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

The next day, the starting point of the Void God Realm was even more crowded than the day before. News had spread throughout the eight lower realms, and countless cultivators flocked there, eager to witness firsthand the true identity of the five-year-old known as the "Little Tyrant of Beast Milk." Some were driven by curiosity, some by resentment, some by a desire to see a good show, and others by a desire to win him over. A dense crowd completely surrounded the Eternal Life Trial Tower; heads thronged everywhere—in the air, on the ground, and on distant mountain peaks.

Just as everyone was eagerly anticipating what was to come, a beam of light shot out from the open tower door, and a small figure emerged from the light.

The little boy changed into a set of "clean" clothes—though "clean" was a euphemism; they were just old clothes that the village women had washed with spring water and patched a few times. His hair was still messy, as if he had just crawled out of bed and hadn't had time to comb it. He still looked sleepy, and there was even a speck of sleep in the corner of his eye. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and then habitually tightened his grip on the broken pottery jar in his arms. He looked down at the rim of the jar to make sure not a drop of milk had spilled before nodding in satisfaction.

He looked up at the dense crowd below, his toothless grin returning to his face. The smile seemed innocent and harmless, but after yesterday's crushing battles, everyone knew that beneath that smile lurked an ancient beast in human skin.

"Good morning, everyone." The little one held up the ceramic pot and shook it, greeting everyone in a childish voice, as relaxed as if chatting with a neighbor. "I slept very well last night; the bed was soft, and the blankets smelled wonderful. How about you? Did anyone stay up all night, thinking about how to defeat me?"

Silence fell over the crowd. Some faces were ashen, some clenched their fists, and some lowered their heads. The little one had spoken correctly—they had indeed stayed up all night, pondering how to defeat this child. But after a night of deliberation, they realized there was no way. That child, within the Blood Transformation Realm, was unbeatable. His strength, his speed, his reflexes, his mastery of runes, his application of powerful techniques—each of these alone was enough to crush his peers, and when all of these were concentrated in one person, they created a despair-inducing power.

"Judging from your expressions, I can tell you haven't figured it out." The little boy sighed, his tone exactly like that of a frustrated old man facing a group of clueless students, his face full of helplessness as if to say, "I've done my best." "Fine, I'm in a good mood today, I'll give you another chance. Who wants to come up? One by one, I'll make you all admit defeat."

His voice was childish and innocent, yet the arrogance that emanated from his very bones instilled a profound sense of powerlessness in every powerful figure and every exceptionally talented individual present. They had lived most of their lives, witnessed countless madmen, but never before had they seen anything like this—a five-year-old child, clutching a milk can, milk stains still clinging to his lips, daring to speak to the heroes of the world in such a tone. And yet, they couldn't refute him, for what he said was true.

On the outskirts of the initial crowd, in an inconspicuous corner, the people of Stone Village huddled together, their eyes fixed on the small figure on the battlefield.

Tears streamed down Shi Yunfeng's face. Leaning on his wooden cane, his withered hands trembled slightly. His cloudy old eyes were fixed on the tiny figure in the beam of light, his lips moving, but he couldn't utter a single word. Hadn't he lived most of his life waiting for this day? Waiting for a child from Stone Village to be revered by the world. Now, this child stood before him, before the heroes of the Eight Regions, using his tiny fists to demonstrate Stone Village's might. Those ancient kingdom rulers, the ferocious beasts of the Primordial Divine Mountain, and the leaders of various powers, all now looked up at their Stone Village's child, their eyes filled with fear and awe. This glory was something he had never even dared to dream of.

"Good! Good! Good!" He said "good" three times in a row, his voice hoarse but full of pride. "This child, this child..." He couldn't go on, tears streaming down his face and dripping onto his faded old robe. He didn't feel ashamed, only that his life had been worthwhile. In his hands, Shicun had finally waited for this day.

