Covering the Sky: I Prove the Great Dao Through the Gate of Immortality

"Can I challenge for the title of the world's number one?" A young man stepped out from the crowd, his eyes burning as he stared intently at the small figure holding the pottery jar high in the sky.

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an irrepressible intensity.

Who wouldn't want the title of the best in the world?

Even if one is only the number one in the Blood Transformation Realm, it is still an unparalleled honor personally recognized by that mysterious being.

This honor was not bestowed by any ancient kingdom, nor was it promoted by any power. Rather, it was selected from among the billions of living beings in the eight regions and personally pronounced by that unfathomable being.

Its gold content is unprecedented.

Among the crowd, the young talents all had flames burning in their eyes at this moment.

They were still hesitating and weighing their options, feeling that it was unfair to challenge a five-year-old.

But when the words "Number One in the World" were truly placed in front of them, when they realized that as long as they defeated this little guy, they could take his place and become famous throughout the world, all their concerns were thrown to the winds.

In the face of glory, what is the point of bullying the weak?

The path of cultivation is one where the strong are respected.

If you can't stand firm, someone will naturally pull you down.

"Since it's a fair challenge, I'll give it a try."

Another person stepped forward, his robes fluttering in the wind, his aura overwhelming. He was a core disciple of a major sect, and was once hailed as a genius rarely seen in a century when he was at the Blood Transformation Realm.

Although he has long since broken through to a higher realm, the foundation of the Blood Refining Realm remains, and his combat power is still there. He doesn't believe he would lose to a baby who is still drinking milk.

"Count me in." The third person spoke, his voice steady yet carrying an undeniable firmness.

He was a prince of an ancient kingdom, who was bathed in rare and precious treasures from a young age. When he reached the Blood Transformation Realm, he achieved an undefeated record of ten wins in ten battles.

He didn't believe in superstitions, and he certainly didn't believe that a five-year-old child could be stronger than him.

One figure after another emerged from the crowd, some young, some not so young, and even some old cultivators with white hair who were still stuck in the Blood Moving Realm.

Their cultivation levels may differ, but at this moment, they all share the same goal—the little guy holding the pottery jar high in the sky.

The phrase "number one in the world" carries too much weight.

It's so powerful that it can drive countless people crazy, so powerful that it can make those self-important big shots lower their guard, so powerful that it can reignite the competitive spirit of those old monsters who have long since become indifferent to fame. Because they know better than anyone else that the value behind this title is far more than just a simple title.

Immortal techniques, the recognition of that being, the admiration of billions of beings in the eight regions—these are things they are worth fighting for with all their might.

"I'm open to the challenge."

The voice of the Sage of Wisdom came from inside the tower, calm as still water, yet carrying a kind of unwavering certainty that stirred one's blood.

The sound wasn't loud, but it was like a drumbeat, striking the hearts of everyone.

The word "challenge" is like a key that unlocks the tightly closed door in everyone's heart.

Those powerful figures who were just moments ago hesitating, observing, and concerned about saving face now had a glint of light in their eyes.

"This is the number one cultivator in the world, selected from billions of beings across the Eight Domains based on their comprehensive strength at the Blood Transformation Realm." The Sage's voice continued, unhurried yet each word as firm as iron, clearly reaching the ears of everyone present. "If anyone disagrees, they are welcome to challenge him honorably with their Blood Transformation Realm cultivation."

His tone contained no incitement, no provocation, only an almost cold fairness.

The title of "Number One in the World" is not self-proclaimed or bestowed by imperial decree, but earned through battle. If you submit, then acknowledge it; if you do not, then let's fight.

Whoever can defeat him in the Blood Removal Realm will become the new number one in the world.

"If the challenge succeeds, I will take his place." The Sage paused, a faint hint of amusement in his voice. "And the immortal techniques will also change hands."

These words caused an uproar among the crowd.

Those older generation powerhouses who were originally concerned about their status and unable to swallow their pride could no longer restrain themselves.

The phrase "The immortal techniques have changed hands" is more direct than any incitement. It's not just empty fame; it's a real, supreme inheritance that can change one's destiny.

Whoever obtains the immortal techniques will have the means to reach higher realms and the confidence to surpass their peers and stand out from the crowd.

The young prodigies clenched their fists, their eyes filled with fighting spirit. The old cultivators, whose hair had long since turned white and who had been stuck at their bottlenecks for many years, had a burning light bursting from their cloudy eyes.

