Claiming the Throne of Gods, Starting from the Rebirth of Nezha

This was Nezha's first time meditating, with his consciousness drowsy and sinking into the pitch-black sea.

He should have been afraid, but his spirit was elevating to a higher place as it followed the script on the bamboo slips, those obscure texts that were actually an incomprehensible means of perception for ordinary people.

Time trickled by, and the clothes his mother had meticulously sewn for him disappeared, as did the tidy room that Cuiyu had arranged for him, the tiles in the courtyard, the high walls around, the big tree and the hill in the distance; everything vanished.

The stars in the sky began to rotate, and the world seemed to become a chaotic whole, pulsating with the rhythm of his breath.

This feeling was incredibly peculiar, irresistibly drawing one into its depths.

But this deep immersion was abruptly interrupted by a series of urgent knocking.

"Thud! Thud! Thud!"

"Nezha, why are you sleeping in again! Hurry up and get up, if you don't, Mr. Fan will be here soon!"

It was Cuiyu's voice, the girl's voice as melodious and pleasing as that of orioles, echoing continuously in this world of chaos, her body's scent of powder carrying a faint fragrance of osmanthus. Despite it not being August yet, it caused Nezha to sneeze several times in a row, pulling him completely out of his profound state.

Nezha was somewhat annoyed and shouted: "Sister Cuiyu! Haven't I told you that I want to study and not to disturb me?"

Opening the door, Cuiyu entered, carrying a basin of hot water and twisting her slender waist past the sullen-faced Nezha, setting down her load, with the steamy clear water swaying in the yellow brass basin.

As she carefully soaked a washed cloth in the hot water, she spoke: "You say studying, studying; I could see from outside the window that you were clearly sleeping in."

Nezha wanted to say something but then wondered if he had actually fallen asleep and was not fully awake yet; rubbing his eyes again, he looked at Cuiyu, who was surrounded by a faint white glow.

"Also, from noon yesterday till this morning, such a long time without eating, aren't you hungry? Did you sneak into the kitchen again to steal a bite like a little thief?"

"Wait, it's morning already?"

"What else could it be? I'm telling you, you've slept to a muddle. Come on, otherwise, we'll be late again; let me wash your face for you."

Nezha, still confused, let Cuiyu wipe his face earnestly with the warm cloth. As he touched his stomach, the well-defined abs on his belly immediately let out a rumbling sound.

Judging by the hunger in his belly, Cuiyu was not joking with him, but his own perception felt as if no more than half an hour had passed.

He said with some embarrassment: "Sister Cuiyu, I'm hungry. Is there anything left to eat?"

"I knew you'd be hungry, don't worry. I asked Uncle Wang, the cook, to save you some freshly baked crab meat buns in the kitchen. They are very aromatic. Once you're ready, we can go eat, and we still have time."

As Nezha left his courtyard, and encountered the housemaids sweeping and the young servants working along the way, each of them was like Cuiyu, shrouded in a faint white light. Yet, everyone behaved as usual as if this odd scene was only visible to himself.

Arriving at the kitchen, he encountered Uncle Wang.

Uncle Wang weighed at least two hundred pounds, dressed in coarse hemp clothing, his body clean, the upper half of his body with a round, plump head, and so much flesh stacked together, the neck was almost invisible.

Upon seeing him, Nezha found the white aura around him to be denser than that of others.

"Third Young Master, these buns were specially kept for you. Eat them while they're hot."

"Thank you, Uncle Wang."

"No need for thanks."

Nezha received the buns and headed toward the Study Hall. As he swallowed a steaming bun, his pitch-black eyes widened in astonishment.

Not because the bun was that delicious, but because he suddenly remembered that the white halo lingering around others might be the 'inspiration realm' that Mr. Fan spoke of.

For no reason, he stopped in his tracks, indifferent to the odd looks of the people around him, relaxed his mind, and glanced around again. The so-called white halo disappeared, but when he focused, it suddenly flashed once more.

A soft white light that made one feel like getting closer.

Only, this was someone else's inspiration realm; what about his own?

Mr. Fan said that only when one can see their own and others' inspiration and control it freely can they truly have stepped into the inspiration realm.

