I proved immortality through the imperial examination.

Chapter 214 For Heaven and Earth (Silver Sprout 7)
Within the monument lies a fantastical world, where wind and thunder rage, and the starry sea churns.

The man desperately tried to deduce Xue Xiang's whereabouts, but to no avail, which tormented him to the point of complete confusion.

His brow split open, flames flew out, and his face twisted into a terrifying grimace.

Suddenly, he pointed at Xue Xiang and roared hoarsely, his voice filled with resentment and fear, as if he were rebuking some unspeakable blasphemy.

His expression clearly showed that he regarded Xue Xiang as a heretic and evil spirit, and wished he could tear him to pieces to vent his anger.

Xue Xiang merely stared coldly, his expression calm.

He didn't know why this person was like this, but he guessed why.

It must be because of the poems that I kept in my heart but whose origins are unknown.

"Since you don't like this, I'll make this one especially for you."

With a sudden change of heart, he decided to compose a second poem in his mind.

Silently.

The poem was clearly formed in my heart, yet it seemed to illuminate the starry sky.

The man froze abruptly, his expression changed drastically, his fingers trembled, and he continued to calculate something.

The next instant, a deafening roar erupted.

The man's body split open from between his eyebrows, his chest shattered, turning into countless purple fragments that scattered like flowing clouds.

All the points of light converged in the air to form a purple flower with veins, crystal clear and serene, which gently floated into Xue Xiang's brow.

At the same time, the literary energy of heaven and earth surged.

A vast expanse of blue-white energy surged from the four cardinal directions, like rivers flowing backward, encircling Xue Xiang.

The wind suddenly stopped, leaving only the roar of the Milky Way flowing backwards.

……

Above the plaza, within the star map.

The moment the purple flower of literary lineage appeared and slowly disappeared into Xue Xiang's brow, a beam of purple light pierced through the heart of the monument, illuminating the sky, and even the golden protective light wall trembled slightly.

The entire square erupted in excitement.

The scholars were taken aback at first, then erupted in uproar.

"The flower of purple cultural heritage—it's a purple flower!"

"My God, he actually attracted the purple flower!"

"The rarity of purple flowers is beyond imagination, how is this possible!"

Exclamations of surprise echoed like waves crashing in the wind.

Shen Baoshi exclaimed, “Purple flowers on the eyebrows! I remember this phenomenon has only occurred once in the last few hundred years, back when the great sage Kang Guangling contemplated the Wen Dao Stele!”

Fan Xingchen, the magistrate of Jiannan Academy, gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, his gaze deep, and murmured, "This boy's literary talent is so great that even I am afraid I cannot match his sharpness."

I wonder what they'll look like when they grow up.

Wei Fan stood there, stunned, his eyes filled with complex emotions, and murmured, "Haha...it's all worth it to have such a student in my life..."

Ni Quanwen narrowed his eyes, stood tall, his robes billowing, and said softly, "The Wendao Stele trembles, and the one who can summon purple flowers possesses a literary lineage inherited from Heaven. Such a person, such a person..."

Shen Sanshan frowned, his expression a mixture of surprise and fear.

He was completely at a loss. If he had known this would happen, he should have worked harder to repair his relationship with Xue Xiang.

But now, it seems too late to say anything.

"Our Canglan Academy has produced such a prodigy; it is truly a blessing from heaven."

Mu Qingniu's face was flushed, and he was already thinking about how to make his image stand out in the report of merits that would be submitted later.

"The one who once lamented autumn is now a recipient of the purple lineage; it is the will of Heaven."

The crowd gradually grew larger.

"Xue Xiang—Xue Xiang—"

Some people could no longer contain their emotions and shouted loudly, as if calling out a name that was about to be etched in history.

In that instant, the light from the plaza's canopy swirled and purple flames rose.

Everyone understands—

At this moment, the future dominance of someone is already evident.

…………

The world outside the monument is already in a state of utter chaos, while the illusory realm inside is utterly silent.

