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

On the third day, the crowds at the starting point were even more overwhelming than the previous two days. The news had spread like wildfire throughout every corner of the Eight Domains. Those old monsters who had been in seclusion, observing, or hesitating could no longer remain still. They weren't there to watch the spectacle; they were there to challenge. No, to be precise, they were there to try their luck. Because everyone knew that today was the final day. After three days, if no one could defeat that infant still drinking milk, he would become the first person in the Eight Domains' cultivation history to be personally bestowed the title of the strongest in the Blood-Moving Realm by that being. This glory would be forever etched on the monument of history, and no one could take it away.

This honor could have originally belonged to them as well.

And so they arrived. Each one was masked, draped in black robes, concealing their faces and auras. They emerged from every corner; some squeezed through the crowd, some stepped out of the void, and some even leaped from distant mountain peaks, landing at the edge of the battlefield. Their cultivation was profound, their auras deep and concentrated; each was at least a Venerable-level being. They had lived for hundreds, even thousands of years, and were prominent figures in the Eight Domains. Yet now, they were all masked, completely covered, resembling a group of guilty chicken thieves.

Because they couldn't bear the shame. Winning was dishonorable; losing was even more humiliating. So they chose to wear masks. If they lost, no one would know who they were; if they won, they could remove their masks and become famous. Their plan was undeniably shrewd.

Among the crowd, some people recognized a few figures, and whispers rose and fell.

"That one in the gray robe looks like a king from an ancient divine mountain. I saw him once from afar, and his aura is very similar."

"Is that short, stout guy one of the elders of the Heaven-Mending Pavilion? I remember there was an elder in the Heaven-Mending Pavilion with this build."

"And that one, that tall, skinny guy, the way he walks is just like the one from Zhulu Academy... never mind, I dare not say it, I can't afford to offend him."

Though the murmurs were faint, the masked Venerable-level beings still heard them. Their expressions were unpleasant, but they didn't react. What was said was true; they had indeed come to bully the weak, to try their luck, and to embarrass themselves. But they couldn't care less. The allure of immortal techniques and the glory of being the best in the world were enough to make them lower themselves, swallow their pride, and mask their faces to compete with a five-year-old child.

The little boy emerged from the Tower of Immortality, still clutching the broken pottery jar, still wearing the patched old clothes, still with messy hair, and still with a dusty face. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and then looked up to see the masked figures in black robes. He paused, then tilted his head, his missing front tooth grin filled with curiosity.

"Huh? Who are you? Why are you all covered up? Are you afraid I'll remember your faces and come after you later?" he asked in a childish voice, his tone innocent and naive, but the meaning behind his words sent a chill down the spines of the masked Venerable-level beings. This child has a sharp tongue.

No one answered him. The men in black robes remained silent, their eyes flickering. Some looked away, some lowered their heads, and some stood with their hands behind their backs, feigning composure. They didn't want to talk to the child, fearing that if they opened their mouths, they would be so enraged that they would vomit blood.

Seeing that no one was paying attention to him, the little guy didn't care. He grinned, revealing a bright smile with a missing front tooth. "Alright, since you're not going to talk, I'll pretend you're mute. Who wants to go first? I'm in a good mood today, so I'll let you take a couple more punches."

These words made the faces of the black-robed men even uglier. They were Venerables, Kings, overlords of their respective regions, ancient monsters who had lived for hundreds or even thousands of years. Yet now, they were being told by a five-year-old child that they could "take a few more punches." This humiliation was more unbearable than a slap in the face. But they endured it. Because they had come to try their luck, not to fight. As long as they won, it would all be worth it.

The first man in black robes stepped forward. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and although his face was covered, his eyes were as sharp as an eagle's, revealing a battle-hardened ruthlessness. He entered the battlefield and, without a word, attacked directly. With a punch, the force of the punch, carrying the power of a peak Blood Refining Realm cultivator, roared towards the little one like an enraged dragon. This punch was not brute force, but rather contained his hundreds of years of combat experience and understanding of power. Although his cultivation had been suppressed to the Blood Refining Realm, his fist intent remained, his momentum remained, and his experience remained. He was confident that this punch would be enough to give that little brat a taste of his own medicine.

The little boy's eyes lit up as he watched the whistling wind of the incoming punch. He had finally met a worthy opponent—although this opponent was masked and hundreds of years older than him, at least this punch was much stronger than those of the prodigies from yesterday.

