Chapter 322: Monstrous Prestige! Comprehending the Dao Even with Tall Talk and Empty Words! King Rank

Chapter 322: Boundless Prestige! Enlightened Even Through Empty Talk! Kings Shocked!

"Me?"

Qin Feng was utterly stunned, then instinctively waved his hands, politely declining with a helpless smile. "Master, this... I am afraid this is inappropriate. Your disciple’s strength is meager, and my time in cultivation has been brief. Most of my journey has been forged through slaughter and bitter training. My understanding and exposition of the Great Dao are likely too shallow to articulate anything profound. I am afraid I would only mislead the younger generation."

This was no false modesty.

Qin Feng was speaking the truth.

If asked to charge into battle and slay enemies, he would press forward with indomitable resolve.

If asked to enter secluded cultivation, he could endure the loneliness of ten thousand lifetimes.

But to step onto a lecture podium, to face billions of proud geniuses and try to impart knowledge and resolve doubts, he genuinely felt at a loss.

Even his own "Limitless Path" was still in its exploratory stages; how could he hope to guide others?

"Pfft... Hahaha!"

Looking at Qin Feng’s deadpan, thoroughly troubled expression, the Sky-Devouring King finally could not hold back any longer and burst into hearty laughter once more, his voice ringing even more loudly than before.

"You little rascal! You actually started playing humble with your master!"

He brought a palm down onto Qin Feng’s shoulder with such force that even Qin Feng’s Limitless Body, capable of directly clashing with a Marquis-class powerhouse, sank slightly.

"Meager strength? You call stepping into the Divine Forbidden realm and instantly claiming the absolute first rank on the Genius Leaderboard meager strength? Brief time in cultivation? Do you have any idea that what you have accomplished in these tens of thousands of years is far more brilliant than what all of us old fogies combined have achieved across countless epochs?"

The Sky-Devouring King began counting on his fingers, listing Qin Feng's achievements as if counting family treasures. "At the Island of Dead Meteors, you slaughtered a million-strong allied army of myriad races single-handedly, wiping out all six geniuses of the Divine Forbidden realm. What kind of battle achievement is that? That is an epic to be sung throughout the ages!"

"Beneath the Imperial War, while pursued by a Marquis-class powerhouse, you turned the tables against the wind in a desperate situation, slaying a mid-tier Marquis with the body of a Domain Lord. What kind of method is that? That is a myth that shatters ironclad laws!"

"Facing the willpower-enticing corruption of the Chaos Evil God, you held fast to your true self throughout a hundred and fifty thousand years of psychological warfare, ultimately causing even a deity to depart in a violent rage. What kind of Dao-heart is that? That is a legend unprecedented since antiquity!"

"Do you even know what kind of existence you are right now within the Holy Academy, and within the hearts of the younger generation of the entire human race?"

The Sky-Devouring King pointed outward toward the void, where the lingering afterglow of the grand celebration had not yet completely dissipated, his voice booming like a great bell.

"You are a living legend! A walking totem of faith!

Your current prestige is vastly higher than all of us old fogies combined!

Those geniuses don't want to hear us old relics lecture on the scriptures or discourse on the Dao; they want to hear a peer of their own generation talk about how you created miracles!"

This torrent of words left Qin Feng completely speechless.

He had never imagined that, without realizing it, he had already come to bear such an immense weight of renown.

Seeing that he was still hesitating, the Sky-Devouring King directly sealed the matter, striking the final note. "Enough, your master knows what you are worried about. Go on without fear; no one needs you to explain any core secret techniques."

"Just go up there and casually chat about your cultivation experiences. Share with them how you grit your teeth and persevered back on the Morning Star, in Canaan, and through one desperate adversity after another.

Sharing your brand of ruthlessness and that unyielding willpower of yours will be more than enough."

He let out a long sigh, a complex look flitting through his eyes. "The geniuses of the Holy Academy lack for nothing when it comes to talent, resources, or secret techniques.

The only thing they lack is that same spirit of an ironclad, foul-tempered rock that has been ground down through mountains of corpses and seas of blood, a trait found in orthodox imperial soldiers like you!

Go. Treat it as... pouring a scoop of scalding hot water over those flowers that grew up in a greenhouse, letting them know just how cruel the truth of the universe really is, and letting them know just how rigid the backbone of the human race can be!"

