Like a bellows that generates wind through its emptiness, the void between Heaven and Earth is brimming with limitless potential.

This emptiness is not a void of lack but a wellspring of endless creation, sustaining all life and phenomena without ever being depleted.

At that moment, Xiao Huzi’s internal energy began to stir, flowing seamlessly into the painting before him as though his very essence had become a part of it.

In the blink of an eye, a month had passed. Xiao Huzi’s shop, tucked away in the quiet streets, began to fill with his creations. The shelves were now adorned with paintings so vivid they seemed almost alive.

His brush captured the essence of life—males and females, the young and old, vibrant landscapes, and serene depictions of nature.

Throughout this time, not a single customer had stepped foot into his shop, yet Xiao Huzi didn’t mind. Immersed in his art, he found joy and purpose. His dedication was so consuming that he had even set aside martial arts practice to fully focus on painting.

One day, while he was absorbed in his work, the soft chime of the shop door opening echoed through the room. A young boy, no older than ten, stepped hesitantly inside, his wide eyes scanning the shop with a mix of curiosity and awe.

The boy froze upon seeing Xiao Huzi, but his attention quickly shifted to the paintings that filled the room. His expression lit up as he asked eagerly, “Big Brother, did you make all these? They’re so pretty! Can I have one?”

Xiao Huzi smiled warmly, setting his brush aside. He walked to the shelves and retrieved a painting.

The painting was deceptively simple yet deeply meaningful. The upper half depicted swirling clouds, representing the nameless Tao—the boundless potential of the universe.

Below, a serene landscape unfolded: mountains, rivers, and a solitary tree, symbolizing the named Tao—the tangible world of forms. Between the two lay a thin, unpainted space, a subtle reminder of the mysterious gateway connecting the unmanifested and the manifested.

The boy’s face lit up as Xiao Huzi handed him the painting. His excitement quickly turned to confusion as he noticed an inscription written in elegant characters on the bottom corner.

Curious, the boy read it aloud, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words:

"The Tao that can be spoken is not the eternal Tao.

The name that can be named is not the eternal name.

The nameless is the origin of Heaven and Earth;

The named is the mother of the myriad things.

Therefore, constantly without desire, one observes its essence;

Constantly with desire, one observes its manifestations.

These two arise together yet are different in name. Together they are called the mysterious.

The mystery of mysteries is the gateway to all wonders."

The boy scratched his head in confusion. “Big Brother, I don’t understand a single word. Can you explain it to me?”

Xiao Huzi chuckled softly, rubbing the boy’s head affectionately. “Child, listen carefully. When it comes to understanding ultimate reality, words and concepts are limited. The Tao, the essence of existence, cannot be fully captured by language.

Think of the Tao like the ocean—vast, boundless, and ever-changing. Words are like buckets of water drawn from it. They serve a purpose but can never encompass the ocean’s entirety.

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The nameless Tao represents infinite potential, the source from which everything arises, like the stillness before creation. The named Tao is the world of forms and experiences, the expression of that potential.

These two aspects, though seemingly different, are complementary. The unmanifested gives rise to existence, and the manifested world reflects its source. Together, they form the cycle of life.

Without desire, one can perceive the Tao’s eternal nature—unchanging and infinite. With desire, one engages with its manifestations, the dynamic and ever-shifting world.

Desire itself is not wrong; it’s a natural part of existence. However, clinging to desire limits understanding, focusing only on the surface and obscuring the deeper truths.

True wisdom lies in balancing these perspectives, recognizing the harmony between emptiness and form, between the eternal and the transient. To truly grasp the Tao, one must experience it directly, like feeling the warmth of the sun or the coolness of a breeze. This understanding opens the doorway to life’s infinite wonder.”

As Xiao Huzi finished speaking, he noticed the boy staring at him, mouth agape, a confused expression plastered on his face. A silent question mark seemed to hover above his head.

Xiao Huzi chuckled to himself, unconcerned. Whether the boy understood or not was irrelevant. He had spoken his thoughts, and that was enough. If the boy gleaned even a fragment of wisdom, it would be worthwhile.

Though the boy didn’t comprehend a single word of Xiao Huzi’s explanation, he instinctively knew the painting was valuable.

The boy clutched the painting tightly, holding it like a precious treasure. With a bright, crisp voice, he said, “Thank you, Big Brother! I’m from the stall across the street. Goodbye!” Without waiting for a reply, he darted out of the shop, shouting excitedly, “Father! Look! Big Brother gave me this!”

Xiao Huzi stood up and walked to the entrance of the shop, curious about the commotion. Across the street, he saw a man emerge from a modest stall. The man looked at the boy with warmth in his eyes and took the painting from him.