He didn't dodge, didn't flinch, and didn't even take a step back. He simply stretched out one hand, a small, fair hand, to meet the roaring wind of the punch.

"boom!"

The fist collided with the small hand, producing a dull thud. The roaring, furious dragon, upon touching the little one's palm, shattered as if hitting an insurmountable iron wall, dissipating into a shower of light. The black-robed man's fist was firmly grasped by the little one's hand, completely immobile. His eyes widened, his face filled with disbelief. His fighting spirit, his experience, his imposing aura—all were utterly useless against that child. That small hand, like an iron clamp, gripped his fist tightly, rendering him unable to move.

"You're quite strong," the little one said in a childish voice, with a hint of genuine admiration in his tone. "Much stronger than those kids yesterday. But, it's still not enough."

As soon as he finished speaking, he flicked his wrist, and the man in black felt an irresistible force surge through his fist, sending him flying. He tumbled several times in the air before crashing heavily outside the battlefield. He struggled to his feet, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth beneath his black mask. He gave the little boy a deep look, then turned and disappeared into the crowd without looking back. He knew he had lost, utterly and completely. This child was invincible in the Blood Refining Realm. Not because of his strength, not because of his speed, but because he had reached the pinnacle of the Blood Refining Realm, reaching a place no one dared to even dream of.

"Next." The little guy blew on his palm, his tone as relaxed as if he were saying, "Another can of beast milk, please." His gaze swept over the masked men in black robes, his little face clearly saying, "Who else?"

A second man in black robes stepped forward. He was thin, like a bamboo pole, but his eyes were sinister and deep, radiating a chilling coldness. Unlike the first man, he didn't attack immediately. Instead, he slowly paced around the battlefield, searching for the little one's weakness. His strengths lay in speed, surprise attacks, and the ability to kill with a single blow. He believed that once he found an opening, he could defeat the opponent in one strike.

The little boy, clutching the pottery jar, stood still, tilting his head, watching the black-robed man wander around like a headless fly. A look of "I'm watching your performance" patience appeared on his little face. After waiting for a while, seeing that the black-robed man was still circling, he finally lost his patience.

"Are you going to fight or not?" he called out in a childish voice. "Aren't you getting dizzy from all this going around in circles? I'm getting dizzy just looking at you. If you're not going to fight, get off and don't waste my time. My animal milk is almost cold."

The black-robed man's expression froze, and he paused. He gritted his teeth, and with a flash, disappeared from his spot. His speed was extreme, leaving afterimages in the void as he pounced on the little one from all directions. This was a movement technique he had painstakingly honed for many years, one he had never encountered in the Blood Refining Realm. He was confident that this attack, even if it couldn't defeat the little one, would at least make him flustered.

The little boy looked at the overwhelming afterimages, his face showing no tension, only a helpless "here we go again" attitude. He shook his head, then raised his fist and casually threw a punch in a certain direction in the void.

"boom!"

The fist's force exploded, shaking the very air. That seemingly casual punch struck the black-robed man's true form with pinpoint accuracy. His afterimage shattered under the impact of the punch, dissipating into a shower of light, while his true body, as if struck head-on by a mountain, was sent flying backward, spitting out a mouthful of blood, crashing heavily outside the battlefield. He struggled to his feet, his black mask soaked with blood, his eyes filled with horror. He couldn't understand how that child had seen through his true form. His movement techniques, his afterimages, his speed—all were utterly utterly ineffective against him.

The little one looked at him and said in a childish voice, "You're fast, but you're too impatient. When you're circling around, your breathing is already disordered. I don't need to look; I can tell where you are just by listening."

The man in black robes fell silent. He had lost, and he accepted his defeat wholeheartedly. This child was not only strong and fast, but his senses were also incredibly sharp. He was truly invincible in the Blood Transformation Realm. He turned and staggered, disappearing into the crowd.

"Next," the little one called out again, his tone already carrying a hint of impatience.

A third man in black robes stepped forward. He didn't rush to attack, but instead stood at the edge of the battlefield, taking out an ancient mirror from his robes. Runes flowed across the mirror's surface, emitting a faint glow. This was a magical artifact; although his cultivation was suppressed, the artifact's inherent power remained. He believed that with this ancestral artifact, he would definitely be able to defeat the child.

The little one looked at the ancient mirror in his hand, tilted his head, and a "Are you sure you want to use this?" expression appeared on his little face. "Are you sure you want to hit me with this mirror? Don't be sad if it breaks."

