If you die, I will be able to inherit your cultivation.

Upon seeing this scene, the shopkeeper was so frightened that his legs went weak and he knelt down with a thud.

His forehead pounded against the blue brick floor, and he repeatedly shouted "Immortal!"

He kowtowed for a long time, but there was no sound in his ears. The courtyard was so quiet that only the rustling of the night wind through the branches could be heard.

He cautiously raised his head. The fog on the roof had dissipated, and the person was gone, along with the more than a thousand books that had vanished completely.

He stood there stunned in the courtyard, and it took him a long time to come to his senses. He then slapped himself twice in deep remorse.

"I told you to accept the immortals' money. They had already brought the opportunity to become immortals to your doorstep, but you chased them away with your money."

Just as he was feeling remorse, he suddenly remembered the book that Zhou Ming had asked him to copy.

He rushed into the study, reopened the original scripture, and stared intently at the eight words on the title page.

"Read a book a hundred times, and your divine skills will naturally appear."

He squatted on the threshold, holding his book, and chuckled to himself.

Zhou Ming used his magic to silently carry the more than 1,500 scriptures through the night sky.

He spent five or six nights traversing the entire territory of the Great Yuan Dynasty.

These books were distributed one by one to the powerful and influential families who held sway over the narrative.

Each city received at least ten books, larger and more important towns received more, while smaller, more remote towns received fewer.

He usually threw the books directly into the deep courtyards of aristocratic families, bypassing layers of walls and tightly closed doors.

They might land on the desk in the study, or lie on the steps of the passageway leading to a secret compartment in a hidden room.

Zhou Ming knew that individuals who found books would often secretly hide them and keep the opportunity to themselves.

This is not conducive to the rapid dissemination of the scriptures. Although aristocratic families may not be willing to make it public easily, the family itself is a natural network for transmitting the scriptures.

Once one of them discovers the method, it will soon be quietly spread among the direct descendants.

Of course, there are always exceptions.

In the dead of night, Zhou Ming casually tossed a book into the broken bowl of a skinny boy squatting in a corner, gnawing on a cold steamed bun.

They didn't care whether the boy could read or not; they gave him the technique, and whether he could master it was up to fate.

In a small town's local temple, he slipped another book into the crevice of the donation box.

The few scattered fragments left for these minor individuals were merely casual moves made on a whim, without any forced commitment.

Unexpectedly, Zhou Ming accidentally discovered traces of Fang Yuan and his group in a city in the eastern part of the Yuan Dynasty.

This time, the group learned their lesson and did not incite the people to rebel again. Instead, they quietly developed their followers in the city and preached their doctrines in secret.

After distributing the last few books, Zhou Ming didn't linger and turned to head north.

As we climbed back into the night sky, soaring higher and higher, the lush, undulating earth beneath our feet was gradually replaced by a dense, impenetrable dark green.

At the northern horizon, the tree canopy stretches like a sea, with countless trees reaching for the sky. Looking down from above, the verdant treetops undulate and extend as if reaching all the way to the horizon.

That is the entrance to the Endless Forest.

Without stopping, Zhou Ming flew north above the forest, his divine sense constantly extending across the vast sea of ​​trees below.

The trees in the Endless Forest are quite different from those in the mountains and forests of the south.

Each tree was so thick that several people could not encircle it, its canopy soaring into the clouds, its branches and leaves intertwined to form a dense, dark green dome.

Occasionally, birds would be startled from the forest, their wingspans reaching over ten feet, their feathers piercing the air with a low, explosive sound.

In a forest clearing, an unidentified giant beast lazily lay on its back, basking in the sun. Its belly was covered with thick, scale-like skin that gleamed with a cold, iron-gray light in the sunlight.

Zhou Ming glanced at it once and then looked away. The birds and beasts in this forest were at least several times larger than those in the Great Xia territory.

After flying for three or four hours, Zhou Ming estimated that he had flown at least a thousand miles.

The forest beneath our feet suddenly began to rise, initially just undulating hills, then the slope became increasingly steep.

Zhou Ming raised his head and looked into the distance.

At the end of the sea of ​​clouds ahead, a towering mountain appeared.

It is not a solitary peak, but a majestic mountain range that stretches from east to west to the horizon.

The mountain is entirely dark blue-black, as if it were carved from a single block of iron ore. Its cliffs are sheer, and its rugged ridgeline appears and disappears in the sea of ​​clouds.