The little boy's great-grandfather stood beside Shi Yunfeng, his back ramrod straight, his face calm, yet tears glistened in his cloudy eyes. He had once been a member of the Martial King's Mansion, a man of the world, and knew how high and mighty these powerful figures standing below him usually were. But now, they were all trampled underfoot by a five-year-old child, not daring to even breathe. He had never dared to dream of such a scene in his youth. He suddenly recalled the despair of being exiled to the Second Ancestral Land, those dark and hopeless years, and the thought that his life was over, that he could only wait to die in the dilapidated manor. Now, everything was different. That child had given Stone Village a new life, and he had given him a new life as well.

"Brother, our Shicun village has produced an extraordinary child," he said softly, his voice full of emotion.

Shi Yunfeng wiped away his tears and nodded vigorously. "Incredible, truly incredible. It's even more incredible than we imagined."

Skinny Monkey, Snotty Boy, Shi Qingfeng, and the other children from Stone Village crowded at the front, their eyes wide and mouths agape. Watching Little One's awe-inspiring presence on the battlefield, an indescribable sense of pride welled up within them. He was their companion, the Little One with whom they drank beast milk, chased five-colored sparrows, and fished in the spirit lake. Now, he stood at the highest point of the Eight Domains, a figure everyone looked up to. Skinny Monkey, too excited to wipe his snot bubbles, shouted at the top of his lungs, "Little One is amazing! I knew he would win!" Snotty Boy echoed, "Of course! Little One is the best fighter in our Stone Village! Even Grandpa Village Chief can't beat him!" Shi Qingfeng remained silent, his lips pursed, his eyes red-rimmed, clapping vigorously. His palms were red from clapping, but he felt no pain. He only felt a surge of warmth within him, a warmth that made him want to cry and laugh at the same time. The little golden monkey perched on Shi Qingfeng's shoulder, slapping its tiny paws frantically and squeaking as if cheering on the little one.

The women were incredibly excited. Some wiped away tears, some hugged each other, jumping and skipping, and some shouted at the top of their lungs, "Go, little one!" Their voices were so high they seemed to pierce the air. One auntie grabbed the person next to her and shouted, her face full of pride, "This child, we raised him! The animal milk he drank when he was little, I even made it myself!" Another auntie retorted, "You made it? I made it! He loved my Silver Lightning Beast milk the most!" A third auntie chimed in, "Stop arguing! He belongs to all of us! He's a child of our Stone Village!" The men weren't as overtly emotional as the women, but their clenched fists, slightly reddened eyes, and the occasional slap on their thighs betrayed their inner excitement. They were hunters from Stone Village, the most ordinary men in the wilderness. They had never imagined that one day, the child from their village would stand before heroes from all over the world, becoming the focus of everyone's attention. This glory didn't belong to the little one alone, but to the entire Stone Village. From now on, who would dare to say that Shicun is a dilapidated little village? Who would dare to look down on these villagers from the remote mountains? Their little ones are their greatest source of confidence.

In the distance, the Fire Emperor caught a glimpse of this corner and paused slightly. He recognized the people—the villagers of Stone Village, neighbors of that being. He sighed inwardly: How could such a small village have nurtured such a prodigy? Just how good must the feng shui of that village be? Or perhaps, that being is the true source of feng shui?

In stark contrast to the excitement of the villagers were the powerful figures standing at the forefront of the crowd. Their expressions were increasingly grim.

The Stone Emperor stood with his hands behind his back, his face calm as still water, yet his deep eyes churned with complex emotions. He was the Human Emperor of the Stone Kingdom, one of the most powerful beings in the Eight Domains. He had witnessed countless prodigies and personally nurtured countless powerful individuals. But the child standing on the battlefield filled him with an unprecedented unease. It wasn't because of the child's strength—even a Blood Refining Realm cultivator was still just a Blood Refining Realm cultivator, an ant before him, a Venerable One. What unsettled him was the person standing behind that child. That being, even he had to look up to. And that child was a sharp sword forged by that being's own hand. This sword would be drawn sooner or later, and sooner or later it would be pointed at them, these high and mighty beings. The Stone Emperor thought of the Martial King's Mansion, of the child whose Supreme Bone had been removed, of the terrifying pressure of that being's arrival in the capital. He suddenly understood something, and his expression grew even more solemn. This child was the abandoned infant from back then. He returned, bearing the title of the greatest warrior in the Bloodstained Realm, standing before the heroes of the Eight Regions. This was no coincidence; it was the arrangement of that being. He was declaring—this child was his successor, his Achilles' heel, and no one could touch him.