Xue Xiang sat cross-legged, his body still surrounded by a scholarly aura, like countless stars drifting through the void.

At the center of his brow, the purple flower of literary veins had completely merged into the literary palace and hung on the treasure tree of literary energy.

At the same time, a cool sensation arose from the depths of his soul.

It was a mysterious and profound "mystery," formless and shapeless, yet it seemed to have left a certain trace in his heart.

The trajectory was extremely faint and fleeting, yet it lingered in his mind for a long time.

He felt thousands of runes flashing in his mind, appearing and disappearing, as if the true meaning of the Heavenly Dao was passing through his heart.

He didn't rush to move, nor did he rush to find the golden aura; he simply closed his eyes and meditated quietly.

Time slowly passed in the illusion, and the protective spiritual energy surrounding the purple aura lingered, swirling endlessly around him.

Xue Xiang suddenly remembered Song Tingfang's words.

The innate literary energy surrounding the purple literary energy cluster is the key to unlocking the golden literary energy cluster.

A thought stirred within him, and he slowly uttered the verses:

"From the highest heavens to the deepest hells"

Neither place was visible in the vast expanse.

The moment the poem was completed, heaven and earth trembled.

The literary energy surges and swirls, like clouds and waves, spreading across the Milky Way.

That line of poetry contains a grand ambition that penetrates all things and searches all phenomena, which transforms into a golden thread that soars into the sky.

Xue Xiang opened his eyes.

The void before us was torn apart by poetry, and a path of light stretched straight into the depths of the sky.

There, the starlight twinkled incessantly, and three golden orbs of light could be vaguely seen floating high in the sky.

He leaped up and soared upwards like a rainbow.

As he rose higher and higher, until the air almost solidified, he approached and saw clearly that it was not a golden sphere of light, but three golden clusters of literary energy.

Three golden clusters of spiritual energy hung atop the sky, ancient and weathered, resembling three golden pillars of creation, stretching across heaven and earth.

Upon seeing it, Xue Xiang felt a tightness in his chest and was filled with awe.

The golden radiance seemed to reflect a scene from eternity ago: the first stars ignited, the first mountains and rivers stood, the primordial chaos was not yet divided, and all paths were just beginning to emerge.

He almost let out a long sigh, his mind was shaken and he nearly knelt down.

He took a deep breath and calmed himself down.

With a thought, his gaze locked onto the central pillar of creation.

The pillar trembled slightly, its golden light shimmering like waves.

In an instant, the runes on the entire pillar flowed and the literary energy surged.

Before Xue Xiang could take a closer look, the pillar of light suddenly shattered into a human figure.

The figure stood in the void, looking exactly like Xue Xiang, with a cold expression and even the same breathing rhythm.

Xue Xiang stood there, stunned.

He looked at that "himself" and felt a chill in his heart.

The man slowly raised his head, and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

Golden light flowed between them, as if two consciousnesses were silently merging.

The Milky Way trembled slightly, and a breeze stirred within the monument.

Xue Xiang cupped his hands and said, "What do you mean by this, fellow Daoist? If you are not pleased, I will leave."

The man cupped his hands in greeting and returned the same smile, "I told you, I'll give you whatever you want, I just want to talk to you."

Throughout the vast ages, I have witnessed countless beings of all kinds.

But there's only one as interesting as you, and I don't want to miss out.

Xue Xiang said, "What should we talk about? Oh, instead of talking about me, let's talk about you first. I'm just as interested in you."

“I never talk about myself with anyone else, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

The man said, "You guessed right, I am a saint."

Of course, you can think I'm exaggerating.

To be precise, I am merely a lingering remnant of a saint's will.

You're right that I'm not him.

Hearing him admit that he was merely the remnant of a saint still sent a shockwave through Xue Xiang's heart.

The man slowly raised his hand, and the golden light at his fingertips illuminated the entire sea of ​​stars.

Thousands of runes danced between his palms, like stars returning to the Milky Way, weaving a vast scroll in their swirling motions.

