Starting with The Eagle Shooting Heroes: I gain a year's worth of skill every day.

Inside the Fu Ning Hall, Zhao Kuo's headless corpse still knelt on the ground, blood spreading along the gaps in the gold bricks, staining the usually towering dragon pillars red.

Shen Mo stood beside the corpse, not glancing at the Song Dynasty emperor again.

He summoned the mysterious mirror in his mind.

Current Good/Evil Points: 142700

"Add all points to the Innate Skill."

He silently recited it in his heart.

Although the Dragon Elephant Prajna Skill is domineering, his physical strength is now enough to dominate the world. On the contrary, his internal energy cultivation, although he has 135 years of true qi, is still stuck at a bottleneck.

I just can't feel satisfied without breaking through!

[Ding! 100000 Good/Evil Points consumed]

[Completion of the Innate Skill]

boom!

Shen Mo felt as if a thunderbolt had struck his mind.

The innate true energy that had been surging through the meridians like a great river was now being compressed and collapsed. It was as if the gas had turned into a liquid, and then the liquid had condensed into a solid.

A mysterious feeling welled up in my heart.

His hearing, vision, and touch were amplified infinitely in an instant.

He could hear the crisp sound of a wild cat crushing tiles three miles outside the palace; he could see the dust floating in the air; and he could even feel the faint tremors of the earth's veins flowing around Prince Fu Ning.

Heaven and man are one!

Shen Mo slowly opened his eyes.

His once jet-black eyes now appeared incredibly deep and unwavering.

He tried to raise his hand, attempting to mobilize the free-floating primordial energy between heaven and earth.

According to the description of the perfected Innate Skill, upon reaching this realm, one becomes a microcosm, capable of drawing upon the power of the external world, with inner strength that is inexhaustible and endless.

However, the next second, Shen Mo frowned.

"Empty?"

He felt that the air around him was terribly dry.

No matter how he tries to draw upon it, the power of heaven and earth he can mobilize is negligible.

"I see."

Shen Mo lowered his hand, a flash of understanding appearing in his eyes.

The spiritual energy in this place is too depleted.

It's like a pond without water; fish will die from lack of oxygen once they grow to a certain size.

No wonder that in the past hundred years, no one in the martial arts world has been able to reach the Innate Realm.

As for Wang Chongyang, who was the number one in the world and the creator of the Innate Skill, he still stopped at the Great Perfection of the Innate Skill...

Shen Mo clenched his fist, feeling the terrifying true energy within his body, which, though unable to be replenished by the outside world, had been condensed to more than ten times its original strength.

"He probably realized that as well."

He muttered to himself in silence.

With Wang Chongyang's talent, it's not impossible for him to force a breakthrough. But the cost of doing so would be far too high—

First, his internal energy cultivation was not profound enough. Although Wang Chongyang was the best in the world, he was ultimately just a mortal, and even after a lifetime of arduous cultivation, he had only accumulated seventy or eighty years of internal energy foundation. The internal energy foundation required to perfect the Innate Skill would require at least a hundred years to barely sustain the energy expenditure during the breakthrough.

Even more fatally, without the replenishment of spiritual energy from heaven and earth after the breakthrough, every time he used the power of the perfect realm, he would have to burn his original life force. Given Wang Chongyang's age and physical condition at the time, he would probably have died on the spot from the backlash of true energy the moment he succeeded in breaking through.

Even if he manages to survive the breakthrough, every subsequent move he makes will be a drain on his lifespan, and he will undoubtedly die within three years.

Therefore, he chose to stop, preferring to remain at the Great Completion Realm, so that he could at least live a few more years and pass on the Quanzhen School's teachings.

"But... for me, that's enough."

He has a system, he has connections. What heaven and earth cannot give him, he can take from evil people.

More importantly, he possessed 135 years of innate true energy as his foundation, far exceeding Wang Chongyang's back then by several times. With such a profound foundation of internal energy, even if the breakthrough consumed a great deal of energy, he could completely withstand it and would not need to burn his life force at all.

Shen Mo felt the extremely refined true energy within his body, and a satisfied smile appeared on his lips.

The consumption of true energy required to break through to the perfect realm might be a life-or-death ordeal for others, but for him, who has a foundation of 135 years of internal energy, it is just the tip of the iceberg.

In his mind, Yang Yuhuan's voice echoed: "Your current strength has already surpassed Wang Chongyang's, hasn't it?"

"It should be," Shen Mo replied calmly, "but there is no such person as Wang Chongyang in this world, so there is no comparison."

"So what are your plans next?"

You'll find out soon enough.

Just then, a series of hurried footsteps came from outside the hall.

"Quick! The Emperor is inside!"

"Protect the Emperor! You must protect the Emperor!"

Hundreds of ministers dressed in purple and red robes, escorted by the imperial guards, stormed into the Funing Hall. Leading them were the current prime minister, Shi Miyuan, and the vice minister who had consistently advocated for peace talks.