The Pavilion Master of the Heaven-Mending Pavilion stood beside the Stone Emperor, his hair and beard completely white, exuding an air of otherworldly grace. Yet, at this moment, his brows were tightly furrowed, his eyes filled with horror. He had lived for hundreds of years, considering himself knowledgeable and experienced, but he had never seen a child like this. Five years old, at the Blood-Moving Realm, yet already reaching the pinnacle of that realm, even surpassing it. The child's vigorous blood and energy, the purity of his runes, and the skillful use of his magical techniques far exceeded what one would expect from a Blood-Moving Realm cultivator. He wasn't a genius; he was a monster. An ancient ferocious beast in human skin. What was even more terrifying was that he was only five years old. If he was already like this at five, how strong would he be when he was ten, twenty, or a hundred? The Pavilion Master of the Heaven-Mending Pavilion dared not think about it, nor did he want to. He only knew that this child's future was beyond the comprehension of these "old seniors."

"This child must not be allowed to live." A chilling voice rang out from the crowd. It was the transformed form of a ferocious beast from the Ancient Divine Mountain, shrouded in black mist, its face obscured. His voice was filled with murderous intent. "If we allow him to grow stronger, our days will be numbered. Humanity has already produced a Fire Emperor and a Stone Emperor; if another monstrous talent like this emerges, will there still be a place for us ferocious beasts in these Eight Domains?"

"Cannot be allowed to live?" Another faction leader sneered, his voice full of mockery. "Try touching him. Can you afford to offend the one standing behind him? Didn't you see how that person suppressed Venerables and wiped out Kings and Marquises with a single glance yesterday? If you're tired of living, go and die yourself, don't drag us down with you."

The ferocious beast, now in human form, fell silent. He couldn't afford to offend it. That being could easily suppress even Venerables, and even gods had to bow their heads. What could a mere Formation Realm beast possibly do to provoke it? He was simply unwilling. Unwilling to accept that a five-year-old child was riding on their heads, pointing at their noses and calling them "fools." But no matter how unwilling he was, he had to endure it. Because he only had one life.

"This lad is not to be trifled with." Finally, an elderly man with white hair spoke, his voice aged yet steady. He was a supreme elder of a reclusive family, holding an extremely high position in the Eight Domains; even the Fire Emperor had to show him some respect. "We cannot afford to offend the people behind him. In that case, perhaps... we should befriend them. Rather than being his enemy, it's better to establish good relations. If he rises to prominence in the future, perhaps he will remember our kindness today."

"Make friends?" someone scoffed. "We, a powerful local tyrant, would fawn over a baby who's still drinking milk? If word got out, how would we save face?"

"Face?" the old man said calmly, a glint of shrewdness flashing in his cloudy eyes. "What's face worth? Once your clan is wiped out, will face save your life? This boy has boundless potential, and he has that powerful figure backing him. In the future, he will surely achieve great things. Forming a good relationship with him now might save your clan from destruction in the future. Think about it carefully."

These words silenced everyone around. Though they were reluctant to admit it, the old man was telling the truth. The child's future was limitless. They couldn't afford to offend him, so they had no choice but to befriend him. Rather than waiting to be purged later, it was better to take the initiative now. As for face—what did face matter in the face of life and death?

Compared to the shock of the powerful leaders, the feelings of the younger generation of prodigies were far more complex. They were the pride of their respective factions, the cream of the crop among their peers, and the hope for the future. Yet now, standing in the crowd, gazing up at the tiny figure still drinking milk on the battlefield, an unprecedented sense of defeat welled up within them.