The ferocious beasts of those ancient sacred mountains and the overlords of those forces were all staring intently at the small figure holding the pottery jar high in the sky, as if they were eyeing a piece of fat meat waiting to be slaughtered.

Challenge him. Defeat him. Take his place. The immortal techniques are mine.

This thought spread wildly in everyone's mind like wildfire, burning their mouths dry and their blood boiling.

They no longer care about bullying the weak or winning unfairly. The path of cultivation has always been one of survival of the fittest.

What you can't hold onto, someone else will take.

As soon as Zhisheng finished speaking, the crowd erupted into chaos.

"I want to challenge him!" A burly young man was the first to rush out, his fists clenched and his eyes burning with fighting spirit.

He stayed in the Blood Transformation Realm for three years, honing his foundation and tempering his physical body, believing he had reached the pinnacle of that realm.

He had been waiting for an opportunity, an opportunity to become famous throughout the world. Now, the opportunity was right in front of him—a five-year-old child, holding a broken pottery jar, with milk stains still on the corner of his mouth.

What reason does he have not to take on the challenge?

"Me too!"

The second person shouted almost at the same time and rushed out from the other side of the crowd.

This man was dressed in a tight-fitting outfit, with sharp features and agile steps. He was a core disciple of a major sect, groomed as their successor since childhood. When he reached the Blood Transformation Realm, he achieved the glorious feat of defeating eighteen opponents of the same level in a row.

He refused to believe he could lose to a baby who was still drinking milk, and he certainly didn't believe that baby was qualified to be above him.

"And me! I am the number one in the Blood Refining Realm!" The third person rose into the air, runes flowing around his body, his aura as imposing as a rainbow.

His voice carried an almost obsessive confidence, as if the title of "Number One in the World" was already his for the taking, and that someone else had simply taken it first.

He wanted to take it back, to take it back honorably and openly in front of all the heroes of the world.

"Me too!" A fourth voice came from the back of the crowd, honest and loud. It was a burly young man with a square face, thick eyebrows and big eyes. He looked honest and simple, but his eyes gleamed with a sharpness that did not match his appearance.

He knew nothing of immortal arts or magical techniques, nothing of being the best in the world; he only knew that he could not lose.

My master said that the first rule when venturing out into the world is—never be a coward.

"Me too!" "Count me in!" "Don't forget me!" One voice after another rose and fell, like waves, one after another.

Those young talents rushed forward eagerly, afraid of missing the opportunity if they were even a step too late.

Although the older generation of powerful figures did not shout out, their shifty eyes and slightly forward-leaning bodies betrayed their thoughts.

They are also waiting, waiting for the right opportunity, waiting for an excuse that is not so much "bullying the weak".

Before he finished speaking, the crowd surged out like a flood bursting its banks.

There were young people, middle-aged people, and even a few elderly people with gray hair.

There are princes from ancient kingdoms, geniuses from great sects, ferocious beasts from ancient sacred mountains in human form, and old monsters who have been living in seclusion but can no longer contain themselves today.

They rushed forward from all directions, crowding the void until it was completely packed.

Some people raised their arms and shouted, some people stepped into the air, and some people even started warming up on the spot, the wind from their punches making the air buzz.

"I'll do it!"

"Let me go first!"

"Get out of my way, I am the true number one in the Blood Refining Realm!"

The cacophony of shouts, like thunderclaps, rose and fell, causing the entire primordial land to tremble slightly.

What burned in those eyes was no longer fighting spirit, but an almost frantic desire.

The allure of the throne of the world's number one, and the temptation of immortal techniques, is enough to make anyone abandon their pride and strip away their inhibitions.

What is bullying the weak, what is unfair victory? In the face of absolute interests, all of these are insignificant.

High in the air, the little one was startled by the grand spectacle.

He instinctively shrank back, but the beam of light held him firmly in place, his back hitting an invisible barrier and bouncing back.

He hugged the broken pottery jar tightly, his big, dark eyes wide open, staring at the densely packed heads below. His face turned from red to white, then from white to green.

The little boy stared at the dense crowd below, at those eyes that looked like those of hungry wolves, and his legs trembled involuntarily. He clutched the broken pottery jar in his arms and instinctively shrank back, but the beam of light trapped him in place, leaving him nowhere to hide.