With words having reached this point, Qin Feng could no longer find any reason to refuse.

He understood the intentions of his master and the high-level executives of the Holy Academy.

This was not merely a lecture podium; it was a transmission of spirit, a baptism of will.

He recalled his struggles back on the Morning Star, his period of dormancy in Canaan, the fall of his dearest friends, and the countless times he had hovered on the brink of life and death...

Perhaps these experiences truly held an extraordinary meaning for those geniuses whose journeys had been smooth sailing.

This, too, was a way to give back to the human race.

At this thought, Qin Feng took a deep breath, the confusion and helplessness in his eyes completely vanishing, replaced by a gaze of absolute clarity and resolve.

He bowed deeply once more toward the Sky-Devouring King.

"Yes, Master."

"Your disciple accepts the command."

...

The Human Holy Academy, a sacred domain carved out by supreme and majestic power beyond the cosmic order, was currently playing host to a grand gathering rare even across the epochs.

The location was not situated within any physical grand palace, but rather on an open-air lecture podium within the public sector of the Holy Academy.

However, to call it a "lecture podium" was in fact already an extremely humble description.

This place was actually an independent minor world forcibly intercepted and refined from the shallow layers of hyperspace, a grand handiwork that had already surpassed the limits of a normal Emperor's imagination.

An elevated dais floated at the very center of this world, constructed entirely from a warm, water-like white divine jade.

Upon that divine jade, visible traces of Dao-rhyme flowed and shifted at every single moment, resembling miniature rivers of stars slowly kindling and extinguishing within its depths.

Beneath the divine jade lay not solid earth, but a vast, boundless, and slowly drifting sea of brilliant nebulae.

Purple, golden, and azure stardust gathered into an ocean, its luster changing and shifting, magnificent enough to intoxicate the mind and soul.

Standing here felt as though one stood at the center of the universe, looking down upon the birth and withering of stars.

Beneath the elevated dais, rows of seats extended infinitely in all directions.

Those seats were densely packed, layer upon layer, stretching all the way to the boundaries of this minor world where they met the surging mists of chaos, rendering the end invisible at a single glance.

Upon every single seat sat a figure, their auras either reserved as a deep abyss or sharp as a sword, without exception representing the absolute pinnacle of the human race's younger generation.

Countless millions of Holy Academy students had gathered here, a terrifying lineup sufficient to strike dread into the heart of any foreign race.

They hailed from every corner of the vast territories of humanity, their backgrounds and identities varying wildly.

Some wore ancient, intricate, and luxurious robes, and as the spiritual energy surged around them, the faint silhouettes of dragons and phoenixes encircled their forms; these were the princes and princesses of ancient cosmic empires that had inherited fortunes across billions of years of history, born atop the clouds to look down upon all living things.

Their gazes were proud and reserved, yet at this moment, they also carried a hint of inquiry and curiosity that was difficult to conceal.

Others wore simple clothing, their bodies still bearing the iron-blooded, murderous aura of veterans long accustomed to the battlefield, their skin coarse but their eyes sharp enough to pierce the starry rivers.

They were fierce individuals who had fought their way up step by step from the lowest mortal planets, changing their destinies against Heaven, ultimately breaking into this highest institution of humanity by virtue of an unyielding Dao-heart.

Upon their forms lay the heavy sediment of mountains of corpses and seas of blood, every pore seemingly breathing the instincts of combat.

And far more numerous were the "standard" geniuses whom the Holy Academy had trained systematically since childhood.

Their foundations were flawless, their cultivation techniques orthodox, and every step they took was incomparably solid; they were the pillars of the state carefully nurtured by humanity at the cost of endless resources.

The realms of these favored children of heaven varied from the Galaxy stage of newcomers to those who had already touched the peak of the Black Hole stage, and even Limitless Black Hole stage individuals whose names were carved upon the Genius Leaderboard.

It could be said that if any single person here were placed into an external cosmic empire, they would be fully capable of becoming the protagonist of an era, leading the rise and fall of a civilization.

Yet at this moment, these millions of peerless monsters capable of stirring the cosmic winds formed an eerie, silent picture.

The entire independent world carved from hyperspace was terrifyingly quiet.