They lost. Not because of a lack of skill or resources, but because of talent, strength, and the innate, despair-inducing power of that child. Their pride, their confidence, had been shattered, punch by punch, by that child over the past two days. They didn't know if they could ever rise again. All they knew was that that child was someone they could never surpass in their lifetime.

A prince of the Stone Kingdom stood there, his face ashen and lips pale. From childhood, he had been pampered and hailed as a once-in-a-century genius. He believed he was strong enough at the Blood Transformation Realm, that no one of his generation could surpass him. But when he saw the little boy send the Golden-Winged Roc King flying with a single punch and crush the Golden-Winged Heaven-Burning Slash with his bare hands, he was completely stunned. He knew that if he were in the same situation, the result wouldn't be any better than the Golden-Winged Roc King's. No, it might be worse. He suddenly began to doubt himself—what had he been cultivating all these years? All those resources, those techniques, those renowned teachers—why, combined, were they still inferior to a wild child who had run away from the depths of the Great Wilderness?

"What...what have I been cultivating all these years?" he murmured to himself, his voice filled with confusion. The person next to him patted his shoulder, wanting to say something comforting, but when they opened their mouths, they found themselves unable to say anything. Because they themselves were just as confused.

A ferocious beast from the ancient sacred mountain had taken human form, its face ashen, teeth clenched. It was a descendant of the Qiongqi clan, with the blood of an ancient beast flowing through its veins. It believed itself to be the strongest of its generation, that no one in the Blood-Moving Realm could rival it. But yesterday, it witnessed a little boy send one of its clan's geniuses flying with a single punch—a punch so fast the little boy couldn't even react. It suddenly realized that its prized bloodline was nothing compared to that child. No matter how strong the bloodline, it was useless if it couldn't strike; no matter how great the strength, it was all empty talk if it couldn't withstand the opponent's punch.

"Is he... really only five years old?" he whispered to the person next to him. No one could answer him. Because no one had ever seen a five-year-old child like that.

The Golden-Winged Roc King stood at the back of the crowd, his golden wings folded, head bowed, silent. His pride, his confidence, had been shattered by a single punch from that child in yesterday's battle. He had never imagined he would encounter such an opponent in the Blood Transformation Realm. An opponent to whom he had no power to retaliate. His prized speed was utterly useless before that child. His Myriad Shadows Shadow Technique, honed over many years, was completely destroyed by a single punch. His Golden-Winged Heaven-Burning Slash was crushed by his bare hands. That child hadn't even used any magical techniques or runes; with only physical strength, he had riddled him with holes.

"Brother Golden Wing, are you alright?" someone asked quietly from the side.

The Golden-Winged Roc King raised his head, his golden eyes devoid of their usual sharpness, replaced only by a deep weariness. "I'm fine," he said softly. "I was just wondering, how exactly did that child cultivate? Did he start fighting even in the womb?" No one could answer him. Because no one knew.

The talented young woman from Zhulu Academy stood at the edge of the crowd, holding the shattered bamboo slip in her hand. Her face was calm, but a hint of undisguised disappointment lingered in her eyes. She had lost, and she accepted her defeat wholeheartedly. Yet, she couldn't help but wonder: if her literary talent had been stronger, if her bamboo slip hadn't shattered, could she have lasted a few more rounds? She knew the answer was no, but she couldn't help thinking about it. That child had seen through her weakness, but instead of using it to humiliate her, he had given her a piece of advice—"Come and fight me again when you can unleash your literary talent without the bamboo slip." She remembered these words. She knew it wasn't mockery, but genuine guidance. That child, though arrogant and domineering, possessed a pure heart. He was ruthless towards his enemies, but never stingy with kindness towards those worthy of respect.

In the middle of the battlefield, the little guy, clutching a clay pot, leisurely drank beast milk, waiting for the next challenger. After waiting for a while, seeing that no one came up, he became a little impatient. He tilted his head, looking at the silent crowd below, his little face full of "I'm busy" impatience.

"Hey, are you guys going to fight or not?" he shouted in a childish voice. "My time is precious. I need to go back to sleep, drink my milk, and chase birds. If you're not going to fight, I'm going back. I don't have time to waste here with you."

