My Journey to Immortality Begins with Hunting-Chapter 160 – Three Transformations into Three Paintings—The Righteous Way, the Demonic Way, and the Way of Freedom - Part 1

Chapter 160 – Three Transformations into Three Paintings—The Righteous Way, the Demonic Way, and the Way of Freedom - Part 1

Dawn arrived.

A small courtyard was bathed in golden sunlight.

A March wind stirred the green willows by the lake and the apricot blossoms on the wall, as Li Yuan gazed thoughtfully at the painting before him.

On the painting, a heroic figure had embarked on a thousand-mile journey to collect heads, radiating overwhelming righteousness and a fierce hatred for evil—effortlessly traversing vast distances, with a lone swordsman standing beneath clouds and moonlight.

He had already discovered the underlying pattern; all that had remained was to align his inner vision with that pattern. Then, seizing the opportunity, he followed the pattern and sketched a visualization aid.

This was a painting of heroes.

It was the visualization aid of The Thousand-Mile Hero.

Yet Li Yuan had found himself puzzled. He was no hero, so how could he have drawn this?

After a moment of reflection, he realized that while the spirit of a hero might have occupied a part of his inner vision, it was far from his entirety.

Even though the painting was complete, he still felt that something was missing.

His intent remained unfinished because what he had painted did not encompass all of his inner vision.

Having created The Thousand-Mile Hero, the heroic aura within him slowly dissipated with each brushstroke, like calm settling after an outpouring. In its place, a surge of other emotions arose, becoming ever clearer and more intense.

“Then I must paint more.”

Li Yuan fetched a fresh sheet of paper and picked up his brush.

Outside, the maid Xiao Lan was about to serve a meal to her master, who hadn’t stepped outside for an entire day and night. But Yan Yu, who had arrived earlier, stopped Xiao Lan, saying, “Don’t disturb him.”

“But the master hasn’t eaten in a long time,” Xiao Lan protested, her concern evident.

Yan Yu only replied, “Once he comes out, be it day or night, prepare his meal so that he always has a warm bite ready.”

Quickly, Xiao Lan nodded and withdrew.

A beautiful woman in white stood outside an elegant, moonlit archway. With her back to the courtyard where Li Yuan worked, she gazed into the distance, lost in thought. The rustic charm of her past had long faded, leaving behind eyes that were both deep and unspoiled.

Meanwhile, in the courtyard, as the heroic aura faded from Li Yuan’s heart, a counterforce of somber, ominous energy took its place. It was as if, when a person’s positive spirit was exhausted, what remained was a descent into negativity and decay.

He resumed his brushwork, letting the ink swirl across the paper like dragons and serpents, and wrote a few lines of poetry—

“How sorrowful are the Southern Mountains, where ghostly rains drench barren grass.

In Chang’an at midnight in autumn, before the wind, how many are worn and old.

I cannot fathom the vast blue sky or the thick, enduring earth; all I see is a cold moon and a warm sun that slow the passage of life.

Eat bears to grow fat, eat frogs to stay lean. Where is the divine lord? Where does Taiyi reside?”

These verses came from Li He, nicknamed the Poet Devil, from his past world. They were a reflection of deep melancholy, depression, and eerie mystique.

It appeared that these lines had stirred a new vision within him, a vision that merged with his own inner intent. Prompted by this surge, Li Yuan raised his brush once more, letting it dance across a new sheet of paper.

Li Yuan seemed to be engulfed by a profound sense of pessimism and desolation, each stroke of his brush intertwined with his contemplation of his life chronicle, as he strove to embed it within his art.

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A day passed.

Two days passed.

At last, the young man set his brush down and looked at the painting before him.

On it lay desolate mountains and withered grass, graves clustered like a fortress, and rain that fell drop by drop—each one reminiscent of a wandering, malevolent spirit.

This was the visualization aid of the Southern Mountains’ Ghostly Rain.

It was a diagram of the demonic path.

Upon finishing this painting, the melancholy that had weighed on Li Yuan’s heart was lifted.

Studying the work carefully, he realized that it, too, aligned with his life chronicle.

Yet its emphasis was distinctly different from that of The Thousand-Mile Hero.

In other words, both paintings captured the pattern of his life chronicle, which itself was a merging of overlapping paths, but the focal path in the Southern Mountains’ Ghostly Rain was resolutely different from that in the Thousand-Mile Hero painting.

In that moment, a spark of inspiration illuminated Li Yuan’s mind. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

Through his own experience, numerous clues interlinked and many doubts were answered.

He suddenly recalled the fundamental teachings about the sixth rank that had been explained to him by Zhao Xiantong and General Mammoth.

“So, the life chronicle is a matter of choice. Different individuals perceive different paths within it. Upon understanding, they envision distinct scenes.

“But in truth, it isn’t the path that reveals the scene; the scene already exists. They are merely catching a glimpse of the artist’s inner vision through the path. Now I understand...it is just so.”

A sense of relief and clarity filled Li Yuan.

In that instant, he had unlocked the secret of the life chronicle.

Everyone who had ascended from seventh to sixth rank had chosen a path from the life chronicle. They envisioned one particular scene out of multiple hidden within the life chronicle. Once they reached that stage of visualizing the scene, they grasped the essence, even if that essence was only a fragment of the complete life chronicle.

Different individuals would experience different inner visions through the life chronicle. This, in essence, was the fundamental reason behind the broken legacy of the Fallen Moon School.

Perhaps Li Yuan’s talent wasn’t lacking at all; it was simply that his nature was not in harmony with his master’s.

His master’s replica of the Fallen Moon School’s life chronicle was, in reality, only a small, incomplete part, both in its envisioned form and in its entirety.