There was not the slightest sound of conversation, and even the fluctuations of spiritual energy were suppressed to the absolute minimum.

The only things echoing through the space were the faint, Dao-like celestial tones emitted by the slowly drifting, magnificent nebulae, and the heavy, burning breaths that the geniuses instinctively suppressed out of sheer excitement and anticipation.

This was an ultimate silence, a silence born from absolute reverence and fanaticism, looking as though it could freeze time and space.

The gazes of everyone, whether proud, sharp, or peaceful, transcended the distant space at this moment, piercing through the flowing nebulae to lock fiercely onto the center of that white divine jade dais—onto that seemingly ordinary, even somewhat slender figure.

In their eyes, the name Qin Feng had long since transcended the top ranking of the Heaven’s Pride List.

He was a living legend, a walking totem of faith.

He was the savior who, on the desolate and deadly Island of Fallen Stars, single-handedly turned the tide when all seemed lost and propped up a crumbling empire.

He was the peerless warrior who stood tall amidst the encirclement of myriad royal races, slaying marquises in defiance of fate.

He was, above all, the eternal hero who, before the legendary will of the Chaos Evil God, held fast to his true self with an immortal heart of Dao.

Every one of his feats read like a chapter from a mythic epic, imbued with an incredible, blood-stirring quality of miracles.

Qin Feng had shattered conventions and overturned perceptions, revealing to all the students of the Holy Academy a brand-new path filled with infinite possibilities.

They had come here not merely to attend a lecture, but to embark on a pilgrimage, to witness with their own eyes the symbol of an era who had utterly trampled the word "impossible" beneath his feet.

High upon the dais, amidst the nebulae, Qin Feng stood with his hands behind his back.

He wore a simple black martial arts tunic, devoid of ornate embroidery or the shimmering luster of divine treasures, standing so quietly that he seemed to have merged into the boundless sea of stars behind him, the divine jade platform beneath his feet, and the very fabric of this independent world.

He surveyed the millions below, whose eyes—filled with fanaticism, worship, curiosity, and inquiry—were like the brightest stars in the cosmos, all captured within his gaze.

His look was as calm as water, stirred not in the slightest by this mountainous, tsunami-like reverence.

Qin Feng did not use any spiritual energy to amplify his voice, nor did he release a shred of the terrifying pressure belonging to the "Fierce God."

He simply stood there, and a quality of vicissitude and stillness, indescribable in words and seemingly distilled from eons of time, naturally permeated the air, instantly enveloping the entire venue.

It was a unique aura that transcended power and cultivation realm.

This quality rendered the already silent atmosphere of the hall even more solemn and grave.

Every prodigy instinctively straightened their backs, cast aside all distracting thoughts, and adjusted their spirit and energy to their peak state, prepared to listen to every word from this legend.

Qin Feng’s gaze swept over each young and powerful face, his perception already transcending the limits of sight.

He could clearly feel the life force surging like a great river within these prodigies, and the powerful spiritual energy capable of lighting up the stars hidden deep within their souls.

They were the most precious treasure of the human race, the future of the Empire.

Yet, at the same time, he keenly sensed something else.

Behind those powerful auras, he detected a certain "stagnation."

Though the Dao hearts of the vast majority had been tempered a thousand times and remained steadfast, they lacked that which could only be born from repeated torment and grinding in mountains of corpses and seas of blood—a "killing intent" and "resilience" that seeped into the marrow and fused with the soul.

It was not mere bloodlust, but an instinct forged in countless brushes with death, where one’s will, power, and every thread of existence were twisted into a single rope, solely to "survive" and "slay the enemy."

It was not mere stubbornness, but a tenacity like wild grass, capable of gathering the final shred of will from the deepest, darkest despair even after the body was destroyed, the soul torn asunder, and the Dao heart trampled.

At this moment, to Qin Feng, the millions of prodigies below were like peerless swords enshrined in a temple.

They were of extraordinary material, sharp beyond compare, and radiant, yet they remained tucked away in ornate scabbards, never having tasted the true blood of life-and-death struggle, never having clashed madly against weapons of equal caliber; their blades lacked that eerie, blood-drinking crimson glow and the weathered texture of being reforged after shattering.

They were strong, but not yet "hard" enough.

Realizing this, Qin Feng found the direction for his lecture.