A deathly silence fell over the crowd. No one answered. The prodigies looked at each other, waiting for someone else to go first. No one wanted to be the first to stick their neck out, no one wanted to be the next backdrop to be punched away.

The little guy sighed, his tone exactly like that of an invincible old monster lamenting the incompetence of his juniors. "Very well, since none of you are going up, then I will call on someone."

He stretched out a small hand and pointed at the crowd. "You, yes, you, the one in the blue shirt, come up here. You look quite energetic, you should be able to withstand a couple more punches. Stop dodging, it's you, why are you dodging? My eyes are very sharp."

The blue-robed cultivator who was called upon turned pale and instinctively took a step back. He didn't want to go up; he was afraid that if he did, he wouldn't even be able to withstand a single punch and would make a fool of himself. But with so many eyes watching, how could he face anyone in the Eight Domains if he backed down? He gritted his teeth and stepped onto the battlefield with a stiff upper lip. The result was predictable; with one punch, he was blasted away, cleanly and decisively. His body tumbled several times in the air before crashing heavily onto the outskirts of the crowd, unable to get up for a long time.

"Next." The little guy blew on his fist, his tone as relaxed as if he were saying "next can of animal milk." His eyes began to scan the crowd again, searching for his next target.

Another person was called out, another was blasted away. One after another, like dumplings being dropped into a pot, they flew out with a thud. Some couldn't even withstand one punch, some barely managed two, but no one could withstand a third. The little guy's fist was like an insurmountable mountain, standing in front of all the challengers, making them look up in despair.

The little boy grew increasingly excited and arrogant with each fight. No longer content with passively responding, he began to actively provoke. Pointing at the gloomy-faced figures in the crowd, he shouted in a childish voice, "Don't just stand there! Come on up and try! I've heard you're all Venerables or Kings. Even though your cultivation has been suppressed to the Blood-Moving Realm, you still have experience, right? Come on, let me see just how much you big shots really are. Don't hide in the back pretending to be profound; I don't fall for that."

These words made the faces of those important figures even more grim. It wasn't that they didn't want to go up; it was that they dared not. They knew that in the Blood Transformation Realm, they were no match for this child. Losing wouldn't just be a loss of face for one person, but for the entire power and family. They couldn't afford to lose. Winning wouldn't be honorable either; for a man hundreds of years old to bully a five-year-old would only bring ridicule. They were caught in a dilemma—this was their current predicament.

"What? You're too scared?" The little one tilted his head, his missing front tooth grin full of mockery. "You big shots, always so high and mighty, how come you cower before me? So your prestige is all based on your cultivation level. Without it, you're nothing. I've seen through you today. What ancient kingdom monarchs, what ancient divine mountains, what great sect leaders—in the Blood Transformation Realm, they're all paper tigers. They're easily punctured."

These words were incredibly venomous. So venomous that they made the powerful figures' faces flush red, veins bulging, and they wanted nothing more than to rush forward and tear this little brat to pieces. But they held back. Because they knew the little one was telling the truth. In the Blood Transformation Realm, they were indeed no match for him. Their experience, skills, and magical techniques were meaningless before that absolute power. When power reaches a certain level, any technique is just a facade. This is an ironclad rule in the cultivation world, and this little guy is the best proof of that rule.

Seeing that they still wouldn't come up, the little one shook his head and sighed, his tone full of helplessness, "I've done my best." "Alas, I've seen through it all. All the cultivators in these eight regions, except for myself, are useless. It's not that I want to be the best in the world; you forced me to be. If even one of you were capable, I wouldn't be so lonely."

As those words fell, a deathly silence descended upon the void. Everyone stared blankly at the small figure still swaying his head with his hands on his hips in the pillar of light, their minds utterly blank. They had witnessed arrogance before. But this boundless arrogance, this attitude that called all cultivators in the Eight Domains trash, was something they had never seen before. Yet, no one dared to refute him. Because what he said was true—at least, within the Blood Refining Realm, it was true. He was the number one in the Blood Refining Realm, personally recognized by that being, chosen from among the billions of beings in the Eight Domains, an invincible being whom no one could shake. He called others trash, and they could only endure it. Who told them they couldn't defeat him?

