Reincarnated as a bamboo rat, it begins its extreme survival struggle.

Such poetry, brimming with vitality, must be a magnificent epic poem of great length.

Da Mu shared his thoughts with the mages around him, and they nodded in agreement, as these ideas and conjectures were all reasonable and logical.

But Bell, who was reenacting the poem he had inscribed, had just finished reenacting the very first line he had inscribed: "The sunflowers in the green garden, await the morning dew to dry in the sun."

Spring spreads its blessings, and all things shine with glory. (Exactly twenty characters, no more, no less.)

He sensed the thoughts of others entering his mental imagery, but Bell glanced at them and then ignored them.

This behavior of investing consciousness into training one's abilities in Warcraft is actually very similar to how early intelligent races acquired extraordinary power. At that time, there was no systematic path for mages, and humans, like many other races, had not yet risen to prominence.

Back then, there weren't many specialized classes like magicians, magic swordsmen, and bards; there were only the purest melee fighters and spellcasters.

The original spellcasters, risking being easily killed by powerful beings, gradually acquired the mysteries of magic, establishing a primitive spell system among weaker races, which eventually expanded into the magnificent spell class system we know today.

The existence of these systems, after the era of dragon and demon rule ended, allowed many previously weak intelligent races to rise rapidly, such as tree elves, humans, merfolk, and goblins...

Retracing these actions recorded in history books gave the spellcasters present a unique experience, and something called inspiration burst forth wildly in their minds.

"The imagery here is starting to change. Quickly remember this feeling. I think I'm on the verge of completing a new spell that I haven't been able to finish before!"

A mage alerted those around him, then severed all contact with others, immersing himself entirely in the imagery of Bell's evolution.

As the imagery shifts from spring to autumn, and the mighty river engulfs the sunflower garden, everyone is swept up in the eastward-flowing waves. The power of time stirs everyone's thoughts, and they feel their bodies rapidly stiffening, their temples turning gray in an instant.

"Am I going to grow old and die here...?"

The monks uttered similar words in unison, and then their consciousness faded into silence under the power of the passage of time.

Fortunately, the power of time is ultimately just a few traces of time left behind by the passage of time, not the true power of the flow of time. Their stagnation of consciousness is also temporary. In just a few seconds, the mages' consciousnesses returned to normal from their trembling, aged, and dying state.

But recovery does not mean the end; rather, it is the beginning of a new round of torment. When they woke up, Bell's reenactment was just transitioning from "The Long Ballad" to "The Short Day" by the poet ghost.

As the scene changed, the group of people who had probed their senses into the imagery became incredibly small. In a daze, they saw a blurry figure, which seemed like an immortal, yet also like a ghost, with flowing hair and beard, a blend of immortal and ghost.

The blurry shape was so indistinct that no one present could decipher its meaning, but they were soon astonished.

This being, seemingly a being of both immortal and demonic nature, raises a cup to invite time to share in the nectar and dew, slays dragons and devours their flesh, forces the rotation of the time axis to stop, and allows the living beings of this world to live forever.

When these images, which completely overturned their understanding, appeared before the sorcerers, they were utterly shocked. Especially after the voice, a being of both immortal and demonic nature, uttered an extremely malevolent verse, their consciousness withered once more, their minds only able to hold the single verse that had been recited:

I do not know the height of the blue sky.

The earth is thick and yellow. Only the cold sun and warm moon bring suffering to human life.

The words echoed repeatedly, making it difficult for the monks to regain their senses. If this continued, they would likely be trapped in the poem and never wake up.

Previously, the bard Da Mu said that there was no danger in entering the imagery practiced by others, since it was just an outward manifestation of spiritual will, and in theory there was nothing to worry about.

But Daiki could never have imagined that a civilization with such a long and rich literary tradition would evolve the art of poetry and prose to such a terrifying degree. The poet's talent was able to leave his mark on history and his status was firmly established below that of Li Bai and Du Fu, but he earned it through sheer ability.

