"I've got it!"
In the quiet chamber, Xiang Yuan's troubled expression vanished. Xiang Yuan opened his eyes in delight and named this divine ability he had created himself—the Nine Paths of Asking Heaven.
Three days to squeeze out four characters nearly killed him.
Of course, in Xiang Yuan's words, this was called slow work yielding fine craftsmanship. As long as the name was cool, everything was worth it.
Boom!
The pleasure boat cleaved through the waves. The river wind suddenly sharpened, and the hull jolted violently, as if it had struck some boundary, plunging without warning into a scroll of ink-wash landscapes.
Dark ink formed mountains, their jagged peaks flung across the scene like strokes from a giant brush. Pale ink formed clouds, mist drifting and swirling as though an immortal had lifted a brush and lightly swept it across the page, sketching out a boundless realm of smoky waters in only a few strokes.
Vast swathes of blank space remained, revealing a touch of ethereal immortal intent.
The bow split the river's satin-like surface, sending ripples spreading outward like a brush tip sweeping across raw rice paper, bleeding threadlike traces of ink. Several egrets burst from the reeds. As they flapped their wings, specks of ink shook loose in showers, and they rode the mist and haze away, vanishing toward the distant sky.
"Just in time. If it had been three or five seconds earlier, I'd have squeezed out... a name this cool."
Xiang Yuan nodded inwardly and spread out his senses. The ink-painted scroll was a magical treasure. Three black-clad figures stood in the distance—two men and a woman, all with their faces covered, their disguise techniques perfunctory to the extreme.
Xiang Yuan said nothing. Three grandmasters met the requirements. So long as the intelligence was not false,