On the deserted island, twenty-four large pearls of five-colored light lingered endlessly.
The man who was wrapped in it had a calm expression, and the aura around him became deeper and deeper. He gave off a dense ancient and desolate aura. If anyone looked at him, they would only feel that they were reading a thick history book.
He was history.
In the endless river of spirit, he had gone through ten thousand cycles of reincarnation.
Although these reincarnation worlds did not exist, they could not be said to be fake because these worlds were constructed by Buddhas over the past hundreds of millions of years.
The Buddha's world recorded the true life of the people. To a certain extent, it was no different from the real world.
In these ten thousand years, he had seen too many things and searched for too many things.
Every time, it was like a dream.