Do you know what "harmony with the Tao" means?

When he spoke, his voice seemed to transcend countless eras, coming from the primordial chaos.

"At that time, I used the literary tradition as my bones and my mind as my knife to break through the chaos and distinguish between the clear and the turbid, and wrote the 'first article' in silence!"
That stroke became the skeleton of the literary tradition and the way of heaven.

As he spoke, the starlight inside the monument churned and transformed into an ancient scene.

A towering figure stood amidst the chaos, holding a giant brush. Wherever the brush touched, the sun and moon shone, and the universe was divided.

That scene, like Pangu creating the world, appeared even more serene and solemn.

"When heaven and earth were formed, all things began to be born. I saw that mountains and rivers became poems, and wind and thunder had rhythms. I realized that literature could carry the Dao, so I tried to integrate my own literature with it and become one with the Dao of Heaven."

He slowly closed his eyes, and a radiance flowed from between his brows.

The light illuminated the entire starry river within the monument, making the void seem to murmur.

“When I first came into harmony with the Dao, I was filled with boundless joy. The Dao of Heaven used me as its pattern, and all things used me as their structure. At that time, the world was clear and pure, the flow of culture was smooth, and all living beings were nourished.”

He sighed softly, his voice suddenly lowering.

"But after merging with the Dao, I glimpsed the future. The Dao of Heaven is ruthless, while the cultural lineage is compassionate. When the two intertwine, they will eventually repel each other. I vaguely foresaw that a great calamity was coming—the sea of ​​cultural lineage would turn against the Dao of Heaven, and all things would be destroyed."

Therefore, I severed my own lingering resentment and divided it among the one hundred and eight Heaven-Mending Stones. Each stone was split in two: the main part became a literary stele to suppress the backlash from the literary veins; the secondary part circulated and transformed into the Blessed Land of Literary Ruins, leaving a glimmer of opportunity for future cultivators.

He paused, then smiled faintly: "By the way, didn't you also occupy a blessed land?"

Xue Xiang was startled.

There are 108 literary steles and 108 blessed sites of literature, yet no one has ever connected these two numbers together.

Upon reflection now, this person's words are impeccable.

The man continued, “I have been in harmony with the Dao for hundreds of thousands of years. The cultural lineage has become increasingly disordered. If it weren’t for these Daoist tablets suppressing it, the world would have already fallen into a great calamity. Each Daoist tablet suppresses a ‘crack’—a scar caused by the conflict between the cultural lineage and the Dao of Heaven.”

Xue Xiang raised his head, his brows slightly furrowed.

The sage continued, “I bestowed upon you the Flower of Literary Lineage to help you deepen your cultivation and allow you to continue the bloodline of literary lineage. However, the deeper you cultivate, the more intense your literary energy becomes, and the more disordered the order of heaven and earth becomes. The stronger you become, the more cracks appear on the Literary Dao Stele. If it weren’t for my remnant will suppressing it, this world would have long since turned to ashes.”

His gaze was like lightning, sweeping across the starry sky. "You think you are cultivating, but you are actually accelerating the destruction of the Heavenly Dao."

Xue Xiang was silent for a moment, then asked, "So, you used the Flower of Literary Lineage to make those powerful people lose their minds?"

The sage shook his head, "The flower of literary lineage has been bestowed upon your precious tree of literary energy, and it has nothing to do with me anymore."

However, the Flower of Cultural Heritage is the essence of this cultural heritage, and the lingering thoughts of the sages are still somewhat strong.

When one reaches a higher level of spiritual practice and gains enhanced perception, one becomes susceptible to the disturbances caused by these lingering thoughts.

Even without these sages' legacy, the higher one's cultivation level, the more likely one is to go astray and fall into demonic possession.

However, once they go astray in their cultivation, they will die and their spiritual essence will vanish, because the imprint they have left on their literary cultivation is too deep.

From then on, the world's chaotic literary atmosphere gained another source.

He raised his hand and pointed to the Wendao Stele in the void.