He would not share how to make these fine swords sharper, but how to prepare them for the inevitable, cruel tempering that would surely come—the kind capable of snapping them in two.

Thus, he withdrew his gaze and, without further pleasantries or preamble, began to speak.

His voice was not loud, yet it held a peculiar penetrating power, as if it did not travel through air or spiritual energy, but resonated directly within the depths of every person’s soul.

"Invited here today, I shall not speak of secret arts or divine powers, but discuss one thing with you all—"

Qin Feng’s pace was measured, every word clear, punctuated with force, like a master smith’s heavy hammer striking upon the minds of the audience.

"On the long road of cultivation, what is the most precious thing?"

As the question hung in the air, the entire venue fell into an even deeper silence.

Millions of prodigies were stunned.

They had anticipated countless openings: perhaps Qin Feng sharing insights into his self-created "Path of Extremes," explaining the shocking killing techniques used when he slew marquises, or describing his mental journey while resisting the Evil God.

They expected the mysteries of power, the shortcuts to higher realms.

Yet they never imagined Qin Feng would pose such a seemingly broad, ethereal, and philosophical question.

The most precious?

Is it talent? That which everyone present took pride in. Is it resources? The guarantee provided by the Holy Academy and the Empire.

Is it secret arts? The foundation of their practice, the bridge to the Great Dao.

For a moment, countless answers flashed through their minds, yet each felt either correct or insufficiently profound, unable to truly encapsulate that path of cultivation so long it bordered on despair.

High on the dais, Qin Feng gave them little time to ponder, nor did he wait for an answer.

He seemed to be asking himself, and then, he began to answer.

He did not speak of the grand, earth-shattering battles they expected.

There was no heroism of breaking armies with a single spear, no tyranny of slaughtering millions in five breaths, nor the peril of confronting an Evil God.

He spoke of those unknown, hidden years of seclusion, buried beneath dazzling achievements, long enough to make the stars feel desolate.

"The path of cultivation is not as we imagine, a constant, triumphant charge."

Qin Feng’s voice carried a distant sense of reminiscence, as if recounting a sealed history.

"More often, it is trial, error, and correction."

"Fault tolerance is paramount."

"Each of you is a child of heaven, walking the most correct path since the beginning of your cultivation, possessing the best teachers and top-tier resources."

"You are accustomed to victory, to precision, to every step being flawless."

"Some even boast of never having known defeat!"

"This is a hidden danger."

"For the true path of martial arts, especially beyond the Black Hole level, the road to becoming a King, an Emperor, or even higher, is a dark forest without a map."

"The experience of predecessors can be referenced, but never replicated."

"Every step you take in the future will inevitably be accompanied by confusion and error."

"You must allow yourselves to make mistakes, to fail. But you must reserve enough room for error."

Qin Feng’s tone suddenly deepened, like the evening drum and morning bell, deafening and awakening.

"You must possess the courage to draw nourishment from failure, to shatter the past, and to reshape your path! A wrong turn in practicing a technique, a failed breakthrough in realm, an attempt at a self-created art gone astray... these are not terrifying. What is terrifying is that because of one failure, you negate yourself and lose the resolve to try again!"

His gaze grew profound, as if piercing through space and time to see his own past struggles.

"I have failed many times, far more than you can imagine."

"In Canaan, in the Universal Genius Tournament, in places you do not know."

"Several times, my Dao foundation neared collapse; several times, my body was utterly crushed; and more than once, my will was nearly extinguished."

"Each time, I failed completely, while you only see the glamorous side of me."

"But each time, from the ashes of failure, I found the firewood to make myself burn even brighter."

"Every time I was knocked down, when I stood up again, I was stronger than before!"

Remember, failure on the path of cultivation is not your terminus, but your whetstone.

To dare to err, and to rise with grace from those mistakes, is the first cornerstone of your journey toward greatness.

These words cast the countless prodigies below into a profound, contemplative silence.

Many among them had never truly tasted the bitterness of a crushing defeat; their paths had been so smooth that, deep within, they harbored an instinctive fear and rejection of the very word "failure."

Qin Feng’s words had, without a doubt, opened a window to a world they had never dared to glimpse.

Without granting them time to linger on the thought, Qin Feng moved to his second thesis.

"The true powerhouse must be one who can savor solitude."

"Solitude?"