In the distance, Huo Ling'er was laughing so hard she couldn't stand up straight. Pointing at the small figure still swaying its head with its hands on its hips in the pillar of light, she said to the Fire Emperor beside her, haltingly, "Father... look at him... hahaha... he even called others trash... hahaha... he's still drinking milk himself... hahaha... I'm dying of laughter..."

The Fire Emperor didn't laugh. He gazed at the small, arrogant figure on the battlefield, a different feeling stirring within him. This child wasn't boasting; he was stating a fact. He had the strength, the right, to stand in that position, looking down upon all the heroes of the world. His arrogance wasn't bluffing; it stemmed from solid confidence. This confidence came from his daily, arduous training, from his immense strength of 120,000 jin at the Blood-Moving Realm, and from his glorious record of breaking records in the Void God Realm. He wasn't bragging; he was simply telling the truth. And the truth is often the most hurtful.

"Ling'er, do you think he's exaggerating?" the Fire Emperor asked softly.

Huo Ling'er paused, her smile fading. She thought about it seriously for a moment, then shook her head. "He... seems to have been telling the truth. Those people really can't beat him."

The Fire Emperor nodded. "So, he's not arrogant, he's confident. A true strongman should have that kind of confidence."

The little guy on the battlefield was unaware of the gossip about him in the distance. All he knew was that he hadn't had enough of fighting today; no one had truly excited him in battle. He craved an opponent, someone who would make him give it his all. But he waited and waited, hoped and hoped, only to be met with weaklings who couldn't even withstand a single punch. He suddenly realized that being the best in the world was truly meaningless. The higher you climb, the colder it gets—he was experiencing it for the first time.

"Anyone else?" he shouted impatiently. "I'm giving you one last chance. If no one comes up, I'm going back to sleep. My beast milk is getting cold; I don't have time to waste here with you."

Finally, someone in the crowd could no longer contain himself. It was a burly man, broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, with a face full of menacing features and eyes bulging like copper bells. His chest heaved violently, his breathing heavy like that of an enraged bull. He stared intently at the small figure clutching the pottery jar high in the sky, trembling all over—not from fear, but from anger. He was trembling with rage at that boundless, arrogant aura. He was an elder of a major sect; although his cultivation had been suppressed to the Blood Transformation Realm, he was confident in his experience and skill, and refused to believe he couldn't defeat a five-year-old child.

"I'll go!" he roared, charging into the battlefield. Layers of runes lit up his body, each rune containing his understanding of the Great Dao, each layer of defense enough to withstand a full-force attack from a cultivator of the same level. He adopted a defensive stance, intending to stabilize his position first before looking for an opportunity to counterattack.

The little guy glanced at him, tilted his head, then raised his fist and casually threw a punch. There was no charging up, no aiming, just a random punch.

"boom!"

The burly man's runic defenses were as flimsy as paper, shattered by the force of the punch. He was sent flying, tumbling several times in the air before crashing heavily outside the battlefield, unable to get up for a long time. His eyes widened, his face filled with disbelief. His runic defenses, his meticulously constructed defensive system, couldn't even withstand a single punch from that child? This… how could this be?

"Next." The little one didn't even glance at him, his tone as casual as if he were saying, "Another can of animal milk."

This scene utterly shattered the hopes of the remaining prodigies. They finally understood that this child was beyond their reach. His power transcended the Blood Transformation Realm, reaching a height they could neither comprehend nor attain. All they could do was look up to him, watching him shatter their pride with each punch, and then etch their names onto the monument of the Eight Domains' cultivation history.

Night fell—although there was no day or night in the Realm of the Void Gods, people's sense of time remained—the voice of the Sage of Wisdom came from inside the tower, announcing the end of the second day's challenge.