As his gaze fell on the artwork, his expression shifted—his eyes lit up with awe. Without hesitation, he walked toward Xiao Huzi, holding the painting carefully.

“Little brother,” the man said, his tone polite yet firm, “kids don’t always know the value of things. How much for this painting?”

Xiao Huzi shook his head gently. “I gave it to him. It’s just a piece of art.”

The boy’s father hesitated for a moment, looking between Xiao Huzi and the painting. Then, he smiled, his demeanor softening. “You’re new around here, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you before.”

Xiao Huzi nodded, returning the smile.

The man’s smile widened. “Little brother, if you don’t mind, come over for a meal. I’ve got some homemade dumplings. I promise they’re better than anything you’ll find in the restaurants.”

Xiao Huzi paused briefly before nodding in agreement. The man’s genuine kindness stirred a rare warmth in his heart.

Inside the modest stall, there was a simple square table set with a few homemade dishes. Xiao Huzi sat down, picked up his chopsticks, and tasted the dumplings. To his surprise, they were indeed delicious, just as the man had promised.

Seeing that Xiao Huzi was enjoying the meal, the boy’s father beamed with satisfaction. “Told you,” he said with a chuckle. “Nothing beats a home-cooked meal.”

Xiao Huzi ate in silence, savoring each bite. The dumplings reminded him of something distant yet comforting. As he looked at the boy and his father chatting happily, a faint memory from his previous life surfaced. He had long forgotten the warmth of family meals, the simplicity of human connection.

After the meal, the boy’s father shared more about their life. Xiao Huzi learned that the boy’s mother had passed away during a beast attack years ago. Despite the hardship of being a single parent, the man had poured his heart into raising his son.

It was clear that he deeply cared for the boy, ensuring he grew up in an environment full of love and laughter.

From that day onward, a new element entered Xiao Huzi’s life—dumplings. The boy became a regular visitor to Xiao Huzi’s shop, often bringing a small container of freshly made dumpling.

Each visit was filled with chatter and laughter as the boy watched Xiao Huzi paint. Over time, Xiao Huzi found himself anticipating these visits, the boy’s youthful energy becoming a small yet meaningful part of his mundane routine.

Gradually, Xiao Huzi’s shop transformed. The once-bare walls were now adorned with countless paintings, each reflecting his growing understanding of the Tao. These weren’t ordinary artworks; they carried a profound intent, infused with his mental will.

While ordinary people admired their beauty, martial artists who passed by felt a faint, almost imperceptible aura of power emanating from the paintings.

For those at the Titanium Will Stage, this power was terrifying—a manifestation of an artist’s unparalleled insight into the mysteries of the world.

Xiao Huzi’s life began to change subtly. Despite his extraordinary talent, he had seamlessly blended into the rhythm of mundane life. He rose early every morning, opened his shop, and spent the day painting in quiet contentment.

The neighbors, charmed by his humble demeanor and exceptional artistry, grew fond of the quiet young man. They often stopped by to chat or admire his work, and their genuine warmth added another layer of richness to his days.

As time passed, word of Xiao Huzi’s paintings began to spread. Customers trickled in, drawn by the intricate details and lifelike quality of his work.

While they couldn’t perceive the deep intent infused in the art, they were captivated by its craftsmanship. Slowly but surely, Xiao Huzi’s shop gained a modest reputation in the area.

Three year passed in the blink of an eye. During this time, Xiao Huzi had devoted himself entirely to painting, immersing himself in the joy and tranquility it brought.

He had temporarily set aside his identity as a martial artist and a transmigrator, losing himself in the simple pleasures of mundane life. Yet, within this simplicity, profound realizations about the Tao continued to take root in his heart.

Though life seemed quiet and uneventful, Xiao Huzi knew that each stroke of his brush was paving the way for something greater. What he was creating wasn’t just art—it was the foundation for his breakthrough.

At that moment, Ming Chen entered Xiao Huzi’s shop, carrying a basket brimming with freshly made dumplings. Over the past three years, the young boy had undergone a noticeable transformation.

He had grown a head taller and now stood with the physical stature of a boy much older than his thirteen years—closer to sixteen in appearance.

Letting out a groan, Ming Chen plopped down beside Xiao Huzi, a disgruntled look on his face. “Big Brother,” he began in an exasperated tone, “you’ve got to talk to my dad. I don’t want to learn fishing! I want to paint, like you. But every time, he drags me to the river and gives me a long lecture about how important it is to catch fish.” He punctuated his complaint by placing the basket of dumplings next to Xiao Huzi with a resigned sigh.

As he spoke, his gaze drifted toward the unfinished painting in Xiao Huzi’s hands. His eyes sparkled with intrigue as he leaned in for a closer look.

Over the past year, Ming Chen had become deeply captivated by the masterpieces adorning the walls of Xiao Huzi’s shop.