"Ugh... these guys barged into the imagery like that, and they can't withstand the impact of the imagery, it's really giving me a headache..."

After practicing the two poems he had transcribed, Bell had a moment to catch his breath.

Fortunately, the textual imagery that Bell is about to inscribe will be able to bring these brain-dead guys back to their senses, so the problem isn't too serious.

The massive amount of magic guided by Bell slowly condensed into characters under his control. As Bell sculpted with his will, new poetic images were continuously formed and engraved into Bell's blood one by one.

The influx of a large amount of external magic expanded Bell's magic limit and was reflected back into his body.

The magic caused changes to the smallest parts of Bell's body and exerted its influence outward from the smallest details, strengthening everything from cells to blood, bones to internal organs, skin and muscles.

Tiny changes in the forces within each cell, when stacked together, become extremely powerful.

New images appeared in the consciousness of these mages who were captivated by the Poet Ghost as the magic inscription continued, gradually bringing them out of their mental stagnation.

When they regained their senses, the group found themselves on a slowly flowing river.

A small boat is drifting slowly on the river. Two people sit facing each other and drink together. One of them plays the flute, and the sound is melancholic and sorrowful, making people feel sad.

Another person on the boat was sitting there listening to a mournful tune and asked the flute player why he was playing such a sad piece.

The monks watching the two people in the boat on the great river listened to their conversation. Although they couldn't understand the language the people in the boat were speaking, they could sense the meaning behind their words. Especially when the person playing the flute said:

"We are but mayflies in the vastness of the universe, a grain of millet in the boundless ocean. I lament the brevity of my life, and envy the endless flow of the Yangtze River. I wish I could ride the immortals and roam freely, and embrace the bright moon to live forever. But I know this cannot be achieved in an instant, so I entrust my lingering thoughts to the mournful wind."

In an instant, everything changed, and a strong sense of time shifting enveloped the onlookers, the mages. The great river was still in front of them, and the two people on the small boat were still there, but the starry sky had changed dramatically, and a strong wind was blowing.

The monks felt a chill run down their spines. These shifts in imagery stirred up their fear of the passage of time, a fear that had reached its peak after being tempered by "The Long Song" and "The Short Day of Suffering."

They even wanted to escape, to break free from this ever-changing imagery.

But this strange imagery seemed to have swallowed them whole; they couldn't break free at all, and even the most familiar bard class had no power to resist.

Are we really going to die here?

After muttering something, Da Mu closed his eyes. The mages were also in despair; their fear of time had overwhelmed them.

But at that moment, the other person on the boat who had been quietly listening to the flute player's story moved. He laughed heartily, instantly shattering all the images outside the boat.

254. Chapter 252

Su Zi laughed loudly, and the world suddenly became clear. The changing scenery of time vanished in an instant. The small boat still drifted on the calm river, and the bright moon in the sky showed its tranquility.

"Do you, my guest, also understand the nature of water and the moon? Time flows on like this, yet it never truly goes away; the waxing and waning of the moon is like that, yet ultimately it neither increases nor decreases. If we consider things from the perspective of change, then even heaven and earth cannot last a single moment; if we consider them from the perspective of permanence, then both things and I are without end, so what is there to envy!"

The question, utterly certain, shattered everyone's fear of time.

Everything is in flux. Great rivers, the bright moon, and the stars—these seemingly timeless images will eventually vanish under the immense power of time. The ocean will turn into mulberry fields, and the blazing sun will eventually be extinguished.

The monks present agreed with this statement. They knew that the raging gorge and the flowing red river outside Chishui City were formed by natural disasters, and that they might disappear in the future due to natural disasters as well. It was all uncertain.

But one thing is certain: as time goes by, Chishui City will eventually become something else entirely, whether due to changes in terrain or social development.

Isn't Chishui City undergoing changes now? Many professional guilds are undergoing joint reforms, and Chiguang University is under construction.