The surface of the monument is crisscrossed with cracks, like the patterns on a tortoise shell. Within each crack, golden light flows, like blood, or like tears.

“Great cultivators are great thieves. The more they cultivate, the more chaotic literary energy will be generated. The more broken the literary stele will become. When the stele breaks, the literary vein collapses; when the literary vein collapses, the world falls into chaos.”

His voice was thunderous, yet it carried an irresistible calmness.

Xue Xiang remained silent for a long time.

The world around was silent, with only the starlight rising and falling.

He sensed a contradiction in the man's words—a mixture of cold logic and compassionate reason.

But he always felt that something was wrong, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

The sage saw through his thoughts and smiled faintly.

"Are you thinking, is this a linguistic trap I've set? What if I say yes? What if I say no?"

He stood with his hands behind his back, his long sleeves fluttering lightly in the golden light. "I am no longer human, no god, no heaven. Only this lingering remnant remains to guard me."

All things cycle through birth and death; humans, demons, witches, and spirits are all but dust. If the cultural lineage collapses, heaven and earth will die. Even if it means destroying all races, I will not allow this monument to be destroyed.

Xue Xiang's throat bobbed slightly, and he finally asked in a low voice, "What if one day this monument really breaks?"

The sage lowered his eyes, his voice so low it was almost inaudible, "That was the time of a new heaven and a new earth. It's just a pity I won't be able to see it."

The wind subsided within the monument, and starlight slowly fell.

Xue Xiang sat quietly, a thousand thoughts churning in his mind, yet he uttered not a single word.

After a long silence, he asked, "What do you need me to do?"

The sage said, “Be yourself, obtain the flower of literary lineage, then cultivate diligently, save the people, and save as many as you can.”

Xue Xiang said, "Isn't my improvement in cultivation also contributing to the chaos of the world's literary energy?"

The sage said, "The Great Dao is thus, it is the will of Heaven, the great calamity is coming, and no one can stop it. Do you want the Golden Flower of the Cultural Lineage?"

Xue Xiang was stunned, his mind becoming increasingly confused.

He suddenly felt that his mind was unstable and full of flaws.

He stared blankly, then his expression turned serious and he became speechless. Time seemed to pass in an instant, yet also in ten thousand years.

Suddenly a shout was heard: "Sage!"

The shout was extremely soft, yet it sounded like a copper hammer striking a drum: "Young man, you have not yet attained the Way, yet you covet the flower of literary tradition. This action may further hasten the decline of the literary and moral monument. What should we do?"

Xue Xiang looked at the "Xue Xiang" opposite him, his heart stirred slightly, and a layer of clear light spread across the lake of his heart.

For a fleeting moment, he felt a sense of transcendence, as if he were truly sitting at the center of history, looking down upon the joys and sorrows of all living beings.

He looked at Xue Xiang with pity, a surge of heroic ambition rising within him to destroy himself and save the world. He sighed and said, "Everything is for the best. I will go with you."

As he spoke, he attempted to annihilate himself, believing that in doing so, he could transform into a flower of literary tradition.

Just then, a tremor ran through the depths of the Wen Palace, and the sword intent of the Ren Sword rose from the silence, its clear sound like a frosty blade.

A chilling light pierced my heart, as if it had struck my chest, shattering the illusory clarity I had just felt into dust, which then vanished without a trace.

Xue Xiang's eyes widened suddenly, and his whole body trembled violently.

He stared intently at the face that was identical to his own, his gaze turning cold. "You actually used your supernatural powers to alter my state of mind and memories, almost making me believe that I am you."

What exactly do you want? Do you intend to use my body to escape this world?

As he made his accusations, he desperately tried to recall everything he saw, hoping to preserve that state of mind as much as possible.

The man secretly used a magic technique to reverse his identity and also transmitted his entire state of mind to Xue Xiang.

Even now, with the blessing of the saintly state of mind gone, Xue Xiang still wanted to use his photographic memory to retain as much as possible.

