As for why he had worn an ordinary stone for so long—back when he was younger, Zhao Cheng had read stories about immortals refining magical artifacts, nurturing treasures with people, while treasures in turn nurtured people.
Then he had read an encyclopedia that said stones were the essence condensed by the earth over billions of years, their origins traceable all the way back to the Big Bang.
Zhao Cheng had no idea how his younger self had managed to connect those two things.
But it had given him an idea: stones made excellent artifact blanks.
Of course, after following the methods from those stories and using his mind to "communicate" with it for around two months, he had given up. He never threw it away, though, and kept wearing it. Eventually, he got so used to it that he had forgotten he was even wearing anything.
Yet the moment Zhao Cheng lowered his head to look at it, the stone seemed to undergo trillions of years in an instant beneath his gaze. It weathered away and turned directly into ashes.
At the same time, a scorching heat flared in his chest, and a platinum-colored mark appeared there.
The mark was incomparably intricate, seemingly composed of tens of millions of strokes, yet it was only the size of a coin.
And Zhao Cheng found that he could understand its meaning. It was nothing else but the "Dao."
Come to think of it, when he had first started "refining artifacts" long ago, he really had fantasized about something like this happening.
So this really was a dream?!
Overcome by waves of exhaustion, Zhao Cheng closed his eyes.
When he woke again and opened his eyes, he suddenly remembered what he had dreamed before and hurriedly looked down at his chest.
Sure enough,