The term left many of the prodigies bewildered.

Surrounded by peers, mentors, and comrades-in-arms, they were accustomed to growing through the strength of the collective, never once considering isolation a necessity.

Qin Feng seemed to pierce through their thoughts, his voice becoming increasingly ethereal.

"For the most profound insights, the most thorough transformations, occur only in corners where no one asks after you, born in the deep, silent void where all sounds have faded."

"When you seclude yourselves for three millennia to break through a bottleneck; when you practice for thirty thousand years to perfect a single killing blow; or even when you sit for three hundred thousand years in stillness to discern your own heart... in those stretches of time so long they defy reason, there will be no voices around you, no companionship, no one with whom to converse."

"All you will hear is the rhythm of your own heartbeat; all you will see is the darkness before your eyes; all you will commune with is your own Dao-heart, whether it be resolute or lost."

"In such an environment, can you hold fast to your original intent? Can you, amidst the endless repetition and monotony, find that fleeting spark of enlightenment?"

His words seemed to drag everyone into a cold, dark, silent cosmic cage, a marrow-deep sense of loneliness that caused even the most faint-hearted among them to tremble.

"Solitude is not a punishment; it is a supreme furnace gifted to you by the universe to temper your will."

"Only in absolute isolation can you cast aside the clamor of the world, hear the voice from the deepest reaches of your soul, and see your own Dao in its most authentic form."

"Savor it, embrace it, and ultimately, conquer it."

"When solitude can no longer shake you in the slightest, only then can your will be called truly indestructible." He paused for a moment, allowing them time to digest his words.

He watched as the eyes of the prodigies shifted from initial confusion to shock, and finally, to a dawning, thoughtful realization.

They began to grasp that the "solitude" Qin Feng spoke of was a concept entirely distinct from the "loneliness" they knew.

It was a great, necessary silence, actively chosen for the sake of seeking the Dao.

Finally, Qin Feng’s gaze swept across the assembly, his voice becoming unprecedentedly plain, yet heavy with weight.

He summarized his core message in the simplest of terms.

"To speak of 'fault tolerance' is to grant you the courage to press forward. To speak of 'solitude' is to grant you the fortitude to temper your inner self."

"And what connects these two, and everything else on your path, giving them their ultimate meaning, are the final two words—"

"Persistence."

"You have heard this word countless times; perhaps your ears have grown calloused to it."

"But the 'persistence' I speak of today may differ from what you understand."

"To persist for a day is an experience;"

"To persist for a year is a habit;"

"To persist for a century is perseverance."

"These things you can all do; every person here can do them."

Qin Feng’s tone shifted abruptly, and an invisible, majestic aura—born from the very essence of his being—surged outward!

"But to persist for thirty thousand years, for the sake of a single goal!"

"To persist for three million years, for the sake of a single conviction!"

"To persist for thirty million years, or even longer, for the sake of a path that has no end in sight!"

"That—"

"—is no longer mere perseverance."

"That is called the 'Dao'!"

"When the act of 'persistence' itself no longer requires you to drive it with 'willpower,' when it becomes as natural as your breath, your heartbeat, or the circulation of your spirit energy—when it becomes an absolute instinct etched into your very soul and spirit..."

"Then, you have truly stepped onto that unique path of the powerhouse that belongs to you alone."

"This is the path of the Domain Lord!"

As his voice fell, the entire independent world sank into a deathly silence.

Qin Feng’s final words were like the first thunderclap at the dawn of chaos, striking the hearts of millions of prodigies and stirring up a monstrous, surging tide!

When persistence becomes instinct?

This principle, simple to the extreme yet profound to the extreme, plunged everyone into a state of unprecedented shock.

They felt as if they were watching a door to a new world slowly creaking open before them.

Behind that door, there were no dazzling divine abilities, no invincible secret techniques—only a path to eternity, paved with endless years and monotony... a pilgrimage.

...

Qin Feng’s words were plain and unremarkable, devoid of flowery rhetoric or obscure theories.

He was simply recounting, like a traveler who had trekked through the long river of time for eons, dusting off the grime of his journey to tell those who followed of the road he had walked.

Every word he spoke felt like a stone flake chipped from the most ancient bedrock of his soul—simple, rough, yet imbued with an unimaginable weight and hardness.

