Shengui Changsheng: Start from Zhenwuwei and add some points to cultivate immortality

On this day, following a strange call, they arrived at a forgotten star field. There were no stars here, only an endless expanse of slowly swirling gray mist—a newly born "Eye of the Ruins".

"This place... is so peculiar." Mu Wanqiu felt the immense power emanating from the mist, which was not merely deathly stillness, but contained both the concepts of "end" and "beginning," and said softly.

Fu Shaoping's gaze was profound. His Annihilation Star God Body and the power of Return to Nothingness within him were unusually active in this place. "Return to Nothingness is not an absolute dead end. All things originate from nothingness and will eventually return to nothingness. But within this nothingness, there may also be an opportunity for rebirth."

He sat cross-legged at the edge of the Eye of Return to Nothingness, no longer resisting, but instead actively guiding the gray mist of Return to Nothingness into his body. This time, it was no longer a simple absorption and refinement, but using himself as a bridge to comprehend and understand the essence of "Return to Nothingness," which constitutes one of the ultimate laws of the universe.

Mu Wanqiu stood guard by the side, also comprehending the profound meaning of the cycle of life and death. Gradually, her Ice Lotus Sword Intent gained an eternal charm that encompassed life and death.

Time flies, and countless years have passed.

A layer of gray crystalline shell gradually covered Fu Shaoping's body, making him look like a fossil. His aura merged with the entire Eye of the Void, sometimes appearing to vanish completely, and sometimes bursting forth with a vitality beyond comprehension. Mu Wanqiu knew that he was at a crucial juncture in his enlightenment.

Finally, at a certain moment, the gray crystal shell made a soft "crack" sound and peeled off piece by piece. Fu Shaoping opened his eyes, and his eyes were no longer those of stars and abysses, but had transformed into two slowly rotating, chaotic vortexes, as if containing everything, yet also as if containing nothing at all.

He succeeded. He not only completely mastered the power of the Void, but also grasped a sliver of its true meaning of "being born from death." His cultivation naturally crossed that barrier and entered a completely new and mysterious realm—which could be called "Dao Venerable," surpassing ordinary immortals and gods, and touching the level of the fundamental laws of the universe.

"Senior sister, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." Fu Shaoping stood up, his aura returning to its original simplicity, like that of an ordinary person. However, Mu Wanqiu could sense that with a single thought, he could influence the life and death of the surrounding star field.

Mu Wanqiu smiled gently, her aura becoming increasingly profound. Although she had not yet broken through to the next realm, she was only a step away from becoming a Dao Venerable.

"Where are we going next?"

Fu Shaoping took her hand and looked into the deeper part of the Eye of the Void, into an absolute darkness that could devour even light and divine sense.

"Let's go see what's at the end of the Ruins."

The two exchanged a smile, and without any further hesitation, they took their hands together and stepped into the ultimate void that even the Dao Ancestor might not dare to easily venture into...

Their figures vanished into absolute darkness, as if swallowed by the universe.

However, after countless years, in another primordial world newly born and where laws were just established, at the first meeting point of Yin and Yang energies, two blurry figures slowly coalesced. One aura encompassed all things, containing the cycle of beginning and end; the other aura was cold and eternal, guarding the newly born order.

They gazed upon this tender world with witness and love in their eyes, and then their figures faded away again, leaving behind only a fleeting legend and a guardian seed, bearing the marks of stars and lotus flowers, hidden deep within the origin of the world.

The whereabouts of Fu Shaoping and Mu Wanqiu have since become the greatest mystery in all the realms. Some say they have transformed into the Dao in the Void, becoming part of the laws of the universe; some say they have transcended this universe and gone to higher dimensions; others say they are omnipresent, and whenever a world faces annihilation or rebirth, whenever a civilization reaches a crossroads, their presence appears, silently guiding and protecting the spark of infinite possibilities…

Their legend began in humble beginnings, rose against all odds, overturned the old order, and ultimately transcended the heavens, returning to the void.

Wherever the Dao lies, though there are countless realms, I will go.

The void is boundless, and so is the Way.

Okay, this is Fu Shaoping activating the Book of a Hundred Lifetimes, his second reincarnation:

【A Hundred Lifetimes of Reincarnation - Second Life: A Glimmer of Light in the Mountains】

Consciousness was detached from the endless darkness and chaos, as if a drowning person had finally broken through the surface of the water, and Fu Shaoping suddenly "awoke".