The man in black robes snorted coldly, offering no reply. He activated the ancient mirror, and a dazzling beam of light shot from its surface, heading straight for the little one. The beam of light contained the power of laws; although suppressed to the Blood Refining Realm, its power was still terrifying.

The little boy looked at the beam of light, but didn't dodge, didn't flinch, and didn't even raise a hand to block it. He simply opened his mouth and inhaled deeply into the beam of light.

"call--"

The beam of light was actually sucked into his mouth and vanished without a trace. He smacked his lips, as if savoring something, then shook his head. "The taste is bad, too strong. I still prefer beast milk."

The man in black robes froze. The ancient mirror in his hand had completely dimmed, and most of the runes were shattered. He stared blankly at the little one, his mind a complete blank. His magical artifact, his trump card, his hope—all so fragile before that child. That child hadn't even made a move; he had simply opened his mouth and swallowed his attack. What…what kind of monster was this?

"Your mirror seems to be broken," the little one said in a childish voice, pointing at the ancient mirror. "I told you not to worry about it if it's broken. But you wouldn't believe me."

The man in black robes looked down at the shattered ancient mirror in his hand, his heart aching with pain. But he knew this was not the time for heartache. He had lost, utterly and completely. He turned, clutching the broken mirror, and staggered away, disappearing into the crowd.

"Next," the little boy called out again, his voice already tinged with weariness. Not from exhaustion, but from boredom. These masked old monsters, though stronger than yesterday's prodigy, still couldn't last more than a few moves against him. He craved an opponent, an opponent who could truly excite him. But he waited and waited, hoped and hoped, only to be met with "weaklings."

The fourth, the fifth, the sixth… one masked master after another stepped onto the battlefield, only to be defeated by Little One one after another. Some were known for their strength, some for their speed, some for their magical techniques, and some for their powerful artifacts. But before Little One, no one could withstand five moves. His punches were too heavy, so heavy that they instilled despair; his speed was too fast, so fast that there was no time to react; his senses were too sharp, so sharp that no sneak attack could escape detection. He was like an invincible war god, standing in the center of the battlefield, looking down at the challengers who came one after another, easily blasting them away one by one.

Those masked Venerable-level beings, each one arrived with hope and left with despair. They had lived for hundreds, even thousands of years, confident in their vast knowledge and experience, believing no one in the Blood-Moving Realm could defeat them. But reality delivered a resounding slap in the face. That five-year-old child, with his fists, showed them what true power was.

It wasn't built up by spiritual attainment, nor supported by magical artifacts, nor compensated for by experience. Rather, it grew from the very core through day after day of arduous cultivation and relentless practice.

Among the crowd, the unmasked leaders of various factions watched as the masked venerable ones retreated one after another, their hearts filled with mixed emotions. They were glad they hadn't gone up and humiliated themselves, but at the same time, they felt a sense of resentment—even those ancient monsters who had lived for hundreds of years had lost, so what did they have to be resentful about?

The Stone Emperor stood with his hands behind his back, his face calm, but his deep eyes churned with a turbulent undercurrent. He had seen countless prodigies and personally nurtured countless powerful figures, but he had never seen a child like this. Although he couldn't see the faces of those masked venerables, he could roughly guess the identities of some of them from their figures, auras, and fighting habits. There were kings from the Primordial Divine Mountain, elders from the Heaven-Mending Pavilion, senior members of the Deer-Chasing Academy, and even retired emperors from other ancient kingdoms. Any one of these people would be a powerful figure in the Eight Domains. Yet now, they had all been beaten senseless and disheveled by a five-year-old child, coming and going with their faces covered, not daring to reveal their true faces.

The Fire Emperor stood not far away, his gaze deep and thoughtful. He looked at the small figure leisurely drinking milk on the battlefield, and an indescribable emotion welled up within him. This child not only possessed extraordinary talent, but his temperament also far surpassed that of his peers. Those masked Venerables, each hundreds of years older than him, seemed like a group of ignorant children before him. He was neither arrogant nor impatient, neither humble nor overbearing; he didn't mock those who won, and he had never lost. This composure, this calmness, this "fearless even if the sky falls" attitude—that was what truly made him terrifying.

The Pavilion Master of the Heaven-Mending Pavilion stood at the edge of the crowd, stroking his beard, his eyes filled with complex emotions. He recognized one of the masked elders—a Supreme Elder of his Heaven-Mending Pavilion, over eight hundred years old, with extremely high seniority within the pavilion, whom even he treated with deference. Yet now, that Supreme Elder had been blasted away by a five-year-old child with a single punch, disappearing in disgrace into the crowd. The Pavilion Master of the Heaven-Mending Pavilion didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He laughed because the usually arrogant Supreme Elder had finally tasted defeat; he cried because the Heaven-Mending Pavilion had utterly lost face.

