How can one cultivate immortality without learning modern knowledge?

Above Nanyang City, the Hundred-Mile Qingguang Avenue is displayed for a full quarter of an hour.

Until these fifty-eight characters transformed into fifty-eight colorful boats, sailing to the end of the road...

At the end of the great road, as if a gate had opened, a vast and magnificent sea of ​​Dao appeared...

No one in the entire audience had ever seen this Dao Sea before, because at this moment, the Dao Sea was not merely open through a portal, but fully open.

Everyone could even clearly see endless divine birds circling above the sea of ​​Dao, and endless mysteries unfolding beneath it...

The fifty-eight characters formed a broad avenue that plunged headlong into the depths of the Dao Sea...

Hundreds of silverfish, imbued with literary spirit, raced upstream against the current...

"Fishing in the sea?" someone exclaimed.

"This isn't sea fishing; it's clearly fishing with nets!"

Yes, even Zhou Wenju himself was stunned by this extraordinary sight.

The fruits of literature can be used as bait to catch fish in the sea; this is something he has experienced four times.

However, today's scene doesn't look like fishing at all, but rather like fishing with a net.

All in one fell swoop.

There were hundreds of silverfish.

They all disappeared into his brow.

In an instant, his sea of ​​consciousness expanded to an unprecedented size, making it impossible to contain anything else.

With a soft "pfft," the literary energy seemed to find an outlet, shooting into the entire body through the opened barrier between heaven and earth.

Even though he opened this gap and maximized the intake of literary energy, the harvest from this net still caused him excruciating headaches.

Oh my god, am I going to become the first person in history whose brain is blown out by literary talent?

At that very moment, an incredible change began within my sea of ​​consciousness…

His writing style has changed!

Transform it into a literary arena!

Once the literary scene is established, a single turn gathers all the surrounding literary atmosphere, and the feeling of expansion in the brain instantly disappears.

Zhou Wenju's heart pounded wildly, each wave stronger than the last.

Every day, people around the world reap the rewards of their literary achievements. On the day the results of the provincial examinations are announced, the whole world bestows literary honors upon them in large quantities. Yet, the corresponding literary rank for a mere literary figure is only that of a Xiucai (a scholar who passed the county-level imperial examinations).

Yu Wendao is not worth mentioning.

However, his literary achievements today are truly astonishing.

Because this breaks the established norms of literary cultivation in this world.

There are only two ways for a literary achievement to be known and celebrated by the world.

First, he received a reward for passing the provincial examination.

Secondly, it was directly bestowed by the Holy Family.

He also knew another method called "Dao Hai Fishing." If he cast his line and happened to hit a literary world floating in the Dao Hai, he could also obtain the literary world in that unbelievable way.

However, the literary world today is completely different from the three methods mentioned above!

It is not a gift, nor is it something fished out; rather, it is a natural upgrade of the root of culture!

He had no idea that Wen Gen could rise to literary prominence.

It's not surprising that he doesn't know.

Even Mo Ziyi, a half-step Grandmaster, didn't know!

Otherwise, when she was frowning with worry about his literary career, she would definitely have told him...

What does it mean that she doesn't know?

In today's world, almost no one sees this kind of advancement as the path to the next level...

The so-called literary cultivation is the cultivation of…

Repairing something will lead to an upgrade!

In the past, each stage of literary cultivation was a gift or an opportunity, without any chain of connections. It was more like several independent points. Is that what you call cultivation?

And this kind of progress that I made by chance, the natural extension of the chain, seems to fit the definition of "cultivation" even better!

Could this be the correct way to approach literature and cultivation?

Tick-tock!

Water droplets are falling from the high platform in front!

This drop of water, which Zhou Wenju might not have noticed before, has now brought him into the literary world.

Their hearing and eyesight have reached a new level.

Its six senses were unparalleled; even with its eyes closed, it clearly sensed the drop of water falling.

He slowly opened his eyes and saw a deathly pale face.

Li Haoran, the seventh son of the poet saint, had sweat all over his forehead.

This was probably the first time in his life that he had truly been left completely bewildered...

Because he lost a crucial bet.

Moreover, it's a gamble where there's no going back once a move is made.

I swear by Heaven!

The loser abandons his own literary foundation!

As a direct descendant of the Wen Dao Sheng family, Wen Gen was crippled, and the literary world, literary mountains, literary hearts, and literary flowers that were built upon Wen Gen...

Everything will be ruined!

He hadn't thought about what would happen if he lost.

Because he never thought he would lose.

And now, he has lost!

The loss was undisputed.

He then truly realized that he simply couldn't afford to lose...

Chi!

A silver line pierced the sky, carrying the unfathomable majesty of the Heavenly Dao and an irresistible power, striking Li Haoran's forehead. The literary root in his brain, as well as the literary altar, literary mountain, literary heart, and literary flower bestowed by the Holy Family and dependent on the literary root, were all shattered in an instant.

