Chapter 59

Another two months passed, and on this day, a loud rumble echoed through the deep mountains where Meng Hao's cave was located. The rumble shook the surroundings, and the beasts within the mountains scattered in all directions. Outside Meng Hao's cave, a large stone he had previously cut away crumbled and exploded.

Amidst the scattering of stones, Meng Hao's figure emerged from the cave. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, and he wore a scholar's robe. His eyes shone with a sharp, electric light, and an indescribable aura enveloped him, faintly accompanied by a subtle fragrance.

His face was filled with joy. Standing outside the cave, he closed his eyes for a moment before bursting into laughter. His laughter echoed around, startling the beasts that had just fled.

"Level Eight Qi Condensation!" Meng Hao clenched his fists, his eyes gleaming. If it were night, they would shine even brighter.

For over two months, he had been in seclusion. The initial tension and danger gradually dissipated as time passed. He focused solely on cultivation, with over ten thousand spirit stones and a large quantity of medicinal pills, allowing him to enter a long period of seclusion.

He did not want to remain in a state of constant peril. Only by continuously growing stronger could he reduce the number of people who could threaten him.

"I must become a powerful cultivator, for no other reason than to become strong!" Meng Hao stood outside the cave, taking a deep breath of the mountain air, his eyes filled with determination.

Though he was a scholar and had studied Confucianism, the three years had been enough to change some aspects of his inner self. After experiencing a series of events, Meng Hao was no longer the same person he had been. His stubbornness, which had been gradually revealed, was now more evident.

This stubbornness was evident in his persistence after failing the imperial exams, in his struggle within the Mountain Rely Sect, and in his resistance against Wang Tengfei. Now, it was evident in his anticipation of the future.

People want to become strong, just as they want to become rich. It is a dream, with no specific reason. If there is one, it is the fear of poverty and weakness. Thus, they strive to become strong and wealthy. This is how Meng Hao understood human nature.

"Life burns brightly, called vigorous, like a person striving for self-improvement, unwilling to bow down." Meng Hao raised his head, thinking of the Mountain Rely Sect and the arrogance of the Zhao Kingdom's powerful figures. He remembered the coldness of a person casually raising their hand to kill, and the gaze of the middle-aged guardian beside Wang Tengfei.

"I lost my parents at a young age. Without a strong and stubborn heart, I wouldn't have survived to this day. I would have given up long ago. Within the Mountain Rely Sect, if I hadn't had the will to improve, I wouldn't have become an inner disciple. Self-improvement and stubbornness are the path to my future." Meng Hao exhaled deeply, raised his right hand, and flicked his sleeve. Immediately, a black light shot out, transforming into a black nail. As soon as it appeared, the black light intensified, heading straight for a distant rock.

With a loud boom, the rock, over two zhang tall, crumbled and shattered. Black ice formed on the broken pieces, and even the ground emitted a cold aura.

Meng Hao's expression showed satisfaction. He waved his right hand, and the black nail flew back to him. He flipped his hand and flicked again, and immediately, a rainbow of light swirled around as the fan with sixteen feathers flew out. As Meng Hao pointed with his right hand, the fan burst apart.

Sixteen beams of light scattered and swirled, each a feather. They hovered in the air like flying swords, exuding a sharp aura. With another wave of his hand, the sixteen feathers rushed toward Meng Hao, circling around him tightly, forming a protective barrier. He could use his spiritual energy to shape them into various forms.

After a moment, the sixteen feathers reformed into the precious fan, landing in Meng Hao's hand.

"Unfortunately, I still don't have enough spirit stones. The bronze mirror consumes too much. Replicating a single Earth Spirit Pill requires a hundred spirit stones, which is acceptable, but replicating a Heaven Spirit Pill for Level Eight Qi Condensation requires five hundred spirit stones."

The price is too high...” Meng Hao frowned, thinking about the spirit stones. The ten thousand spirit stones he had were almost depleted. In two months, he had broken through from Level Seven to Level Eight Qi Condensation, consuming over eighty Earth Spirit Pills, almost one or two per day.

"The further one cultivates, the more spiritual energy is required." Meng Hao muttered, glancing at his storage bag. There were five Heaven Spirit Pills left, but he had already consumed one, realizing that to reach Level Nine Qi Condensation, he would need at least one hundred and fifty pills.

"Besides needing more spiritual energy, could it also be because I have consumed too many pills, causing my body to start rejecting them?" Meng Hao hesitated, unsure. However, based on his calculations, without Heaven Spirit Pills, he would need even more of other pills.

"One hundred and fifty Heaven Spirit Pills... equivalent to over seventy thousand spirit stones... otherwise, it would take a long time to make up for it, and with my ordinary talent, it would take even longer..." Meng Hao sighed, feeling the emptiness of his storage bag.

His storage bag still contained three large spirit stones, but Meng Hao dared not use them. The longer he cultivated, the more he realized that his earlier replication of the wooden sword was rash. These large spirit stones were certainly not ordinary, otherwise, they wouldn't have been able to replicate the Jade Blood Crystal.

"Unless absolutely necessary, I must not use these large spirit stones. They might have better uses in the future." Meng Hao made up his mind, his body transforming into a long rainbow as he flew away, the precious fan glowing beneath his feet.

After a moment of contemplation, he moved his internal spiritual energy, and the fan's glow faded, becoming unremarkable. Meng Hao felt relieved and sped off.

"Several months have passed; the disciples of the Purple Luck Sect should have left by now." Meng Hao was cautious, thinking to himself. After leaving the deep mountains, he looked into the distance, remembering that this direction should be close to the capital of the Zhao Kingdom.