In a constantly changing world, even mountains and rivers have a limited lifespan, let alone humans, a species whose lifespan is not particularly long among intelligent races.

Su Zi naturally understood this principle, and he was also aware of the anxiety and sorrow of his friend opposite him.

But he has a higher perspective and a more thorough understanding of things.

If one dwells on these changes in state of matter, one will be trapped by these meaningless thoughts, and the so-called inner demons will appear at this very moment.

From a pessimistic perspective, not to mention people themselves, even this world is nothing more than a product of the blink of an eye.

But when you immerse yourself in time, feel your own existence, and enjoy the vitality of your life, everything will be different. For people in Su Shi's era and environment, the length of life could neither be extended nor controlled.

But Su Shi was able to enrich his own life, become a part of history, and forge his own existence into the spiritual structure of a civilization.

Regardless of his life, his spirit lives on after his death. He truly stood at the pinnacle of a literary genre and shaped the mindset and cognition of an entire nation.

"Moreover, everything in the world has its owner. If it is not mine, I will not take even a hair of it. Only the clear breeze on the river and the bright moon in the mountains, which the ear hears and the eye sees, can be taken without restraint and used without exhaustion. They are the inexhaustible treasures of the Creator, which you and I can enjoy together."

The scene of the bright moon shining on the great river slowly faded away, and Su Zi's voice appeared in the ears of every mage who entered this imagery.

The world before their eyes cleared again, and the smooth, solid paving stones of Red Light Square were once again reflected in their pupils.

"We're back?"

A monk looked at his hands and said somewhat uncertainly.

After Su Zi began speaking, they stopped paying attention to the evolution of those images, even though, as Su Zi narrated, the starry sky changed and all sorts of images appeared from the rising river mist.

Are those images the important ones? Everyone knows the answer to that question deep down.

"Inexhaustible resources, for use..."

It is inexhaustible. Ah! Good! I understand!

A monk with extremely long hair and beard kept repeating the last sentence Su Zi uttered, looking like a madman.

He ran around Chiguang Square, gesturing wildly, looking like a savage. People around him turned their heads and made way for him, afraid that the old man would bump into them and then lie down on the ground to extort money.

But gradually, the higher-level professionals noticed something was wrong with the old mage.

The first to frown were a group of tanky class players; the old mage was running too fast, faster than his physical limits.

A mage in his nineties, whose body is already in a period of decline, no longer has the physical strength to withstand the astonishing magical power that he had in his youth, which would bring powerful enhancements to his body.

But now, his physical explosiveness and endurance have returned to their youthful state, and are even faster.

The old mage's hair and beard danced wildly, and arcs of electricity appeared on his body. This was the physical enhancement magic he had not completed before. After Su Zi's imagery evolved, he completed the last piece of the enhancement magic puzzle with the help of inspiration.

"Both things and I are endless; I will name this physical enhancement magic [Endless Lightning Armor]!"

When the magic was completely created, the old mage stopped and gave his new magic a majestic name.

This spell is a constant physical enhancement spell. As long as the spell is not actively stopped, the caster will remain in a state of physical enhancement. The enhancement effect is adjusted according to the body's passive mana recovery rate, thus enabling the caster to enhance themselves with virtually no cost.

However, this magic can also be infused with more magical power for powerful activation, giving the magic a stronger physical enhancement effect.

"An interesting design."

Bell's commentary drifted over, causing the excited old mage to turn and look at the white fur ball, as big as a small hill, not far from him.

The old mage's inspiration for this spell came from Bell's imagery evolution. The moment he completed the spell, Bell received experience points as feedback. Although the amount of experience points was small, it was enough to attract Bell's attention.

When Bell's comments reached the old mage's ears, he was immediately flattered and repeatedly thanked Bell in the direction he was in.

"My little achievement is nothing compared to Mayor Bell's. Without Mayor Bell's guidance, I probably wouldn't have been able to complete this magic in my lifetime."

The old monk waved his hand repeatedly. Not only him, but all the monks who were observing the images had gained something, more or less.