrier before him.

He sought to commune with heaven and earth—to ask heaven, to ask earth—for a fraction of their power!

As if sensing his fierce intent, a vast, terrifying pressure descended upon him, like a solid mountain crushing down—his bones cracked audibly, barely able to bear it.

The weight of heaven and earth outweighs Mount Tai! Li Hao’s eyes reddened, roaring inwardly.

The terrifying power of the Yin and Yang meridians erupted—his strength instantly doubled, reaching nearly ten million catties!

That boundless willpower seemed lifted—then slammed back down! Li Hao bent forward, his feet sinking deep into the wooden floor.

He gritted his teeth—he knew brute force wouldn’t work; he had not yet perceived the form of heaven and earth!

What is the form of heaven and earth?

Is it the sky, the white clouds, the mountains and rivers, the myriad lands…? These are all parts of heaven and earth—but not its entirety! To establish his soul upon heaven and earth, what form did heaven and earth hold in his heart? Li Hao’s mind recalled a Buddhist martial technique from the seventh floor of Tingyu Tower, containing one Buddhist phrase:

“The Buddha has no form.”

If the Buddha has no form, how could heaven and earth have form?

“I dwell within this heaven and earth—I am the reflection of heaven and earth!”

Li Hao’s eyes suddenly blazed with light; his spirit and strength seemed to pour out, shattering an invisible barrier, reaching straight to heaven and earth!

All his strength converged, condensing his essence, energy, and spirit—above his body, a faint shadow emerged: his own likeness.

Establishing his form as heaven and earth’s reflection, establishing his soul upon heaven and earth—this moment, Li Hao entered Jihun Realm.

Infinite power flowed into his body, Shunzhe heaven and earth, Shunzhe the boundless void around him.

The curtains in the room trembled violently, yet all doors and windows were closed—where did this wind come from?

In the courtyard, beneath the pavilion.

As Li Hao advanced in cultivation, Li Fu no longer followed him everywhere, but still resided in the same courtyard.

Now, he played chess in the courtyard—not because he loved it, but because Li Hao had insisted he teach him, so now, in his spare time, it was the only pleasure he could find.

He was locked in a fierce game with Zhao Boyi.

If Li Hao saw this board, he’d only say: “Two amateurs beating each other.”

Suddenly, both men paused mid-move, glancing toward a certain direction.

An inexplicable chill rose—like some grand force awakening—startling them, as if a divine illusion.

What was it? Instantly, both stopped playing and rushed toward Li Hao’s room—something strange must be afoot.

As they burst through the door, they saw the room in disarray—vases along the shelves had fallen and shattered into pieces.

Li Hao, however, stood with his feet deeply sunk into the wooden floor, breathing lightly—as if he’d just finished training.

“What happened?”

Seeing no sign of an ambush, they exhaled in relief, then hurried to Li Hao’s side.

Li Hao had already calmed the surge of power from his Jihun breakthrough; Ten Thousand Forms concealed his outward aura. He wiped sweat from his brow, exhaled, and said: “Just training.”

“You brat, why not train in the courtyard?” Li Fu grumbled, yet didn’t suspect him.

Li Hao’s Zhoutian cultivation was no secret—he knew of it, though not its exact extent.

“I suddenly had an insight,” Li Hao explained.

“That’s good then.”

Zhao Boyi smiled. Though the shattered vases were centuries old and priceless, as long as Li Hao progressed in cultivation, it was all worth it.

After reassuring them, Li Hao remained in his room, savoring the power of Jihun Realm—it far surpassed Zhoutian Realm.

No wonder only those who reached Jihun Realm were deemed fit to govern a city.

And now, he was only nine years old—he could already command a city!…

After Jihun, Li Hao’s life remained unchanged.

Each day, he ate, drank, fished, painted, played chess in the courtyard, or visited the kitchen to cook.

As time passed, the young master invented new pastimes—studying poetry, learning the qin—as if determined to stray further down the path of idleness.

Time flew swiftly; spring passed, autumn arrived.

In the blink of an eye, five years had passed.

Year 14 of Qingyuan Era.

This year, Li Hao turned fourteen.

(End of Chapter)