The dean of Zhulu Academy was ashen-faced. Although he wasn't masked, he knew that the tall, thin man from earlier was his vice-dean. He had wanted to stop it, but it was too late. The vice-dean had lost, utterly and completely. Zhulu Academy had also lost all face.

The young, independent cultivators watched with fervor. They didn't care about venerable figures or kings; all they knew was that the infant still nursing had avenged them, the lowly cultivators suppressed by powerful forces. Those usually high and mighty figures had finally met their match! They came with masks on, and they left with masks on, not daring to show their true faces! Serves them right!

"Good! Well done!" someone couldn't help but shout.

"The Little Tyrant of Beast Milk, Number One Under Heaven!"

"Invincible in the Blood Realm!"

Cheers erupted one after another, and the masked Venerable Ones' faces grew even uglier, but they dared not retaliate, for they were in the wrong. They had come to bully the weak, to try their luck; if they lost, they deserved to be cursed.

The little boy stood in the center of the battlefield, clutching a clay pot. Hearing the cheers, his missing-toothed grin returned to his face. He raised the pot, waved it at the cheering crowd, and said in a childish voice, "Thank you all for coming! After I finish the fight, I'll treat you all to beast milk!"

These words drew even louder cheers. The faces of the masked venerable ones darkened further.

The third day of challenges, after lasting a full day, was finally drawing to a close. One by one, the masked Venerable-level beings arrived, and one by one, they were defeated. No one could defeat the little one, no one could force him to use his full strength, and no one could withstand five blows from his fists. They came with hope and left with despair. They finally understood that this child was invincible in the Blood Transformation Realm. Not because of good luck, not because he had someone backing him up, but because he was truly strong. Strong enough to make even these ancient monsters who had lived for hundreds or thousands of years feel despair.

After the last masked master was blasted off the battlefield and staggered into the crowd, a brief silence fell over the void. Everyone stared at the small figure clutching the pottery jar in the center of the battlefield, a profound and indescribable awe rising within them. He stood there, like an insurmountable mountain, like an invincible myth. From yesterday to today, dozens of battles, all victorious. No one could withstand five moves, no one could force him to use his full strength, no one could make him retreat even a step. He stood there, invincible.

In the distance, the people of Stone Village were speechless with excitement. Shi Yunfeng wept uncontrollably, his great-grandfather's face was flushed, the children jumped and danced with joy, and the women huddled together, weeping. Their little one, their child from Stone Village, had defeated those masked Venerable-level beings, defeated those ancient monsters who had lived for hundreds or even thousands of years, and become the true, undisputed number one in the Blood Transformation Realm. This glory was enough to ensure that the name of Stone Village would be forever etched in the history of the Eight Domains.

The leaders of those forces wore increasingly solemn expressions. They knew that from this day forward, the格局 (geju, a term encompassing power, structure, and overall situation) of the Eight Domains was truly about to change. This child had already proven his strength with his fists. He hadn't relied on some being's patronage, but rather earned it through his own hard work, punch by punch. He was truly the number one in the Blood Transformation Realm, a title he rightfully deserved. No one could question it, no one could deny it, no one could object. Because those who objected had all been defeated and subdued by him.

Those prodigies, their faces ashen, their eyes dim. They had once thought themselves strong, that they had a chance to defeat this child. But when they saw those masked Venerable-level beings being utterly humiliated, they finally understood that the gap between themselves and that child was not just a little, but an immeasurable difference. He stood atop the mountain, they stood at its foot. He surveyed the world, they gazed up at the heavens. In this lifetime, none of them could ever catch up to his silhouette.

In the void, starlight flowed silently. The open tower door gleamed faintly under the starlight. The Sage's voice came from within the tower, neither too loud nor too soft, yet it reached the ears of everyone present with crystal clarity.

"When the three-day period is over, no one can defeat him. The title of the number one in the Blood Refining Realm is hereby established."

The voice was calm as still water, yet carried an undeniable certainty. Like a pronouncement of the heavens, it was unalterable and inviolable. Everyone knew that at this moment, the little one who was still drinking milk had officially become the number one Blood Refining Realm expert in the Eight Domains. It wasn't self-proclaimed, nor was it based on connections or luck; it was earned through his own fists, punch after punch.

