Chapter 659: Three Years

Wang Lao chuckled at Li Hao's words: "You're quite amusing. Then do as you please—having such calmness before the Immortal Emperor's legacy is rare indeed. No wonder you possess an Eternal Dao Heart."

The Nine Resonances of Heaven and Earth, the Eternal Dao Heart—they had earned Li Hao his deep admiration.

After all, such a disposition at the Saint level was rare even in the peak days before the Emperor's Fall War.

"So, does the elder agree?"

Li Hao's eyes glimmered slightly.

"If you truly wish to learn, I can teach you. I don't grow rice or wheat here—I grow Immortal herbs and Divine grasses."

Wang Lao smiled. "If you truly master it, it's a craft worth having. If the True World still held even a third of its former glory, you'd be honored as a guest of honor in many Immortal sects, elevated to the rank of Immortal Lord."

Li Hao was startled—he hadn't expected the elder's cultivation skills to be this powerful. Just this one skill alone could grant status equal to an Immortal Lord? How extraordinary. "Then thank you, Elder, for teaching me."

Li Hao bowed deeply, preparing to perform a full prostration.

Wang Lao waved his hand. "If you pass the three trials, you'll become an honorary disciple of the Immortal Emperor—you needn't bow to me. If you fail, I'll accept this bow then."

Hearing this, Li Hao abandoned the formalities, yet his respect for the old elder deepened.

"First, I'll teach you how to identify Immortal herbs…"

Wang Lao smiled lightly. Cultivating Immortal herbs was his joy; speaking of them brought even more warmth to his expression.

Wang Lao led Li Hao into the fields. Acres of fertile land glowed with hazy auras from Immortal herbs and Divine grasses. Li Hao saw the Dao of the cosmos drift like down, settling around the herbs like gentle, translucent hands cradling them.

"This is the Everlasting Immortal Grass. It absorbs Heaven and Earth's energy naturally, thriving without irrigation—but if cultivated properly, nourished by the essence of Gold Dao, it transforms into Everlasting Immortal Leaves, the core ingredient for the Everlasting Unfading Elixir…"

Wang Lao brought Li Hao to the field's edge, pointing casually at a herb to explain.

Li Hao noticed the elder's tender gaze—looking at these herbs as if they were his own children.

He found it fascinating. Cultivating Immortal herbs seemed like a delightful pursuit.

Yet his panel couldn't record it—it wasn't classified as an art or skill.

But Li Hao didn't care. He sat beside Wang Lao on the field ridge, listening as the elder recounted cultivation techniques and amusing stories from past harvests.

Sun rose, sun set—here, the heavens cycled through stars and moons. Li Hao asked curiously; Wang Lao said the celestial constellations were self-evolved by the Spirit of the Heaven's Calamity Hall.

These constellations weren't mere decoration or for day-night cycles—they formed a Great Constellation Array, sustaining the Heaven's Calamity Hall's power eternally.

Time flew like a shuttle.

Li Hao no longer sat on the meditation cushion to contemplate Dao—he sat on the field ridge, chatting and laughing with Wang Lao, learning about Immortal herbs.

The two looked like simple farmers, utterly without dignity. Li Hao rolled up his sleeves, tied his pant legs above his knees, his feet caked in mud as he wandered the fields. Occasionally, black, ant-like insects crawled up his legs from the mud—not ordinary bugs, but special spiritual insects Wang Lao had meticulously bred.

These insects stimulated Immortal herb growth and devoured the dull, stagnant patches of Dao within the herbs, enhancing their quality.

During breaks from farming, Li Hao casually asked if Wang Lao played go. The elder smiled back: "Do you?"

Hearing that tone, Li Hao immediately pulled out a go board from his Heavenly Space, eager to challenge Wang Lao.

Wang Lao was surprised to see Li Hao carry a go board on his person, then burst into laughter. He rolled up his sleeves, sat with Li Hao before the cottage, placed the board atop a log used for chopping firewood, and began the game with the young man.

Li Hao was confident—he aimed to give this high-level elder a small shock with his go skill. But the moment he placed a brilliant move, he was utterly crushed, as if he'd handed his own pieces directly to his opponent. His favorable position collapsed instantly under the elder's next move.

By the end, Li Hao began doubting his existence—he could no longer discern good from bad moves, and his placements grew hesitant.

After losing three games in a row, Li Hao was stunned. This was the first time he'd been so thoroughly defeated in go.

Wang Lao smiled, gathering the stones. "Your skill is already remarkable. But to beat me? Live another hundred thousand years."

He laughed heartily, radiating satisfaction.

Li Hao's face darkened. He could lose in combat—but never in go.

He rubbed his chin, propped his cheek in his hand, replaying the games in his mind.

