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As the heavenly tribulation clouds churned and surged, countless dazzling bolts of lightning descended from the sky. Midway through their fall, they transformed into radiant dao characters, drifting through the void.
Each character assumed a different form, radiating a distinct aura. They arranged and recombined in midair, some forming lines of text as sharp as blades and swords, others weaving into passages as resplendent and intricate as brocade. It was mysterious, profound and unfathomable.
Their power was terrifying beyond measure.
Writing was the vessel of civilization. Once inscribed, it became scripture, expounding the truths of heaven and earth, and unveiling the mysteries of the great dao. However, within this Grand Righteous Confucian Tribulation, every single character was akin to a world-destroying calamity, its destructive power far beyond imagination.
Lin Xun fought amid them, wounded time and time again. His cultivation foundation was repeatedly battered, pushed to the brink of collapse, leaving him in constant mortal peril. When he finally endured this tribulation, his body was torn and broken, his primordial spirit shattered and damaged. He was left...
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