It was a place he had once yearned for, second only to the Tang Dynasty in the East. Reflecting on it now, Meng Hao felt a sense of nostalgia. After three years of imperial exams and three years of failing, he still didn't have the qualifications to take the final exam in the capital. But now, after another three years, he was no longer the same scholar; he had become a cultivator.

As he approached the capital of the Zhao Kingdom, Meng Hao no longer glided but walked on the official road. His long hair was tied up, and his scholar's robe made him look like a scholar. Though he was still somewhat short, he had grown taller over the years, and his body had become more slender. Though his skin was still a bit dark, he looked very spirited, with an aura surrounding him.

It was early March, and snow still occasionally fell in the Zhao Kingdom. As Meng Hao walked, the sky, now covered in twilight, began to see snowflakes falling.

The snow quickly covered the ground, making it look as if the earth was draped in a white blanket.

Snow fell on Meng Hao's hair, not melting but floating there, perhaps to be blown away by the wind.

The surroundings were not quiet. The closer he got to the capital, the more carriages appeared. Behind Meng Hao, a carriage was speeding along, seemingly afraid of missing the time when the city gates closed.

As it passed by Meng Hao, it stirred up the snow. The curtain of the carriage was blown open slightly, revealing a scholar inside.

Meng Hao glanced at the scholar, his expression calm, but his eyes seemed to reflect his own past as a scholar. Though he was only twenty, Meng Hao felt that his heart had aged somewhat.

Just as he was about to sigh, the carriage stopped in front of him. The curtain was lifted, and the scholar inside looked back. As Meng Hao approached, the scholar got off the carriage and bowed to him.

"Brother, are you also going to the capital for the imperial exams?"

"Years ago, I had high hopes for the exams, but now they are gone. I just want to see the Tang Tower." Meng Hao quickly returned the bow.

"Pity. Seeing your noble demeanor, I thought you might become a fellow scholar. Why give up your career?" The scholar, who looked to be about Meng Hao's age, spoke with regret.

Meng Hao shook his head, saying nothing.

"Never mind. The snow is heavy, and the road is difficult. If we are late, we might not be able to enter the city. Brother, why don't you join me? We might still make it in time." The scholar, seeing Meng Hao's scholar appearance, smiled and invited him.

Meng Hao looked at the sky and the scholar, then bowed in thanks and got into the carriage with him.

Inside the carriage was a bronze stove, burning to keep out the cold, indicating the scholar's wealthy background. An old man was driving the carriage, and though he wore a hat and looked down, his large knuckles suggested he knew some martial arts.

"My name is Zheng Yong. Brother, please don't be拘谨. We are both scholars and should help each other." Zheng Yong warmed his hands and smiled.

"My name is Meng Hao. Thank you, Brother Zheng." Meng Hao smiled, his gaze falling on the book next to Zheng Yong, which read "The Book of Rites," an ancient and valuable book.

"Surname Meng?" Zheng Yong immediately straightened, unable to move much in the carriage but still bowing.

"Originally from the Li Ren family, descendants of Qingfu. I apologize for my rudeness, Brother Meng."

"Brother Zheng, there's no need for such formality. It's just a surname. My ancestors were glorious, but I, as their descendant, have repeatedly failed the exams, feeling very ashamed." Meng Hao returned the bow, and they sat down again.

"Brother Meng, your words are incorrect. This surname is blessed, passed down from ancient times, from the descendants of Qingfu. Even if you don't pass the exams, as long as you uphold the principles of benevolence and propriety, you are a great Confucian." Zheng Yong spoke seriously.

"Brother Zheng, what is Confucianism?" Meng Hao was silent for a moment, then looked at the scholar and asked calmly.

"Rituals, benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, forgiveness, and the Middle Way are what define Confucianism." Zheng Yong answered without hesitation.

Meng Hao said nothing, watching the snowflakes drift in as the curtain was lifted. After a while, he spoke softly.

"What is life?" Meng Hao asked.

"Life?" Zheng Yong was taken aback, hesitating before speaking.

The carriage was quiet, with only the sound of the wind and snow outside. Meng Hao raised his right hand and extended it outside the curtain, and snowflakes began to fall on his hand.

"This snow can only appear in winter. It can only live in the cold, so this harsh winter is its life." Meng Hao spoke softly, bringing his hand back to the bronze stove, where the snow quickly melted into water, flowing through his palm.

"Snow can only live in winter. When it gets close to fire, it dies. This is its life. No matter how much it yearns for summer, it can only stay away."

"The snow in my palm turned into water because this is not its world..." Meng Hao raised his hand and flicked the water out of the carriage. The water droplets, unseen by the scholar, turned back into snow and drifted away.

Zheng Yong was stunned, his expression showing confusion. When the carriage entered the city gates, Meng Hao's voice echoed softly.

"Thank you, Brother Zheng, for your company. I must take my leave." Meng Hao bowed and got off the carriage, stepping into the snow, gradually walking down the street.

"Yearning for summer but only able to survive in winter, the snow can only quietly depart... Is this the life of snow?" Zheng Yong looked at Meng Hao's distant figure, murmuring to himself. After a while, he got off the carriage, bowed deeply in the direction Meng Hao had gone.

In the cold wind, his figure was gradually covered by snow, but he knew that when he returned to the carriage, the snow on his body would melt. He would never forget this moment. Even years later, when he became a renowned Confucian in the Zhao Kingdom, he would sometimes, in the winter snow, raise his hand and watch the snow in his palm slowly turn into water, silently thinking of that scholar named Meng Hao on a snowy night.

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Sweat, sweat, sweat. I clearly remember clicking the upload button at 11:00, then went to write, but it didn't upload successfully. I'm sorry, everyone. I will be more careful in the future...

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