"The Beast Milk Little Tyrant is bestowed the title of the number one in the Blood Refining Realm and granted one immortal treasure technique of his choice. The House of the Initial Land is now fully open."

The Sage's voice continued, each word like a heavy hammer blow to the hearts of everyone present. "Choose one Immortal Technique! The House of the Primordial Land is fully unlocked!" This reward was so generous it drove everyone envious and mad. Yet no one dared say a word, for it was what the child deserved. He had won it all with his own strength.

The little boy stood in the pillar of light, clutching the pottery jar, head tilted back, listening to the wise sage's words. His toothless grin shone as brightly as the midday sun in the wilderness. He raised the jar, waving it at the crowd below with their varied expressions, and called out in his childish voice, "Thank you, Uncle Trial Tower! Thank you everyone! I'm in a good mood today, so please have some beast milk! One sip each, don't fight over it!"

The moment those words were spoken, a deathly silence fell over the void. Then, someone burst into laughter. The laughter, as if contagious, quickly spread through the crowd. Some smiled bitterly, some shook their heads, some sighed, and some laughed so hard they couldn't stand up straight. "One sip each? How much beast milk can your broken pottery jar hold? The heroes of the Eight Regions, one sip each—your jar wouldn't even be enough to fill a tooth gap." This child was truly arrogant, and truly adorable.

In the distance, Huo Ling'er was already squatting on the ground laughing, slapping her thighs. "Hahaha... one bite each... hahaha... his pottery jar is so small... hahaha... I'm dying of laughter..."

The Fire Emperor's lips twitched, barely suppressing his urge to speak. He gazed at the small figure still swaying the pottery jar within the pillar of light, silently sighing: This child, having won against the world's number one, still doesn't forget to show off his beast milk. This childlike innocence, this pure heart, is more precious than any immortal technique or magic.

Those masked Venerable Ones have vanished without a trace. They lost, utterly and completely, utterly and convincingly. They came with their faces covered, and they left with their faces covered, not daring to reveal their true identities. They came hoping to try their luck, but instead received a cold shoulder. They came hoping to gain an advantage, but instead got themselves into trouble. They came hoping to teach this arrogant brat a lesson, but instead were the ones who got taught a lesson.

From that day forward, they would never dare to underestimate this infant who was still drinking milk. Because he had taught them a lesson with his fists—in the Bloodstained Realm, he was the only one in power. No one else could sway him.

The little one emerged from the pillar of light, clutching the pottery jar, and waved towards the direction of the Sage of Wisdom. "Uncle of the Trial Tower, I'm going back now. I'll come back to choose my treasure technique tomorrow. I'm tired today, I need to go home and sleep."

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

The little one was guided into the Eternal Life Trial Tower by a pillar of light, his tiny figure disappearing into the light. In the void, the leaders of those forces looked at each other, their hearts filled with mixed emotions. Three days, dozens of battles, all won. The masked venerables were defeated one by one. No one could rival him, no one could shake him. That child was truly the number one in the Blood Refining Realm. Well-deserved, without a doubt.

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's child, was the strongest 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.

The leaders of those powerful factions wore solemn expressions and gazed into the distance. They knew that from this day forward, the格局 (geju, a concept encompassing the overall structure, power, and political landscape) of the Eight Domains was about to change. This child would sooner or later 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.

Those prodigies, their faces ashen, their eyes dim. Their pride, their confidence, had been shattered by that child's blows over the past three 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.

The third day ended.

The title of "Blood Reaver Realm is the best in the world" is hereby established.

That child, still drinking milk, used his fists to forge an era. He forged an era that belonged to him, to Shicun, and to that very being.

From this day forward, in the Eight Domains Blood-Moving Realm, there will only be one name—Little One, the Beast Milk Little Tyrant, the Number One in the World. Unrivaled, unshakeable.

In the void, starlight flowed silently. The open tower door gleamed softly under the starlight, as if illuminating the path for that small figure. And within that pillar of light, the small figure, clutching a pottery jar, lay on a soft bed inside the Tower of Eternal Life Trials, covered with a fragrant blanket, happily drinking beast milk and dreaming of becoming the greatest in the world.

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 etched on the monument of cultivation history across the Eight Domains, enduring 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 departing figure, spending their remaining years in regret and remorse. For once, an opportunity lay before 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 presented itself, they chose to retreat, to observe, 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.

Little One is truly the best in the Blood Refining Realm. He deserves the title without a doubt.