Although he didn't know exactly what he was keeping, he felt that the mysterious and profound meaning would be of great use in the future, and it would be good to remember as much as possible.

The man, exposed but showing no embarrassment, still smiled, a hint of impatience in his smile, "Aren't you also occupying someone else's body?"

If you can do it, why can't I?

Xue Xiang was shocked again.

Even something as secretive as time travel was discovered by this person.

He was utterly shocked. He shouted coldly, "Who are you? You are definitely not a saint."

The man gave a cold laugh, then asked in the same tone, "And who are you? Why are you occupying this young man's body?"

Why is it that even after calculating every detail of the heavens, I cannot deduce your origin? And why is there a sword hidden deep within your literary palace, which escaped from my calculations?

If it weren't for its existence...

As he spoke, his face gradually became ferocious, as if it were being burned by an invisible fire.

"...If that were not the case, I would already be you. With your flawless body, which is so rare in a thousand years, I could rebuild my body and be reborn as a human."

Golden flames surged around him, and the patterns on the stele danced in the void, as if thousands of fingers were reaching out from the four corners of the earth to envelop Xue Xiang completely.

The golden flames carried a whisper as cold as the wind, sounding both like a prayer and a curse.

Xue Xiang's heart tightened, and the sword intent of the Benevolent Sword trembled once more within the Literary Palace, transforming into a blade of clear frost that cleansed away restlessness, intoxication, and arrogance.

Xue Xiang exhaled slowly, stood with his eyes lowered, and suddenly spoke in an extremely ordinary tone, "Since we can't reach an agreement, and since we both want to play the role of a saint, then let's see who plays it more realistically."

As soon as he finished speaking, Xue Xiang burst into a thunderous recitation, "To learn and at due times practice what one has learned, is that not a pleasure?"

The voice was light and clear, revealing a refined literary air, spreading out like a myriad of rays of light.

"This is impossible!"

The man was shocked; he had discovered that Xue Xiangzhen was capable of competing with him for literary talent.

Even if I am not "him", I am still a product of "him". How could there be anyone in the world who could compete with me for literary talent?

Unless, unless, another saint is born.

This is impossible! Absolutely impossible!
Xue Xiang ignored all the odds and continued reciting.

"By reviewing what we have learned and gaining new insights, we can become teachers..."

"I examine myself three times a day..."

"If you hear the Tao in the morning, you will die in the evening..."

"........."

He proceeded steadily and calmly, from learning to understanding the ways of Yao and Shun, responding to each point with clarity and precision.

With each word uttered, a ray of clear light gathers in the heart of the stele, like the morning bells and evening drums rising simultaneously from countless academies in the world.

The clear light was not ostentatious, but it was endless, spreading along the patterns on the stele and transforming into layers of holy light.

The holy light swept over the man, binding him tightly.

"shut up!"

He spoke sharply, his eyes bloodshot, "Boy, empty talk about propriety and righteousness won't change anything. I ask you, when the literary tradition is in chaos and the Daoist monument is shattered, how will you continue the dynasty?"

Xue Xiang did not raise his eyes. "First, rectify your heart, then regulate your family, then govern your state, and then bring peace to the world. If your heart is not rectified, reciting ten thousand poems is nothing but clever talk."

boom!
Countless streams of literary energy fluttered down, transforming into a golden road that crushed towards the man.

The man, his eyes filled with resentment, continued to ask, "Do you think these few old sayings can bind me? Heaven and earth are balanced by force, and monuments are established by force. Can you continue the order of heaven with your words?"

Xue Xiang said in a deep voice, "I don't know how far I can go, but I know that I will do it."

The simple phrase, "Just do it," struck the man's heart like a resounding bell, and he finally fell silent.

Xue Xiang continued reciting.

"Is benevolence far away? If I desire benevolence, then benevolence is at hand..."

"Do not do to others what you would not have them do to you..."

"Be strict with yourself and lenient with others, and you will avoid resentment..."