He was like an old farmer who had tilled the fields for billions of years, sharing his experience of spring planting and autumn harvest, explaining how to handle drought and flood, how to discern the changing seasons.

These truths sounded so simple, so simple that every child who had just stepped onto the path of cultivation might have heard them from their elders.

The mentors of the Holy Academy had spoken these truths countless times!

But it had been to no avail.

Yet now, when Qin Feng spoke them, they carried weight!

Because Qin Feng’s reputation, his prestige, was simply too immense!

And these prodigies all knew that Qin Feng’s age was not much different from their own; he could even be considered of the same generation!

And so, they began to think.

This independent world, carved into the shallow layers of space by supreme power, fell into a strange, almost frozen stillness.

Nebulae continued to swirl slowly, casting dreamlike radiance upon the millions of human prodigies below.

Their bodies, like statues cast in divine gold, remained motionless, all lost in deep reflection.

At first, when Qin Feng began to speak of "fault tolerance," many eyes had flickered with confusion, or even a fleeting disappointment.

Who were they?

They were the brightest prodigies of the human race’s golden age!

Each of them was a myth walking among the star seas, the undisputed protagonists of their respective eras and star sectors.

They had come here with the spirit of pilgrims, to listen to the teachings of a living legend—the "Fierce God" Qin Feng. They had expected earth-shattering secret techniques, the mysteries of the divine forbidden realms like those of the Stone Buddha, or an analysis of that unprecedented "Limitless Path"—even a mere glimpse would have been enough to benefit them for a lifetime.

Yet, what was it they heard?

"You must allow yourself to make mistakes..."

"Failure is nothing to be feared..."

Were these not the same tired platitudes their mentors had droned on about since their earliest days of enlightenment?

To these peerless prodigies, who had marched from one triumph to the next, never having tasted the bitterness of defeat, such words rang hollow—and, frankly, quite out of place.

A prince, draped in robes of gold-threaded dragon silk with a divine flame mark etched upon his brow, frowned almost imperceptibly.

As the crown prince of the Ancient Yan Dynasty, he had been hailed since birth as a talent seen only once in a million years. On his path of cultivation, he had been granted the finest resources and the most profound secret arts; his life’s trajectory was as precise and brilliant as if measured by a divine ruler. How could he have ever known "error"?

Qin Feng’s words struck him as utterly impractical.

A sense of disappointment, like a thin, creeping mist, began to settle over the hearts of the millions of gathered elites.

Yet, as Qin Feng continued, and the word "loneliness" fell from his lips, the atmosphere in the arena underwent a subtle shift.

"...When you have spent three thousand years, thirty thousand years, or even longer in seclusion, with no voice to answer your own, no companion to share the silence, and only your own soul to converse with your Dao, can you hold fast to your original intent?"

Three thousand years!

Thirty thousand years!

These units of time struck like invisible hammers, pounding heavily against the heart of every prodigy present!

Among them, the eldest had lived for only a few tens of thousands of years, and those who had managed a single retreat of a millennium were rare as phoenix feathers.

The act of sealing oneself away, cutting ties with the entire universe, and immersing oneself in such endless, desolate stillness was something they had contemplated, yet instinctively feared.

Just then, a flash of memory crossed their minds—a bulletin from the Will of the Universe detailing Qin Feng’s own record:

"In the Blood-Stained Arena, locked in a death struggle with the intermediate Marquis 'Blood Butcher' for ten thousand years, he stole his Dao, grasped his methods, and ultimately turned the enemy's own power against him to slay a Marquis!"

"Within the illusion, he faced the will of the Chaos Evil God 'Khorne' head-on, resisting for one hundred and fifty thousand years, his Dao heart unyielding, his will unextinguished!"

BOOM!!

It was as if a bolt of heavenly lightning had detonated in the deepest reaches of their souls!

Those plain, simple words from before suddenly fused with those two terrifying feats—records that made one’s scalp prickle and soul tremble just to read them!

Ten thousand years of unrelenting, life-or-death struggle!

One hundred and fifty thousand years of defiance against the will of a god!

What depth of loneliness must that have been?

What maddening desolation? What purgatorial torment?

In this moment, the word "loneliness" from Qin Feng’s lips ceased to be the flowery prose of poets or the abstract concept of philosophers; it transformed into something real—heavy with the scent of blood and rust, a weight so immense it could crush the very stars!

