Odd Containment Specialist.

Chapter 733 Xia Shou vs. Writer (Part )

But even though the attack missed, Xia Shou felt ecstatic in his heart, because this proved that his attack had produced results. He used the swift attack of Three Feet of Water to get close to the writer and made it impossible for him to distance himself in time, so he had to turn his body into flames to avoid his touch.

Now that the writer has lost his right shoulder and left foot, he can no longer use instant movement. His mobility and the writer's are now at the same level!

The writer's eyes wandered between Xia Shou and the carpenter teacher. The existence of time became blurred, history seemed to have no distinction between before and after, and the fragments of memory became real and strange.

He clearly remembered that in that shabby and poor village, in the leaky wooden house covered with sawdust, the old man took a wooden stick and wrote in the sand-like sawdust on the ground, saying to him:
"Gousheng, our village is full of ordinary people, and none of us lives as long as you.

The Qing Dynasty is over, but you are not.

You can't imagine now that you will become a great writer in the Republic of China, right?"

"Gousheng, you know how to write a book. Even though you can't recognize many words now, you will get better and better at writing.

So many big things happened around you, but you didn't really do anything in any of them, not even a cowardly thing. None of them had anything to do with you, but you still wrote them all down.

They are all good stories, and you won’t want to close the book after reading them.

Gousheng, stop crying.

I know why you are crying. You are not crying because you can't remember the words, but because you think that people who read the book will not remember you as the author.

But don't worry, the people you remember will remember you.

Anonymous is also a name. There are so many anonymous names that people cannot distinguish them all, but Paper Mantle Mountain can. Paper Mantle Mountain will remember you, just like you remember it.

You've written so many books, but you've never really written one of your own. Is it because you have nothing to write?
That’s right, how can someone who writes about others write about himself? Even if I want to write, there is nothing to write about. If I really want to write, I can only write about myself and others.

But now, you finally have something big to write about, and this time you are the real protagonist. Throughout history, looking back through the ages, how many people actually have names in ten thousand years?
Your parents gave you Gousheng, and I gave you Zhang Yi. You didn't want a name yourself, but instead you were given the name Anonymous, which is not really a name.

And this time, you will finally have a real name, the Kingdom of God will have your name, and Paper Curtain Mountain will also record what you are doing now.

You should thank that Shangguan. Without her, even if you were still here, there wouldn't be much worth writing about."

The carpenter was teaching him to write and he was crying.

The writer couldn't remember whether he cried because he couldn't recognize the words, or as his master said, because no one remembered the book he wrote.

This absurd memory was so real, it spoke of the future in the past, and it was the past speaking of the present... He couldn't tell the difference, and there was no need to tell the difference.

He now just felt like he was looking at the present from the future, and he had seen the outcome of this battle.

He saw himself hanging on a branch of the Paper Mantle Mountain, light and inconspicuous, but when people plucked him off later, they would see that this was a named last battle.

They will read with great gusto, watching the last moment when this person, the named one, actually asks for a name in his long century of lonely life.

His parents didn't give him the name he wanted, his teacher didn't give him the name he wanted, and even he himself didn't give himself a name. But at this moment, he asked Moshi for a name that would be passed down through the ages...

As time goes by, the writer's right shoulder and left foot turn into flames, and the fire turns into blood.

Xia Shou reached out his hand for the second time. He didn't give the writer any chance to breathe and directly touched the writer's chest.

The writer's eyes, which had become swollen and red due to the high temperature, suddenly turned and stared straight at Xia Shou.

His eyes made Xia Shou's breathing pause, and a string in his brain was stretched so tight that it was on the verge of breaking.

Xia Shou didn't know how to describe the other person's eyes. His eyeballs were clearly necrotic, but he could still feel the intense emotions in them.

The muscles on his cheeks, which were covered with sticky hot blood, twitched slightly, as if he was smiling, as if they had not been fighting just now, and were just seeing each other for the first time.

"That's great." said the writer.

To Xia Shou, this was a completely meaningless nonsense, but to the writer, it was the perfect ending to his century-long life.

In just a few seconds, during the lightning-fast battle, the writer had already listened to the long talk of the carpenter teacher. This reunion after life and death was hidden in the abyss of illusion. Even at this time, the carpenter still stood beside the writer and said with emotion: "Gou Sheng, the master congratulates you."

When the writer heard this congratulation, Xia Shou felt as if a cool breeze was blowing on his face.

The continuous slashing attacks were like slanting wind and drizzle, gently covering Xia Shou's whole body. These slashing attacks were so slender and sharp, yet as dense as transparent silk.

When these silks pass over your face, it seems so fast that it seems like an illusion.

Xia Shou turned into parallel rain threads hundreds of meters long.

All his organs disappeared, and he fell into that silent, lightless, touchless and feelingless world again. Only text descriptions accompanied him, and text descriptions were his only channel to understand the outside world.

He saw the text description showing the rapid decline of various desires. Among the three desires, the desire to kill plummeted and was rapidly heading towards zero.

As desire quickly faded, Xia Shou's various senses were slowly returning.

The first sense to return was the sense of touch on his forehead, which meant that blood had recirculated in a patch of skin on his forehead.

What followed was a very small field of vision, which meant that part of his eyeballs had also been reconstructed. He saw the writer standing firmly on one foot very close to him, and the two were only half a meter apart.

Two ripe eyeballs were embedded in the writer's bloody, skinless cheeks.

But in this corpse-like state, Xia Shou actually sensed an emotional fluctuation more intense than that of any living person.

The emotion was intense to the point of calmness.

The closest adjective Xia Shou could find in his limited vocabulary was divinity.

The next second, the vision and sense of touch that had been finally restored disappeared again completely, and at the same time, the only remaining desire to kill was also exhausted.

The second self state is escaped.

Xia Shou,

death.

……

……

[Self-destruction] has been activated.

He has one last chance left.

Before looking back, Xia Shou thought quickly.

The battle just now was purely a battle of mechanisms.

He had no means of defending himself against the writer's attacks, and the writer was not immune to his attacks after he reached the pinnacle.

They were like two monsters with zero defense, and every damage they inflicted on each other was a critical hit!
In this battle, there is basically no room for tactics.

The writer's attacks were almost all instantaneous, his body movements and reaction speed were incredibly fast, far beyond human limits, completely overwhelming him who was in peak Scorpion Spine state!
The brain of a living thing still relies on reflex nerves, but the writer's fighting instinct makes all his reactions seem to be without delay.

Especially at the end, Xia Shou guessed that he should have been beheaded again, but he did not feel like he was beheaded.

Before this, the writer's slashing was already very fast, but not so fast that he didn't feel anything at all.

This only means that the time from the opponent's attack touching him to killing him is much shorter than the time it takes for the tactile signal to be transmitted from the contact point to the brain.

In other words... the only way to avoid the damage from the slashing blow, the flash kill, cannot be activated in the last attack.

(End of this chapter)