The little one emerged from the battlefield, clutching the pottery jar, and waved towards the Sage of Wisdom. "Uncle Trial Tower, I'm going back to sleep. We'll continue tomorrow. If no one can fight by tomorrow, I really won't fight anymore. I'm not a sparring partner; I'm very busy."

Zhisheng's voice drifted over, still calm as still water, yet carrying a barely perceptible hint of amusement. "Alright."

The little boy was guided into the Tower of Eternal Life by a pillar of light, his tiny figure disappearing into the light. In the void, the challengers looked at each other, their hearts filled with mixed emotions. Two days had passed, dozens of battles fought, all won. That child still stood in that position, looking down upon them all. No one could shake him, no one could force him to use his full strength, no one could withstand three blows from his fists. He was the legend of the Blood-Moving Realm, the strongest being among the billions of beings in the Eight Domains.

In the distance, the people of Stone Village embraced each other in excitement, laughing and crying. Shi Yunfeng wept uncontrollably, his great-grandfather's face was flushed, the children jumped and danced, and the women wiped away their tears. Their little one, their Stone Village child, was the number one in the Blood Transformation Realm. He was the strongest being among the billions of beings in the Eight Domains. This glory was enough to ensure that the name of Stone Village would be forever etched in the history of the Eight Domains. From now on, who would dare to underestimate Stone Village? Who would dare to bully Stone Village? Their little one was their greatest protector.

The leaders of those forces wore increasingly solemn expressions. Gazing at the open tower gate and the disappearing small figure, a profound sense of powerlessness welled up within them. They knew that from this day forward, the格局 (geju, a concept encompassing the overall structure, power, and social standing) of the Eight Domains would change. This child would one day become the ruler of the Eight Domains, someone they looked up to. The only thing they could do was to forge goodwill with him before he truly matured, paving the way for his future. As for those fools who still wanted to oppose him—let them die.

Those once-proud talents were now ashen-faced and their eyes dimmed. Their pride and confidence had been shattered by that child's relentless blows over the past two days. They didn't know if they could ever rise again. All they knew was that child was someone they could never surpass in their lifetime. Their backs were forever beyond their reach; their footsteps were forever out of their grasp.

The second day ended.

Tomorrow is the last day. If no one can defeat him after three days, he will forever be the number one in the Bloodstained Realm. And everyone knows that no one can defeat him. That child is already invincible. His invincibility isn't something he boasts about, nor is it something imposed by some being; it's something he forged with his own fists, punch after punch.

In the void, starlight flowed silently. The open tower door gleamed faintly under the starlight, as if awaiting the final challenge tomorrow. And within that pillar of light, the small figure clutching the pottery jar lay on a soft bed inside the Tower of Eternal Life Trials, covered with a fragrant blanket, contentedly drinking beast milk, waiting for tomorrow to continue his performance.

He is Little One. He is the Little Tyrant of Beast Milk. He is the number one in the Blood Refining Realm. In the Eight Domains, no one can rival him. Unprecedented and unparalleled. His name will forever be engraved on the monument of cultivation history in the Eight Domains, lasting as long as heaven and earth, shining as brightly as the sun and moon.

Those who once scorned him, questioned him, and sought to defeat him, will spend their entire lives gazing up at his retreating figure, spending their remaining years in regret and remorse. Because once, an opportunity was presented to them—to challenge him, defeat him, and take his place. But they missed it. Not because they weren't strong enough, but because they weren't brave enough. When the opportunity arrived, they chose to retreat, to observe, and to place their hopes on others. But that child chose to move forward. One step, two steps, three steps, until he stood at the highest point, overlooking the world.

That's the difference. It's not just a difference in strength, but a difference in mentality. That child, from beginning to end, was never afraid. His only fear was not having enough animal milk. But they were afraid of too many things. They were afraid of losing, afraid of losing face, afraid of being laughed at. So they lost, lost completely, and lost wholeheartedly.

The second day ended. Tomorrow, there's one last day. But everyone knows the outcome is already decided. That child will become the number one in the Bloodstained Realm. No one can change that.