The prince in the gold-threaded robes saw his disdain vanish into thin air, replaced by a pallor of sheer horror.

His own pride in a century of seclusion seemed, before Qin Feng’s "millennia" of deathly silence, as laughable as a child’s afternoon nap.

He suddenly understood that his so-called "perfect" path was merely a smooth road paved by the protection of his predecessors; he had never truly faced the darkness and void of his own soul alone.

The youth nearby, once radiating an aura of slaughter, let his crossed arms fall, his body trembling slightly.

He had thought himself accustomed to loneliness, his heart tempered like cold iron.

But his loneliness was merely the solitude of licking wounds after a skirmish, the loneliness of struggling to survive.

What Qin Feng spoke of—the loneliness of voluntarily plunging into the infinite void for the sake of "seeking the Dao," engaging in an eternal dialogue with the self—was a higher realm, one he had never touched.

"Moved" was no longer a strong enough word to describe the scene.

It was a resonance, a shock that vibrated through the very fabric of their souls!

If they had previously worshipped Qin Feng as a "strongman" with heaven-defying combat power, they now began to grasp the root of why this man had become such a force.

When Qin Feng finally summarized "persistence" in the simplest of terms, this shock reached its zenith.

Dao!

What is the Dao?

This question had haunted countless practitioners throughout the ages.

Some said the Dao was law, order; others said it was the True Self, the original heart; still others claimed it was power, eternity.

Today, Qin Feng offered a new, and most primitive, answer.

The Dao is persistence.

It is taking one correct thing and persisting until the end of time, until it blends into your breath, your heartbeat, your every thought, becoming a part of your very life!

Hum—

A brilliant radiance erupted from one of the prodigies; his aura climbed steadily, and a bottleneck that had plagued him for three hundred years shattered in an instant!

Hot tears streamed down his face as he muttered, "So that is it... so that is it! I was always chasing faster breakthroughs, deeper secret arts, forgetting that the strongest art is steady, constant persistence! One step at a time, just keep walking!"

"Boom!"

"Boom!"

"Boom!"

One powerful aura after another surged into the sky, filling the heavens with light!

Hundreds and thousands of prodigies felt their spirits washed clean in an unprecedented baptism; their Dao hearts cleared, their thoughts aligned, and the barriers of years of cultivation crumbled at the sound!

Many of them were gifted, their comprehension extraordinary, their paths smooth—but because of this, their Dao hearts lacked the most vital component: the resilience to face boredom, failure, and solitude.

They were like towering trees grown in a greenhouse, lush and leafy, seemingly strong, yet unable to withstand the true frost and snow of the world.

Qin Feng’s words brought them no tangible increase in power, yet they acted as a sweet rain, nourishing their parched roots.

Like a heavy hammer, they shattered the ice of "impatience" and "pride" within their hearts.

They began to reflect.

Reflect on whether they had neglected the fundamental polishing of their Dao hearts in their pursuit of rapid power.

Reflect on whether they had lost the courage to burn their bridges and face death, having relied too heavily on resources and safety nets.

Reflect on whether they could endure ten thousand years of loneliness to complete a seemingly impossible task.

The answer left most of them feeling ashamed.

After a brief, deathly silence.

As Qin Feng’s final words faded into the nebulae, it was unclear who stood up first, roaring into the void!

"Cultivation! Cultivation is not merely the accumulation of power, but an infinite journey accompanied by loneliness, with no end in sight!"

"My thanks to the Fierce God for your guidance! I was trapped in a bottleneck for a century, restless and impatient, always blaming my techniques. Today I know it was my Dao heart that was unstable, that I did not persist enough!"

A roar like a mountain collapsing and a sea surging!

Yes, only these words could describe the scene!

Millions of human prodigies, those arrogant and unruly future titans, now stood like the most devout of believers, bowing deeply, deeply, to the still, calm figure at the center of the high platform!

This bow is not offered to the prestige of his rank atop the Heavenly Pride List.

This bow is not offered to his record of slaying gods and shattering legions.

This bow is offered to the Daoist heart that remained unextinguished through ten thousand years of mortal combat, and immortal through one hundred and fifty thousand years of solitude!