However, what came into view was not the familiar void or the ruins of a star palace, but a low, dimly lit roof made of thatch and mud, with a few rays of light filtering through the cracks, illuminating the dust swirling in the air. A mixture of musty, earthy, and faint herbal smells filled the air.

He stirred and found himself lying on a hard wooden plank bed, covered with a patched, stiff cotton quilt. His body... had become incredibly small and weak.

"Pingwa'er? You're awake?!" A woman's voice, thick with accent and filled with surprise and exhaustion, rang out from beside her.

Fu Shaoping turned his head and saw a woman dressed in coarse linen clothes, with a sallow complexion, sitting on a small stool by the bed, holding a worn-out palm-leaf fan in her hand. The woman was about thirty years old, but the long years of hard work made her look much older. At this moment, her eyes were filled with tears as she looked at him with emotion.

Memories surged like a tide, belonging to this life, to a six-year-old boy, intertwined with his vast primordial spirit memories, yet clearly distinct.

This is Wangshan Village, a poor and isolated village nestled in the folds of mountains. He is the only son of the Fu family, also known as Fu Shaoping. His father, Fu Tieshan, was one of the best hunters in the village, but half a month ago, he encountered a black bear while hunting in the mountains. Although he miraculously survived, he lost a leg and is now bedridden. The pillar of the family has collapsed. His mother, Yang, works day and night to care for the father and son, making their already meager situation even worse. A few days ago, he caught a cold due to hunger and cold, and suffered from a persistent high fever, almost failing to survive.

Deeper memories told him that he had activated the ancient, mysterious treasure, the "Book of a Hundred Lifetimes," voluntarily entering the cycle of reincarnation to experience the myriad aspects of life and temper his Dao heart. This was his second life. The overwhelming power and boundless supernatural abilities of his previous life, which allowed him to dominate the world and defy the gods, had now been sealed by the power of reincarnation, settling deep within his primordial spirit, leaving only a trace of extraordinary clarity and unwavering Dao heart.

He is now just an ordinary, even somewhat frail, six-year-old child from a mountain village.

"Mother..." He opened his mouth, his voice dry and hoarse, carrying the unique innocence of a child. This call came out naturally, carrying the deep affection of blood ties in this life.

"Yes! Mother's here! Mother's here!" Madam Yang responded hurriedly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She picked up a chipped earthenware bowl beside her, filled with dark, murky medicine. "Quick, drink the medicine, you'll feel better after you drink it." Fu Shaoping obediently took his mother's hand and sipped the bitter medicine. His gaze swept over the bowl, taking in the "home." The house was bare, the only furniture being this broken bed, a crooked wooden table, and a few stools made from tree stumps. In the corner were piles of farm tools and hunting items, all looking old and worn. The windows were covered with old hemp cloth, which whistled through when the wind blew in.

Poverty, poverty that seeps into his very bones. This is a feeling he never truly experienced in his previous life as a Nascent Soul Daoist and a successor of the Star Palace.

After he finished taking his medicine, Yang carefully helped him lie down, tucked him in, and said softly, "Sleep a little longer, Mother will go and cook you some porridge." With that, she walked unsteadily toward the simple stove outside the house.

Fu Shaoping lay on the hard bed, gazing at the thatched roof, a sense of peace washing over him, devoid of loss or anxiety. The cycle of reincarnation was meant to refine one amidst the hustle and bustle of the world, to find enlightenment in the myriad aspects of human existence. Wealth and poverty, all were forms of spiritual practice.

He gently closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to observe himself through introspection. His meridians were blocked, his constitution ordinary, and only a faint life force slowly circulated within him—truly the most common physique among mortals. The power to annihilate stars with a wave of his hand in his previous life now seemed as distant as a dream.

But he could sense that deep within his sea of ​​consciousness, the "Book of a Hundred Lifetimes," neither gold nor jade, floated quietly, emitting a faint light, recording every detail of his life. His Dao heart, forged through the void and battles of the Heavenly Court, was already as firm as a rock. Now, in this extreme ordinariness and poverty, it had become even more settled, like a mirror wiped clean of dust, reflecting the most authentic human world.

Outside, the faint coughing of the mother as she started the fire, and the subtle rustling of rice grains churning in the broken pot, could be heard. Inside, the father's suppressed groans and sighs could be faintly heard.

Fu Shaoping slowly clenched his small fist.

In this life, he is no longer Fu Shaoping, who had to defy the heavens; he is simply Pingwa'er from the Fu family in Wangshan Village. His battlefield is no longer the starry sky and the palaces of the nine heavens, but this barren land and this home that is battered by storms.