If his go style was about exquisite strategy, the elder's was like a unicorn's horn—effortless, traceless, beyond reach.

After a night's rest, Li Hao returned the next day, pestering Wang Lao for another match.

After losing four or five more games, he finally glimpsed a thread of the elder's strategy. When he placed a stone in an utterly unremarkable spot, Wang Lao let out a soft "Hmm?" Studied it twice, then looked at Li Hao, and sighed in admiration: "This boy's insight is truly extraordinary!"

But in go, the elder wouldn't hold back.

With a few swift moves, he killed the entire board.

Li Hao felt as if he'd been punched twice—his breath caught, barely holding back a surge of rage.

Seeing Li Hao's miserable expression, Wang Lao laughed even harder. "Want another round?"

"Yes!"

Li Hao grew more serious, playing with even greater care.

And lost even worse.

The old man and the boy clashed fiercely before the cottage. On the meditation cushion, a figure suddenly opened his eyes. His restrained aura leaked slightly; a gleam flashed in his gaze as he looked toward the black tower ahead.

Then, as if remembering something, he turned his head—searching the cushion, finding no figure there. His eyes shifted to the cottage.

There, before the cottage, sat the old man and the boy, backs hunched, utterly absorbed in the go board.

The elder was calm, smiling. The boy, however, was scratching his head, face grim, eyes locked on the board as if pouring every ounce of his spirit into it.

Seeing this, Ming Sheng raised an eyebrow. During his own meditation, he'd thought of the boy several times—each time, he'd found him either chatting with Wang Lao on the field ridge or playing go before the cottage. He'd never seen him sit on the cushion.

Not cultivating? Or trying to curry favor with Wang Lao to get private lessons? Ming Sheng's lips curled into a faint sneer. When he first arrived, he'd hovered around Wang Lao, fetching tea, massaging his legs, offering every kind of flattery. Wang Lao accepted it all, treated him kindly—but clearly told him: he would offer no hints regarding the trials.

It was a Dao-bound restriction left by the Immortal Emperor. Even without it, Wang Lao wouldn't have revealed anything. His reverence for that Immortal Emperor surpassed all else—he would never desecrate it.

After Ming Sheng, he'd seen other Saints follow the same path—and all met the same result.

Now this new prodigy thinks he can take the shortcut. Clearly, he's mistaken.

With his talent, if he simply cultivated earnestly, he might still catch up to them. But now he's chasing false paths, wasting time—then he'll have to bear the consequences.

Ming Sheng rose and walked toward the black tower.

Some Saints sensed his aura depart, opened their eyes, and said: "Ming Sheng is challenging the True Venerable Tower."

Hearing this, other Saints with shallow cultivation also stilled their minds, opened their eyes, and grew solemn. If he succeeds, he'll reach the third stage—the gap will widen drastically.

Among them, Mu Sheng, with snow-white hair seated at the front, opened a sliver of his eyes, coldly watching the retreating figure.

Among all the Saints, only he and Ming Sheng regarded each other as rivals in the second trial. After all, there was only one Immortal Emperor's legacy. Whoever claimed it would ascend swiftly, gaining the foundation to stand above all life in the True World.

But if they failed, they'd become just another among countless True Immortals—struggling even to pursue the rank of Immortal Lord. The gap was too great.

"Huh? Why is he still playing go with Wang Lao?"

Someone noticed Li Hao—still not on the cushion, still with Wang Lao.

Though Wang Lao was immensely powerful, beyond their reach, he offered no help in the trials—no guidance, no hints. So they had no time to court this powerful elder.

"Probably hoping for pointers. But useless."

Someone shook his head, eyes filled with mockery.

Luo Sheng, Dong Dao, Chen Chen Baoyu, and other Saints who'd spoken with Li Hao before all sighed inwardly but said nothing. Though they liked Li Hao, he was still a rival. Advising him now would mean helping the most promising rival find the right path.

Hua Sheng and You Sheng exchanged glances. You Sheng suddenly whispered to Li Hao: "Ming Sheng is challenging the True Venerable Tower. If he passes, he may be the first to enter the third trial—then Wang Lao will teach him the path to Immortality."

Li Hao, deep in thought over the go board, sensed nothing of the outside world. His spirit was immersed in the board alone—in a mental space where only the board existed, floating in the starry void, and before him sat a giant of go, looking down upon him.

This overwhelming pressure forced him to give his full attention—only then could he lose a little slower.

"Ming Sheng is challenging the True Venerable Tower. Aren't you worried?"

At that moment, Wang Lao noticed the commotion from the cushions, looked up, and smiled calmly at Li Hao.

Li Hao felt the giant above him roar—he blinked, snapping back to reality.