That very fragment, however, might have been misaligned with Li Yuan’s inner nature, making it impossible for him to replicate no matter how hard he tried.

For Li Yuan, though he had greater clarity as the creator of his own life chronicle, he had to put in much more personal effort to convey it. He needed to create multiple visualization aids, then extract the focal paths from each and recombine them into a true life chronicle, one imbued with a soul.

When a martial artist beheld a life chronicle, they only saw a particular path, catching but a glimpse of the whole, and ultimately tapped into a specific power originally possessed by the creator.

Li Yuan, however, forged all the visualization aids himself, then merged their paths into one life chronicle, offering it to others for contemplation.

This formed a complete cycle.

With the heroic aura and the morbid energy both expended, a spark of vital energy miraculously reawakened within Li Yuan’s heart.

It was as if he had undergone brilliant exploits and even plunged into the dark, murderous path, only to retreat to the mountains and attain a peaceful, carefree state.

Not willing to waste this rare opportunity, even after three days and nights without sleep, Li Yuan’s body withstood the strain.

He drew a deep breath, picked up his brush again, and penned several verses of poetry—

“In life, things rarely go as we wish; tomorrow, I’ll let down my hair and set sail on a small boat.

Let the white deer roam among the green cliffs; if you must travel, mount up and seek the famed mountains.

In this fleeting life, sorrows over too few joys abound; why not spend a fortune for but a single smile?

I hold out my wine to toast the fading sunset, so as to prolong the glow among the blossoms.

A bamboo staff and straw sandals can be lighter than a steed; what’s there to fear? Clad in a simple raincoat, I wander life at my own pace.”

Eyes closed, immersed in thought and insight, he alternated between reflection and bold strokes, letting his emotions flow freely across the page.

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This time, after three days and nights of tireless work, Li Yuan completed his painting, casually cast aside his brush, and stretched his arms as he gazed at his new creation.

On it was a young gentleman with a gentle smile, his long hair loose, donning a conical hat. He was riding a white deer in reverse, meandering amidst mountains and rivers.

This was the Young Master Riding the Deer.

This painting was neither of heroism nor of the demonic path; it embodied the way of freedom.

"One final step remains."

After a brief pause, Li Yuan straightened himself once more. With the three paintings set aside, he took a fresh sheet of paper and began to draw again.

He meticulously rendered the focal paths from the Thousand-Mile Hero, Southern Mountains’ Ghostly Rain, and Young Master Riding the Deer. These paths intertwined into three overlapping lines that, while appearing chaotic, concealed a profound pattern.

And that was the true life chronicle. This was the secret of the life chronicle. He was finished.

Li Yuan then carefully stored the four illustrations in a jade box, took a thorough bath, enjoyed a hearty meal, and soon lay down to sleep.

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That sleep lasted three days and nights. When Li Yuan awoke, he bathed once more and feasted abundantly.

After his meal, he felt his energy fully restored. Moreover, his emotions surged like never before, his blood boiling as if stirred into waves without a wind.

Outside, Yan Yu was busy with the two children, while in the room Xue Ning looked at him with concern. It had been so long since the couple had shared any intimacy that even the slightest touch sparked a passionate blaze.

After some time, calm returned.

“Dearest...” Xue Ning, her face soft and gentle, raised her hand to wipe away his sweat. But as she moved, she found herself unsteady, and she shot him a reproachful glance.

Li Yuan pulled her into his arms, feeling an unprecedented peace settle in his heart.

Moments later, Xue Ning suddenly gasped as the bedding stirred once more.

Such was the nature of worldly affairs. In the bustle of life, desire and appetite were only natural.

That evening, Yan Yu quietly peeked into the room before closing the door and calling out softly, “Big Sis, I’ll watch over your son tonight. Don’t worry.”

Xue Ning immediately cried out, “No, no, no! Help me! He’s too much!!”

With a light laugh and a secretive smile, Yan Yu closed the door tightly and slipped away.

That night, Li Yuan did not trouble Xue Ning any further.

After a while, Xue Ning, lying in his embrace, softly murmured tender words and caressed his face with gentle strokes, saying, “You still look so young while I am already 27. In a decade or two, I will be old and faded, yet you will remain forever youthful.”

She sighed softly. But deep down she knew that once one reached the sixth rank, a lifespan of two hundred years awaited, and barring the final moments, one could almost always retain a youthful appearance.

This common misconception inadvertently helped Li Yuan conceal the secret of his eternal youth.

“When the time comes,” she continued softly, “I intend to devote myself to developing the Ginger Tavern, forming a strong force to support you. Then, whether you take concubines or procure beautiful maids, remember...

“Though a martial artist’s vigor may be abundant in youth, as time passes and vitality wanes, you might no longer be able to share those intimate moments.”

Xue Ning’s words had been pondered for a long time, and now that she’d spoken them, she felt a weight lift from her heart.

“You might grow older, but I’ll still love you all the same,” Li Yuan replied tenderly.

Xue Ning laughed, “Then take concubines, or simply acquire some young, beautiful maids.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Yan Yu and I already agreed. If you don’t take concubines, we will do it for you; if you don’t find beautiful, young maids to attend to you, we’ll find them.”

Clinging to him, Xue Ning whispered, “We understand your wishes, but we also hope you understand ours. We will eventually grow old, while you have a long journey ahead. Reaching the sixth rank is not the end; beyond it lies an even longer road. Yan Yu and I can only accompany you for a small part of that journey. You care for us, and we care for you.

“As for me, after all the hardship I’ve been through in my life, I never imagined that I would ever find love again and meet a man as amazing as you. Or that I would even bear your child; that alone fills my heart with complete satisfaction. So, my dearest love, do not refuse,” she pleaded.

“Let’s discuss it later,” Li Yuan replied, and soon they both fell asleep.