The highest peaks pierced the clouds, and the snow on their summits, which never melted, was dazzlingly white in the sunlight.

This mountain isn't a mountain at all; it's a wall.

A wall that separates heaven and earth cleaves the forest from the world outside the mountains in two.

Zhou Ming hovered in mid-air, looking up at the mountain range blocking his way.

According to Su Mubai, passing through here should lead to the outside world where cultivators live.

He took a deep breath, his magical power circulated in his dantian, and his whole body transformed into a purple-gold stream of light, rushing straight up the mountain.

However, just as he crossed the first ridgeline, a violent gale suddenly rushed towards him from the front without warning.

The gale was invisible and colorless, yet it felt as if an unseen wall was crashing head-on with the force of a thousand troops.

The impact caused Zhou Ming's protective aura to flicker violently, and he was sent flying backward like a withered leaf.

Zhou Ming tumbled several times in mid-air before barely managing to regain his balance and land back on the edge of the forest inside the mountain range.

Standing on a mountain ridge, Zhou Ming frowned and looked ahead.

The force that had just blown him away had vanished without a trace.

Zhou Ming spread his divine sense, only to find that everything was normal and his divine sense did not encounter any resistance.

Zhou Ming was starting to doubt the superstition.

He channeled all his magical power into the meridians of his legs, and a purple-gold light gushed out from the Yongquan acupoint on the soles of his feet.

He firmly planted himself in a horse stance and took steps forward one by one.

Zhou Ming walked very slowly, using his magic to hold onto the rocks beneath his feet with each step.

A hundred paces later, the gale reappeared out of thin air, but this time the protective spiritual shield he had set up in advance blocked the first wave of impact.

Zhou Ming gritted his teeth and continued to push forward.

The magical power surged and roared through his meridians, and the protective spiritual shield gradually faded from purplish-gold to pale gold under the continuous impact of the gale, and then from pale gold to a thin, almost transparent layer.

He endured the wind for less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn before his feet were finally lifted off the rocks by the fierce wind.

He was blown backward again, his body like a cannonball crashing into a rock, sending boulders tumbling down his face.

Zhou Ming stood up from the pile of rubble, dusted himself off, and began to observe carefully.

He discovered a strange phenomenon: whenever he took a hundred steps forward, a gale would appear out of nowhere, without warning or any blind spot.

But after the strong wind blew, the vegetation on the mountain ridge remained completely still.

A crooked old pine tree stands in the very center of the windy area, its needles not even swaying.

Just now, when he was being whipped around by the strong wind, this pine tree stood quietly beside him, as if watching him make a fool of himself.

If the plants and trees are unaffected, what about the wild animals?

Zhou Ming turned back to the dense forest at the foot of the mountain and caught a gray wolf that was gnawing on a wild rabbit.

The wolf was wrapped in Zhou Ming's magic, its four legs dangling in mid-air, baring its teeth and trying to struggle.

Zhou Ming picked it up and flew back to the ridge.

He placed the wolf at the edge of the gale zone, patted its rump with magic, and the wolf was propelled forward.

The wolf had only run about a hundred paces when the gale surged forth again.

The wolf didn't even have time to howl before it was rolled back like a rag.

It rolled several times on the ground, then tucked its tail between its legs and howled as it fled down the mountain, running even faster than Zhou Ming, who was being chased by Dongmei with her sword.

It really is a formation.

Having read so many fantasy novels on Tomato in my past life, what else could this barrier, set atop a high mountain, stretching for thousands of miles, and specifically designed to separate the two worlds, be but an array?

The problem is that he knows nothing about formations, let alone how to break them.

They had absolutely no idea where the edge of the formation was, where the core of the formation was, how to trigger it, or how to avoid it.

There was no other way but to use the most basic method.

Zhou Ming walked westward along the mountain range, probing every hundred steps, searching inch by inch.

He flew westward along the ridgeline, stopping every so often and sticking out a foot into the windy area.

The gale always appeared precisely on time, with uniform force and consistent direction, like an invisible curtain wall with precision down to the millimeter.

They tried dozens of times, from noon until sunset, as the sun sank below the horizon, turning the sea of ​​clouds on the western side of the mountains into a surging golden-red.

Zhou Ming stood in the twilight, his outstretched foot bounced back by the strong wind.

Retracting his foot, Zhou Ming gazed at the towering wall beneath his feet, bathed in the golden-red light of the setting sun, and remained silent for a long while.

I'll try again tomorrow.