When they saw the scene inside the hall, everyone was like a duck with its neck being choked, and their voices stopped abruptly.

The ground was covered in blood.

The headless, dragon-robed corpse kneeling.

And there was the young Taoist priest standing beside the corpse, slowly adjusting his cuffs.

"The...the Emperor..."

Shi Miyuan's legs went weak, and he knelt on the ground with a thud, trembling as he pointed at Shen Mo: "You...you sorcerer! You actually murdered the emperor! You're rebelling!"

"rebel?"

Shen Mo turned around, his gaze sweeping over the group of high-ranking officials who were usually impeccably dressed but now looked deathly pale.

"This humble Taoist is merely helping the Song Dynasty clean house."

He walked to the dragon throne and kicked Zhao Kuo's corpse away.

The corpse rolled down the steps and stopped right in front of Shi Miyuan. Blood was still gushing from the severed neck, which terrified the powerful prime minister, who scrambled backward.

Shi Miyuan's face turned deathly pale, and his lips trembled for a long time before he finally managed to utter a few words with difficulty: "His Majesty... has really passed away..."

Although he was extremely unwilling to accept this fact, the bloody reality before him left him no room to escape. The emperor of the Song Dynasty was truly dead. And he had died at the hands of this sorcerer.

"A country cannot be without a ruler for a single day."

Shi Miyuan forced himself to remain calm and said in a trembling voice, "Now that His Majesty has passed away, a new emperor should be established immediately. I believe that Zhao Kuo's younger brother, Zhao Hong, should be made emperor to appease the people!"

"Yes! Establish Zhao Hong as emperor!"

Several ministers immediately echoed this sentiment, grasping at this straw.

Zhao Hong was Zhao Kuo's half-brother and held considerable prestige within the imperial clan. These ministers harbored their own agendas—once a new emperor was established, even the most powerful sorcerer would no longer dare to act recklessly.

Shen Mo looked at them, a cold smile curling at the corner of his lips.

"Zhao Hong?"

He slowly began to speak, “I remember that this man once submitted a memorial saying that Yue Fei’s death was ‘his own fault,’ and also said something about ‘military generals should not abuse their power and that he died a worthy death.’”

Shi Miyuan's expression changed.

"Furthermore," Shen Mo continued, "when the Jurchens marched south, he hid in Lin'an and wrote a 'Peace Negotiation Strategy,' advocating the cession of three prefectures north of the Yangtze River in order to seek a precarious peace. Does such a person deserve to be emperor?"

"Then...then let Zhao Kuo's son be established..."

"His son is only three years old," Shen Mo interrupted him. "A three-year-old child ascending the throne? Are you all trying to rule from behind the curtain and control the court?"

Shi Miyuan's forehead was covered in cold sweat.

How does this sorcerer know everything?

"Among the imperial clan, there are also Zhao and Ju..."

That's enough.

Shen Mo's voice wasn't loud, but it silenced everyone.

His gaze swept around the hall, finally settling on a corner.

There was a little girl huddled there.

She looked to be about five or six years old, dressed in an ill-fitting pink palace gown, clearly an unfavored member of the royal family. She stared wide-eyed at Shen Mo in terror, clutching a cloth tiger with a broken leg tightly in her arms.

Amidst the bloodshed and carnage that filled the hall, she was the only one who remained clean.

Shen Mo stared at the little girl for a moment.

For some reason, he found the child pleasing to the eye.

Perhaps it was because among all the powerful ministers, members of the imperial family, and imperial guards in the hall, only her eyes showed no greed or fear, only pure dread.

This purity reminded him of his sick sister from his previous life.

Shen Mo walked over.

"What's your name?" He crouched down, trying to make his voice sound less cold and harsh.

The little girl shrank back in fright, but when she saw Shen Mo's calm eyes, for some reason, her fear lessened.

"Zhao... Zhao Ling," she whispered.

"A good name."

Shen Mo reached out and gently patted the two buns on her head.

The little girl didn't flinch; instead, she asked timidly, "Master... will you kill Ling'er?"

"Won't."

Shen Mo shook his head.

He stood up and glanced at the trembling ministers in the hall.

It doesn't matter who sits on the throne anyway.

Those male members of the royal family were either pro-war or pro-peace, either greedy or cowardly; whoever was put in charge would only repeat the same mistakes.

Why not try a different little girl?

At least she is still a blank slate, untainted by the corruption of the court.

Perhaps, this is why the Southern Song Dynasty could have survived.

"Would you like to sit in that seat?"

He pointed to the blood-stained dragon throne.

Zhao Ling shook her head and said in a childish voice, "That's where the officials sit. Ling'er doesn't dare to, Ling'er is scared."

"Don't be afraid."

Shen Mo picked her up in one go.