He fell again, then reassembled again, over and over.
Even Shijia could no longer strike Lu Xun down in a single blow from the very root of his existence.
Unless he could destroy the earth in one blow—shatter the land itself, and extinguish the human spirit that had settled and fermented within it over tens of millions of years.
The power that allowed Lu Xun to rise from death did not come from nowhere. The human spirit was the anchor of his resurrection, while the earth itself supplied the power for it.
Compared to all of humanity, compared to an entire earth, the expenditure needed to reassemble a single individual was negligible. One could even say that the rate of consumption was far slower than the rate at which those two restored their strength.
Still, Shijia knew that Lu Xun was indeed difficult to kill—but not impossible to kill.
The will of life itself had its limits, after all.
With every reconstruction of himself, Lu Xun's spiritual will was continuously tempered—but at the same time, continuously depleted.
Though Lu Xun had condensed Dao Truth, his spiritual will itself was still unable to match it. Amid such unceasing wear, there would eventually come a time when his entire mind and will were utterly exhausted, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell.
As for replenishing that expenditure, unless one's spiritual will reached that perhaps nonexistent realm of "infinity," the only method was rest.
From birth to destruction, the world underwent a process of ever-increasing entropy. It wore away through change, steadily tending toward chaos until it collapsed and became nothingness.
In the material world, entropy increase could not be reversed. But the spiritual world was different. So long as one was alive, one could restore one's spiritual world through "rest." Without question,