"No!" Li Haoran cried out in agony, and slowly collapsed...

The world seemed exceptionally distant to him.

The whole world seemed to have abandoned him...

With a soft sound, a page of the poem detached itself and enveloped Li Haoran as he fell from the sky.

It was a fragment of a sacred treasure that he carried with him, a page of a poem handwritten by the poet saint himself.

The manuscript of the poem was enlarged like a flying carpet, enveloping Li Haoran as he soared into the sky and disappeared without a trace.

Mo Ziyi gazed into the deep sky, her expression unusually complex.

The Nanyang Poetry Festival has come to an end!

Everything has far exceeded expectations.

However, this final scene still left her with a sense of unease.

He's in trouble!

She knew the significance of Li Haoran, the eldest son of the poet saint.

Now that he has ruined everything with one gamble, how can the family of the Poet Saint let it go?

Dai Shucheng slowly turned his gaze away from the distance and coughed softly.

All eyes were on his face...

"The Nanyang Poetry Gathering has had a profound influence, and I am truly honored to have hosted it!" Dai Shucheng bowed deeply. "Now that the poetry gathering has come to a successful close, thank you all, distinguished guests!"

it's over!

It's really over!

At the end of a poetry gathering, there is usually a banquet. During the banquet, the works of the distinguished guests are mentioned repeatedly, further amplifying and solidifying the literary reputation they gained at the poetry gathering.

However, things are clearly different today!

Mo Ziyi took a deep breath: "Let's go!"

As soon as she finished speaking, the measuring ruler on her hair fell to the ground and enlarged, taking Zhou Wenju and Rou'er into it at the same time.

A tiny, ink-shaped wave rose from beneath their feet, and the flying boat soared into the sky...

Once in the air, ink flowers filled the sky.

Amidst the ink flowers, the shape of ink fruits is faintly discernible.

In an instant, it blotted out the sky and the sun.

The next moment, the ink flowers in the sky vanished without a trace, and the flying boat of the woman in purple had also disappeared without a trace.

In the final moment, Mo Ziyi unleashed her full literary talent, demonstrating her Mo Dao with the strength of a half-step Grandmaster.

Before the Seventh Princess could even decide how to connect with this literary prodigy and spend a few months indulging in a carefree relationship, she had already lost sight of her goal.

The only thing they could do was to confront her poor, hapless maid, Xiao Suotou, and settle the score for what happened today, such as the verbal offense...

At this moment, Nanyang is in turmoil.

It is expected to take several months to subside.

As the north wind gently penetrates this world, the view extends northwards to the Prince Rulan's residence, where a completely different scene unfolds.

The Prince of Rulan's Mansion is located in Ruzhou.

Ruzhou, located north of Jiangnan and south of Jiangbei, sits on the north bank of the Yangtze River.

It lacks the frigid chill of the north and the year-round spring-like weather of the south.

Today is just an ordinary late autumn scene.

It was even more desolate than a typical late autumn.

Inside the enormous palace, servants wearing white headscarves moved about solemnly.

In the west courtyard, a huge coffin was placed in front of the mourning hall.

Countless servants awaited the departure of the coffin...

However, the order to release the coffin has been delayed...

Inside the mourning hall, Prince Huo Qiuhe raised his eyes to look at his father, Prince Rulan, Huo Xiu. Prince Rulan stood quietly by the courtyard, gazing into the deep sky, his face extremely gloomy.

"Father, the auspicious time is almost up. Shall we proceed with the coffin?" Huo Qiuhe asked.

"Just wait!" King Rulan said coldly.

"The guests have all gathered, but I do not know who Father is waiting for," Huo Qiuhe said.

"Waiting for whom?" The Prince of Rulan slowly lowered his gaze: "Waiting for the person who killed your brother to pay the price! Without this news, how can your brother rest in peace?"

Huo Qiuhe was startled.

Has Father already devised a deadly plan to target that murderer?

Will news come soon?

Time slowly passed, and the auspicious time was drawing near...

In the mourning hall, another stick of incense burned to its end...

The last bit of incense ash drifted down...

Suddenly, a wild goose cried out in the sky, and the Prince of Rulan abruptly raised his eyes. In that instant, his face lit up with fervor.

A golden goose soared through the air, landed in his palm, and transformed into a piece of gold paper...

The King of Rulan's gaze fell upon the gold paper, and his expression changed drastically...

From initial fervor, to astonishment, and then, boundless anger...

boom!

He slapped the square table hard, turning it into dust. Everything on the table instantly turned into dust swirling in his palm.

"Your Highness!"

Inside and outside the mourning hall, everyone knelt down at the same time.