His small mouth moved slightly as he murmured to himself, his voice so soft it sounded like it was being squeezed out from between his teeth.

"So many people want to beat me up?"

He swallowed hard, looked down at his thin frame, then looked up at the challengers who were eager to fight, and a terrifying image flashed through his mind.

If one person comes up and punches him, he can withstand it; if two people come up and punch him twice, he can grit his teeth; but if there are hundreds of people here, and each person punches him, wouldn't he be turned into a meat pie?

No, not meat patties, they're small cookies! The thin kind, they crumble at the slightest touch!

He's just a five-year-old kid who only wants to drink milk, chase birds, and pinch little monkeys. How did he end up in such a big situation?

Huo Ling'er, watching from afar, finally stopped laughing. Looking at the small figure huddled up high in the sky, at his cowardly yet stubborn expression, she suddenly felt a pang of heartache.

She turned to look at the Fire Emperor, opened her mouth as if to say something, but the Fire Emperor simply shook his head, gazing intently at the child.

"He has to bear it himself." The Fire Emperor's voice was low, so low that only his daughter beside him could hear it. "This is his path."

In the void, the challengers were still arguing about who should go first. A few impatient ones couldn't contain themselves and began crowding towards the pillar of light. The little one, watching the approaching figures, felt a pang of anxiety, suddenly raised the pottery jar in his hand, and shouted in his childish voice, "Stop!"

Everyone was stunned. The voice wasn't loud, and it even trembled slightly, but its force was like a young lion roaring its final salvo at a pack of wolves on the edge of a cliff.

"You...you one at a time!" The little one took a deep breath, tucked the pottery jar into his arms, and clenched his little fists. "I...I'm not afraid of you! Uncle Li said I'm the number one Bloodthirsty Realm cultivator in the world! The number one cultivator in the world can't back down!"

His voice was still trembling, but a small, stubborn flame had already ignited in his dark, bright eyes.

Although the flame was weak, it appeared exceptionally bright in this void shrouded in greed and desire.

The wise sage's voice drifted from within the tower, still indifferent, yet carrying a barely perceptible hint of amusement: "Challengers, you may come forward in turn. The loser retreats, the winner remains. These are the rules; do not disrupt the order."

The arguing gradually subsided. The crowd automatically parted to make way, and the first challenger stepped forward, his eyes fixed intently on the small figure high in the sky.

One great battle, the general begins immediately.

The little guy, who was still thinking about the animal milk, finally let go of the pottery jar and straightened his little chest.

Being the best in the world isn't easy.

But he has no intention of giving it up.

The little one stood in the pillar of light, one arm around the pottery jar and the other behind his back, trying his best to strike a pose of superiority.

He looked around, his small face filled with arrogance, as if to say, "How could you mortals possibly understand my realm?"

"I am young... cough cough, I will tell you about it today." He cleared his throat and imitated the tone of those old monsters in his memory, speaking in a childish voice but trying to sound somewhat vicissitudes.

"You people all call yourselves geniuses, but in reality you're nothing but chickens and dogs, worthless and worthless. I, the Little Overlord of Beast Milk, have roamed the Great Wilderness, drinking the milk of every beast in the world, and have never encountered a worthy opponent."

He paused, then pointed downwards with his little finger, a mocking smile playing on his lips, despite his missing front tooth.

"Come at me all at once! What do I have to fear? If I even flinch, you've already won. Within the Bloodstained Realm, I am heaven, I am earth, I am the supreme and only true god. You ants, how dare you contend with me for the title of number one in the world?"

He spoke with such fervor that the milk in the earthenware jar almost spilled out, yet he remained oblivious, becoming even more engrossed, waving his little hand with a fierce air.

"Disagree? Come and fight! I'll show you what true invincibility at the Blood Refining Realm really means. If I can't defeat you within three moves, I'll never drink beast milk again!"

The crowd below was completely petrified.

A five-year-old child, holding a milk can, with milk stains still on the corner of his mouth, speaks in this tone—the scene is utterly absurd.

But ironically, that confidence that emanates from the very core of his being makes people want to laugh but can't.

In the distance, Huo Ling'er was laughing so hard she was lying on the ground, pounding the earth. Huo Huang's lips twitched; he was struggling to hold it in.

Behind the open tower door, Zhisheng gently shook his head, but the corners of his mouth curved up.