Nezha lifted his right hand, fingers spread apart, and sunlight filtered through the gaps.

He squinted his eyes and noticed a faint golden aura around his body, which flowed effortlessly with his thoughts, traveling unobstructed through his limbs and all over his body. After deliberately reining it in, the golden aura was completely reabsorbed into his body, leaving not a trace behind.

"This isn't right. Mr. Fan just said yesterday that the initial stage of cultivation is the hardest, with not one in a thousand able to enter the inspiration realm. Even those who succeed usually take three to five years. How could I have achieved it overnight?"

Nezha was startled and thought to himself: "Could it be that I fell asleep by accident during meditation and made a mistake in my training? What am I to do? It's no use guessing, I'd better hurry and ask Mr. Fan."

Nezha quickly went to the Study Hall and, from afar, saw Mr. Fan sitting upright in a chair, his clean but slightly faded robe draping over him, frowning seriously as he tasted the Chentang Pass fish tea that he always found hard to get used to.

"Mr. Fan!"

Nezha called out from a distance, and before he had a chance to ask how he was once he got closer, Mr. Fan glanced at him and sprayed Nezha head to face with the fish tea that tasted of seawater and brine.

"Mr. Fan, you're an adult, can't you be a little more composed? If you can't be composed, can you at least not take such a big gulp of tea next time? If you can't drink fish tea, just drink plain water." Nezha grumbled to himself, not daring to say these words out loud, because otherwise his buttocks would probably swell from being smacked with a plank.

Mr. Fan did not have time to tidy his dishevelled beard, his eyes wide as he asked: "Have you already reached the inspiration realm?"

"Well... I don't know, how did you come to that conclusion, sir?"

Looking into Nezha's clear eyes, Mr. Fan took deep breaths, his chest heaving violently until he finally calmed down.

He thought about how he had started the path of cultivation at the age of twenty-five, spending three years just to sense inspiration and another five to master control over it, feeling quite pleased with himself back then. But seeing Nezha today, had his tolerance been any smaller, what he would have spat out wouldn't have been that unpleasant mouthful of fish tea, but rather a mouthful of blood.

And you, little Nezha, you might just end up with the unsavory reputation of infuriating your teacher to death, something you could never wash away in this lifetime!

As Mr. Fan internally aired his grievances, he said, "Yesterday, I used Spirit Communication to observe you and saw that you were crystal clear, your body shining with golden light, far surpassing ordinary people. Today, however, I can't even see the most common aura that average people possess around you."

"So that's how it is." Nezha suddenly understood that hiding his true strength outwardly by completely withdrawing his inspiration would be counterproductive.

Then, he tried to relax his spirit, and a faint white halo appeared on the surface of his body, making him indistinguishable from the others in the residence.

He was delighted, not noticing that this effortless control made his mentor Mr. Fan's pupils constrict and his mood turn incredibly bitter and complex.

Nezha smiled, "Mr. Fan, look, is this more normal now?"

Mr. Fan waved his hand without speaking, and at this moment, Nezha was intently observing him.

He saw strands of warm yellow luster emanating from under Mr. Fan's old robe, surpassing ordinary people but carrying a sense of weariness that you wouldn't find in a commoner.

Nezha didn't comprehend the profound meaning behind it and didn't understand why Mr. Fan seemed to be in a bad mood today. Concerned, he asked, "Mr. Fan, are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Then it's time for class. What are we learning today?"

The quiet air was tinged with a hint of agitation. Faced with Nezha's innocent gaze, Mr. Fan felt an indescribable anger stifled in his heart, feeling intensely annoyed, and yet his wisdom and experience told him that such emotions were unbefitting of a teacher, which only increased his irritation.

After a while, he stood up and gestured with his hand, ordering the Attendant Student to pack up the book chest and leave.

"Mr. Fan?"

"I'm not feeling well, I'm going home to rest for a couple of days."

"Then let me walk you out."

"No need!"

Watching Mr. Fan's retreating figure, Nezha felt even more perplexed. If there were no classes, couldn't he have just sent someone to inform him? And if he really wasn't feeling well, why was his pace even brisker than usual?

How very odd, indeed very odd.