Seeing Wang Lao's expression, following his nod, he turned to look at the distant black tower—and saw a Saint entering it.

"Oh."

Li Hao glanced once, then returned his gaze to the go board.

At this moment, he only wanted to solve this locked position.

"Hao Tian, did you hear me? Wang Lao is kind, but he won't help you with cultivation."

You Sheng's whisper came again.

This time, Li Hao heard. He turned, saw You Sheng and Hua Sheng watching him with concern. He paused, then understood their intent—and smiled.

"No rush. When I can beat Wang Lao, I'll start cultivating."

If he could beat Wang Lao, he felt his go skill might even break through to the eleventh dan.

"This…"

You Sheng froze, momentarily speechless. Could go really be this captivating—dimming even the Immortal Emperor's legacy?

Li Hao turned his gaze back to the board, sinking once more into his thoughts, oblivious to all else.

He pondered deeply, while Wang Lao waited for his move. The elder watched the boy with interest—he wasn't pretending. He was truly without urgency. Wang Lao smiled faintly. Though keeping Li Hao company had delayed things, he'd seen the other Saints' talents—they wouldn't make great progress soon. When Li Hao's interest waned, he'd choose the right moment to send him back to proper cultivation.

Among all the trial-seekers, he valued this boy most. Though he couldn't give hints or special lessons, he'd at least urge him to cultivate.

On the cushions, many were silently counting Ming Sheng's challenge time.

Soon, Ming Sheng emerged from the True Venerable Tower.

"Longer than last time. Clearly, he wasn't affected—and he's broken through!"

"Indeed. That one took the wrong path, trying to flatter Wang Lao and wasting his time. My own mind has steadied."

"Wang Lao said that if you pass, your combat instinct reaches an absurd level. It's not a technique—techniques are accumulated experience. This instinct is a rare, ever-shifting combat ability, requiring special methods to cultivate."

"We must work harder. Don't wait until Ming Sheng reaches the third stage and masters the Immortal Dao while we're still puzzling over the methods."

Many Saints grew solemn, withdrawing their gaze from the returning Ming Sheng, closing their eyes to cultivate again. Some smiled and offered congratulations.

Ming Sheng's face showed no joy or anger—only coldness. Though he lasted longer this time, he felt far from victory. He'd barely escaped danger several times through quick thinking—but it wasn't enough.

He turned his head, glanced at the figure before the cottage—still utterly absorbed in the go board, eyes devoid of distraction. His brow furrowed slightly; a faint sneer touched his lips, then vanished. He turned back to his cushion and resumed meditation.

Time passed slowly.

Here, silence reigned, broken only occasionally by the loud laughter of the old man and the boy.

But all cultivators were shielded by their Dao domains—unless there was a shift in aura, mere sound couldn't disturb or affect them.

In days past, as everyone cultivated, the only sounds were occasionally the rustle of Wang Lao's hoe digging the earth and the trickle of the stream beyond the fields, but now, this place once like a paradise beyond the world, had gained a touch of human habitation.

A year passed in the blink of an eye.

Li Hao's Go skill reached the pinnacle of Ninth Dan, yet he still suffered crushing defeats at Wang Lao's hands, never winning a single game.

Li Hao had never lost so badly; in his spare time, he pondered the Art of Painting, but his spirit was entirely consumed by the lost Go games, leaving his mind unsettled, and forced meditation on the Art of Painting yielded little result.

The more he lost, the more he craved another match, as if addicted—yet Wang Lao, having won too often, still had the leisure to water the fields while playing Go with Li Hao, gathering the Dao to nourish the immortal herbs; by the time he finished and returned, he'd find Li Hao still hesitating over his move, so he'd brew himself tea and rub the mud between his toes.

When Li Hao finally placed a stone after long deliberation, Wang Lao swiftly dropped his own, instantly freezing the boy's fleeting smile, then plunging him back into deep thought.

Seeing the boy's expression shift so dramatically, Wang Lao found it amusing—he had never met anyone so devoted to Go; had it been anyone else, he would have won so thoroughly he'd grown bored, but this boy's stubborn refusal to yield, his quiet determination, always stirred in Wang Lao the urge to keep defeating him.

Hmm, though cruel, he didn't like losing either.

Two more years passed.

Before the cottage, beside the Go board, the boy sat in focused concentration, placing a stone.

Suddenly, from a distant cushion, a powerful spear intent coalesced and erupted violently, as if piercing the heavens.

This overwhelming spear intent disturbed the boy's thoughts at the board; he turned his head to look.

"Finally, a third person has perfected the Ten Thousand Battle Immortal Art," Wang Lao remarked, a smile tugging at his lips.

(End of Chapter)