Nine hundred floors. Su Han's fingertips were already a bloody mess; every time they dug into the wall, it felt like a dull blade cutting through bone and flesh. The Deep Chaos Power in his meridians had dwindled to a mere thread, and every circulation brought searing pain, as if someone were pouring molten iron into his limbs and bones. Yet he climbed, inching upward bit by bit. Wind rushed up along both sides of the tower, carrying the distinctive sandalwood scent of the Buddhist Realm, but now it lashed his sweat-soaked face like a whip.
Nine hundred and ten floors. The wall's material changed. The originally jade-smooth stone surface began to reveal dense Sanskrit characters, each one emitting a faint golden glow. That light was not warm. Instead, it carried a crushing weight that pressed down on Su Han's back, forcing him to lower his head, forcing him to kneel, forcing him to give up. Su Han felt his knees trembling. A voice inside him said, "You've already done your best. No one will blame you. Go back down. Return to the Immortal Realm. You were never part of the Buddhist Sect to begin with."
He bit through the tip of his tongue. The taste of blood exploded in his mouth, bringing a moment of clarity. I came here, he told himself, his voice so hoarse it barely sounded like his own, not because of who I am, but because the Human Realm cannot wait.
Nine hundred and twenty floors. His vision began to blur, and the golden wall before him seemed to twist into a vortex. Su Han knew this was a sign of physical exhaustion. His Chaos Power was nearly depleted, though he still had some Heavenly Dipper Righteous Qi left. But that was his last-resort means