Watching the light rain in the distance that had already enveloped the Golden Mist Continent, whose diameter had reached hundreds of billions of kilometers, continuously nourishing all things.
Although he did not care in the slightest about the opinions of the weak, as Ling Wuyuan's divine sense swept roughly across the entire Golden Mist Continent at an incomparably swift speed, unstoppable as an avalanche, he could not help but shake his head with a mixture of laughter and tears.
At this moment.
He could hear countless voices of thanks with absolute clarity.
They were the most heartfelt thanks from countless people living in the utmost hardship, even on the verge of death.
Among them.
Although a small number knew the truth and understood that the light rain saving them was merely something the great figures used for celebration.
The vast majority had no idea what the truth behind it all was.
Thus, they directly regarded it as a reward from Heaven or a blessing bestowed by the gods they worshipped.
In Ling Wuyuan's eyes, this was truly an exceedingly laughable and tragic situation.
Their first reaction to benefits falling from the heavens was actually that the gods were bestowing blessings?
This directly showed that, in their own hearts, they were all trash—trash who were never meant to receive any benefits, and who could only improve their lives and change their fates by relying on things like gods.
Therefore.
When they all gave thanks to their various gods and shouted that Heaven had finally opened its eyes, Ling Wuyuan felt no dissatisfaction at having his credit stolen. All he felt was a faint sorrow, a trace of sorrow that arose involuntarily after witnessing the tragic lives of countless ignorant and weak beings.
Accordingly, his heart in pursuit of the Dao—or rather,