Finally, he fell silent. In the holy light, a golden flower of script appeared and floated toward Xue Xiang's brow.

As the flower of literary tradition entered his mind, Xue Xiang felt refreshed and invigorated, as countless profound mysteries assailed his consciousness.

He sat cross-legged, silently processing his thoughts and waiting patiently.

…………

Above the square, clouds rolled in like a tide.

In that instant, a golden flame burst through the heart of the monument and pierced the sky.

The light was so intense that even the golden screen set up by the protective formation trembled, its spiritual patterns churning as if about to be ignited. Hundreds of Confucian scholars, academy elders, court officials, and array masters in the square all looked up—their gazes fixed on the point where the beams of light converged.

A golden flower of cultural heritage slowly rises from the depths of the monument.

The petals were not of ordinary shape, but were formed by countless runes. Each petal shimmered with ancient meanings, as if chanting the primordial sounds of heaven and earth.

It trembled slightly, golden light swirling around it, and then it traced a slow path along the sky, drifting straight towards Xue Xiang.

At this moment, all those who were viewing the monument ended their meditation.

Of the three star charts, only the Juque Star Chart contains Xue Xiang sitting alone.

The moment the flower shadow disappeared into Xue Xiang's brow, the entire square erupted in gasps of surprise.

"The Flower of Golden Heritage!"

"That's—that's the legendary Golden Flower!"

"That's impossible! Over the past few centuries, the Wendao Stele has been opened a hundred times, and the highest one can obtain from viewing it is at most a purple flower; the golden flower has long since disappeared!"

"The appearance of golden flowers in the world must be a sign of divine intervention. Could it be that this stele has awakened?"

The sounds mingled—fear, ecstasy, disbelief—all coalescing into a storm.

Some even forgot their manners, kneeling on the ground and murmuring, "Apocalypse...this is apocalypse!"

In the square, Shen Baoshi's body trembled, his hands clenched involuntarily, and a thin layer of sweat beaded on his forehead. His voice trembled with a sore throat, "Golden flowers entering the eyebrows—this technique has been lost for seven hundred and thirty-two years..."

Fan Xingchen stood up, his gaze as sharp as a sword, and looked at the starry sky. He murmured, "The Golden Flower is the pinnacle of literary lineage. Those who can draw upon the Golden Flower will surely be able to continue the literary lineage in the future."

“Continuation?” Shen Baoshi’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his voice hoarse. “What kind of rubbish is that?”

The clamor of the crowd grew louder, like the surging of the sea.

"He's only at the Foundation Establishment stage, how could he attract golden flowers?"

"Could it be that the sacred intent in the stele has been misinterpreted?"

"Misidentification? Jealousy really has made you unrecognizable."

On the central camp side, Shen Sanshan's face was ashen, his throat was tight, but a stiff smile still lingered on his lips as he whispered to those around him.

Ni Quanwen remained silent.

He stood before the Canglan Academy formation, his robes billowing in the wind, the gold patterns shimmering in the sunlight.

His gaze never left Xue Xiang, his eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions, as if he were looking at a slowly collapsing mountain.

Beside him, Wei Fan sighed slowly, a sigh that was suppressed, as if afraid of being heard, yet as if he had to say it to the whole world: "The more extraordinary something is, the harder it is to keep it."

Ni Quanwen turned his head and glanced at him.

Wei Fan didn't look at him; his gaze remained fixed on the beam of golden light, the lines at the corners of his mouth deeply defined. "To forge sentences, to communicate with the Emperor's will through one's own sentences, and to suppress the literary palace."

Is it truly a suppression of the Literary Palace? Before the flower of literary talent was introduced, how could the Literary Palace be unstable?
The so-called suppression is nothing more than the suppression of the flower of cultural heritage.

But can the golden flower of cultural heritage truly be suppressed by human power?

I don't know what kind of verses he must compose or what grand vows he must make to suppress the blossoming of literature.

If this cannot be suppressed, and the literary palace collapses, it will truly be a step between heaven and hell.