The road must be walked step by step. The path must be rebuilt with every bite, every drink, every brick, and every tile.

His legend will begin quietly in this lifetime, in the most insignificant way.

Fu Shaoping, or rather, Pingwa from Wangshan Village, lay in bed for another two days. Although his high fever had subsided, his body remained weak. He silently circulated that wisp of clear divine sense that surpassed that of ordinary people, not for cultivation—his body in this world had no foundation and could not sense any spiritual energy, so forcibly cultivating would only backfire—but rather, like the most precise instrument, he regulated the vitality of this young body and guided the medicinal power to nourish the depleted vital energy.

As Yang watched her son get better day by day, a glimmer of light finally returned to her sallow face, even though the rice porridge in the pot was getting thinner and thinner, and the medicine pot was about to run out.

On the morning of the third day, Fu Shaoping felt some strength returning to his body, so he struggled to get out of bed. His movements startled Yang, who was sleeping on a straw mat next door.

"Pingwa, why are you up? Go back to bed!" Madam Yang hurriedly got up, her face filled with worry.

"Mother, I'm all better now. I want to go out for some fresh air." Fu Shaoping's voice was still childish, but it carried a calmness that slightly startled Yang. She looked into her son's clear eyes, which were unlike those of a six-year-old. Gone was the naivety and timidity of the past; instead, they were like a deep pool, bringing peace of mind.

She sighed and didn't stop him anymore, but carefully wrapped the old cotton-padded coat full of patches around his neck: "Just stand at the door for a while, don't catch a cold."

Fu Shaoping nodded and pushed open the creaking wooden door.

The village of Wangshan was shrouded in a thin mist at dawn, with distant mountains appearing indistinctly in the distance. Wisps of smoke rose from the low thatched roofs, carrying the scent of firewood. The village was small, with only twenty or thirty households. The muddy roads were lined with withered weeds and bare trees, a scene of desolation in late autumn.

His house was located on the edge of the village, near the foot of the mountain, making it even more secluded. There was a small open space in front of the door, next to which was a simple chicken coop made of branches, where only two hens listlessly pecked at the ground.

This is where his life began. Resources were scarce, information was limited, and his parents suffered from poverty and illness.

He walked to the chicken coop and looked at the two thin hens. According to his memories from this life, these two chickens were the most important possessions in the family besides the meager food rations. They relied on their eggs to exchange for salt or to nourish his father.

"I need to find a way to improve the family's situation," Fu Shaoping thought to himself. Directly using the knowledge or methods from his previous life was unrealistic; a six-year-old child from a mountain village suddenly possessing profound knowledge or extraordinary abilities would only be seen as a prodigy. He had to use methods appropriate to this identity and this environment.

His gaze swept across the overgrown hillside behind the house, and further on, the vast, desolate mountains. For the villagers, the mountains were both a source of danger and a means of survival.

"Pingwa, are you really all better?" A rough but concerned voice came from behind.

Fu Shaoping turned around and saw a tall man wearing an animal skin vest, leaning on a cane against the door frame of the inner room. It was his father in this life, Fu Tieshan. His face was pale, his left leg was fixed with a wooden board and bound with dirty strips of cloth, but his eyes were still sharp, a light honed by years of dealing with the mountains and forests.

"Father," Fu Shaoping called out, walking to his side, "I'm much better."

Fu Tieshan reached out his rough, calloused hand and patted his head, a hint of guilt and pain flashing in his eyes: "It's my fault for being useless, making you and your mother suffer."

Fu Shaoping shook his head and remained silent. He could sense the man's resilience and unwillingness to give up.

"Brother Tieshan, why are you out here!" Yang came out of the kitchen, saw her husband, and quickly went to support him. "The doctor said you need to rest!"

Fu Tieshan sighed, gazing at the distant mountains with a complicated expression: "I can't stay in bed... Winter is almost here, and we only have so little food at home... Sigh."

A heavy pressure hung over this small family.

Fu Shao calmly looked at his parents. Suddenly, he raised his little finger and pointed to a spot on the hillside behind the house, saying in a childlike tone of curiosity, "Dad, Mom, I had a dream a few days ago. I dreamt that the Mountain God told me that behind the rock in Laoya'ao on the back mountain, there are medicinal herbs that can cure Dad's leg injury, and also a very sweet wild fruit." (End of Chapter)