Zhao Cheng paid no heed to the stone man. With a sweep of his palm, he brushed away the dust before him, then rose straight into the sky, heading for the hollow above the dimensions.
He intended to retrieve something from within the hollow.
The stone man could survive simply because he had regained his reason. Even if it was only a fleeting moment of clarity, clarity was still clarity. From having nothing at all, he now possessed a sliver of possibility—the qualification to continue existing.
As for whether he worshipped Zhao Cheng, that was not important.
Zhao Cheng's path had never been about making all beings bow down in reverence.
Indeed, ever since the Miracle Mystic Realm had been born, the foundation he had forged—his Dao—had become one of granting all beings more possibilities.
Without question, this was an immense bestowal and creation!
At the same time, it conformed to a certain vast cycle: the weak walked the path of plunder, while the strong created everything.
In truth, this had already begun to show itself in the ability of eighth-rank Celestial Venerables to create something from nothing.
Every complete eighth-rank being was a perpetual-motion machine. Not merely possessing inexhaustible energy, they could also create countless entirely new things.
It was simply that such creation remained confined to themselves and was difficult to extend outward.
Not until now, with the birth of the Miracle Mystic Realm, could even the lowliest beings excavate the potential of their minds and use it to interfere with reality. Every life was a seed of a "Creator"—an unprecedentedly immense act of creation.
What use was worship on such a path?!
Zhao Cheng's current realm was extraordinarily transcendent. In an instant, he broke free of the dimensional ruins that those ninth-rank lifeforms could never escape and