Ni Quanwen also sighed, “You should know that all the extraordinary encounters in the world come with a deadly price.”

Since he dares to covet the golden flower of cultural heritage, let fate decide.

They looked at each other in silence.

Above the square, a celestial wind swept down from the giant star map, lifting the scroll and the hem of clothing.

The flames still burned in the sky, making every face appear almost transparently white.

The illusory world within the Wendao Stele has long since become clear and bright.

Xue Xiang sat cross-legged, his long hair dancing without wind.

At this moment, his consciousness was completely absorbed into the literary palace.

The Wenqi Treasure Tree stands in the center, its roots deeply embedded in the base of the spirit platform. Several flowers hang among its branches and leaves, displaying a variety of colors including blue, white, black, and purple, shining brightly.

However, at this moment, the flowers were withering one by one, their colors dull, as the golden flower overhead absorbed all their light.

The golden flower hung alone in the sky, dazzling like the sun. The surrounding literary energy was distorted by it, and the airflow of the entire literary palace swirled around it.

Xue Xiang felt a surging tremor within his body, thunder in his dantian, and a throbbing in his heart.

"Oops."

He murmured, his voice like a sword scraping against metal.

"This golden flower is too heavy; the Wenqi Treasure Tree cannot bear it."

Sure enough, the next moment—

boom!
A deep, muffled bang erupted from the depths of the mind.

The Tree of Literary Aura swayed violently, its branches bursting open, and its light flashing wildly.

Several branches snapped in response, falling into the void and turning into stardust.

The entire palace shook violently, the sky cracked open with fissures, and a gale rushed in.

"The precious tree of literary talent is about to break."

Xue Xiang felt a chill run down his spine.

He knew that this was not an external force, but rather the result of the golden flower entering his body and needing to be used to cast a sentence to protect the palace.

If one cannot make a vow with one's heart and suppress one's soul with the Dao, the literary palace will collapse and perish.

He slowly opened his eyes, his expression solemn.

Almost simultaneously, Xue Xiang, who was sitting calmly in the Juque Star Chart, also opened his eyes.

He sat serenely within the star map, his robes fluttering, his face as still as water, with a radiant light flowing between his brows.

At that moment, he seemed to be asleep, yet also awake.

Everyone held their breath.

Then, he suddenly spoke, his voice clear and calm, yet it resounded throughout the entire square, the entire mountain, and the entire sky: "What is the purpose of us Confucian scholars studying the classics?"

As soon as the sound faded, all was silent.

Even the flashes of inspiration have stopped.

Even the wind stopped.

Everyone's hearts were frozen in place by those words.

He slowly raised his hand, his palm open, and golden light flowed through his fingers.

"Establish a heart for heaven and earth!"

These five characters seem to have been written again from the pen of an ancient sage.

The moment the sound faded, the mountains and rivers outside the monument roared, and all the array patterns on the square lit up.

The protective array suddenly expanded, and golden halos rippled outwards, as if the heavens were responding.

Hundreds of Confucian scholars looked up in unison, dumbfounded.

Shen Baoshi murmured, "To establish a heart for heaven and earth..."

Ni Quanwen was stunned and lost in thought, not even noticing that his sleeves were being lifted by the wind.

Wei Fan's eyes glistened with moisture, his Adam's apple bobbed, and he sighed softly, "To utter such a grand ambition is unprecedented in history..."

Suddenly, a beam of light shot into the sky from Xue Xiang's literary palace, condensing into five large golden characters, their strokes flowing like dragons and snakes, standing horizontally in the air—

Establish a mind for heaven and earth.

With those five words settled, the storm ceased.

The once shaky Wenqi Tree regained its footing, its leaves unfurled, and the cracks gradually healed.

The golden flower of veins rotated gently, emitting a very faint tremor.

The world returned to peace.

However, just a moment later, the golden flower swayed slightly again.

Xue Xiang's consciousness sharpened, realizing that this was not yet over.

(End of this chapter)