In the half-empty sky, black characters shimmered brilliantly, terrifying waves of energy encircled the text, emanating strands of Taoist details.
Yang Zhen couldn't discern what the characters were; they were a script he had never encountered before. Merely casting his eyes over them, without even needing to grasp their meaning, he could perceive an aura of talent. Just a glance would evoke a profound stirring within him, as if he were traversing a sea of talent.
This sensation truly startled Yang Zhen, his eyes as wide as a bull's, staring up in disbelief, as if he had turned to stone!
This was indeed a revelation. Who could have thought talent could be manipulated in such a way?
Merely by forming these characters which he couldn't comprehend at all, he felt as if he was absorbing talent and purifying his soul. If this was the way it worked, what use was there for soul-nourishing chicken soup?