……

At the edge of the lecture hall, within a void invisible to common eyes, several figures stood in silent stillness, their auras as deep as the abyss, as if they had merged into the very fabric of this subspace.

They were the King-ranked mentors of the Holy Academy, beings who usually remained as elusive as dragons in the clouds.

The landslide of fanatical fervor beneath the high platform was entirely within their view.

Yet, the young man upon the dais who had ignited this storm wore an expression of bewilderment.

Qin Feng was indeed somewhat stunned.

He looked at the faces below, flushed with excitement, listened to the waves of shouting that rose ever higher, and felt the power of reverence that threatened to overturn this world, a sense of absurdity rising within him.

What had he said?

He had said nothing at all.

In his view, these words were but the most fundamental "platitudes" of the cultivation path, self-evident axioms.

Any powerhouse who had truly crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood, who had walked step by step from the lowest depths to this day, would necessarily understand these truths.

It was like breathing or drinking water—a survival instinct.

He had never imagined that these insights, which seemed so normal to him, would deal such a massive shock to these pampered prodigies of the Holy Academy.

In truth, Qin Feng had failed to realize that the flaws in the Academy’s system of nurturing talent were far too great.

Those raised in the academic mold, if not exactly vases, were certainly not far from it.

Yet what the universe required were warriors forged in the blood and fire of the battlefield.

"Heh... it seems we all underestimated the influence of this little fellow."

A King-ranked existence, his form shrouded in mist, let out a long, contemplative sigh.

His voice was gentle, yet carried the wisdom of one who had seen through the world. "A few casual words, and he triggers enlightenment in others; it is not that Qin Feng speaks with such profound logic—in fact, his words were quite hollow—but his prestige is simply too great. This generation of prodigies takes him as their model, their leader; whatever Qin Feng says, they will ponder..."

"Haha, the little fellow Qin Feng certainly commands high prestige."

Another mentor, clad in crimson armor with flames seemingly dancing about his frame, nodded heavily. He was the "Cangyan King," known for his fiery temper.

"These prodigies lack that most precious 'wildness' and 'resilience' that Qin Feng grew in the midst of desperation."

"Indeed."

The Cloud Sea King, who had spoken first, nodded slightly. "They are like tigers kept in captivity; though their claws and teeth are sharp, they have never truly hunted alone in the jungle.

And Qin Feng—he is the Tiger King who fought his way out, step by step, from that most primal, blood-soaked wilderness."

The Cangyan King watched the students below, still shouting in excitement, a hint of a smile appearing in his eyes: "Qin Feng’s prestige and reputation are such that he is the leader of his generation. Even if Qin Feng were to pass wind, they would find enlightenment in it."

The King-ranked mentors exchanged glances, seeing the same consensus in each other’s eyes.

Though the words were crude, the reality was exactly so.

Letting Qin Feng hold this lecture was undoubtedly one of the most correct and wise decisions the Holy Academy had made in recent years.

Because Qin Feng’s existence was no longer merely that of an individual.

He was a banner, a symbol, a living totem of faith telling every descendant of the human race that "the path is long, but if you walk it, you shall arrive."

His very presence was the best, and most cruel, spur and lash for these academic prodigies accustomed to smooth sailing.

Amidst the deafening cheers and shouts below, Qin Feng finally shook off his brief moment of astonishment.

He nodded calmly toward the countless sincere and fanatical eyes, acknowledging them.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked calmly down the high platform paved with white divine jade.

His silhouette, cast long by the glow of the nebula, appeared lonely yet incomparably resolute.

With a single step, a soft beam of teleportation light ignited, swallowing his figure entirely.

……

He departed, heading toward that vast, boundless star field just recently enfeoffed to him.

It was his own territory, a brand-new beginning for the "Fierce God Qin Feng."

And what he left behind, beyond the tidal wave sweeping through the Holy Academy, was a seed named "Persistence," planted deeply, ever so deeply, in the hearts of these millions of future pillars of the human race.

This seed might not sprout today, or even tomorrow.

But one day, when they face the solitude of cultivation alone, when they encounter an insurmountable enemy, when they feel lost and desperate in the dark universe—

They will remember this day, remember that calm figure standing above the nebula, and remember those simple, unadorned words—

"When persistence itself becomes your instinct, you have truly set foot upon your own path of the strong."