Spiritual radiance blazed like a sun, and at its very core lay an infinitely subtle point—or, more precisely, a point without form or substance, existing only as a concept.
Ancient scriptures spoke of the Limitless giving rise to the Supreme Ultimate, of something arising from nothing. Modern theory, meanwhile, spoke of higher dimensions and lower dimensions. How high could the highest be? Beyond reckoning. And how low? The limit of human understanding was zero—zero dimensions.
Perhaps one could continue downward even beyond zero, just as one could pile upward without end. But for now, zero was already a limit.
In that instant, Zhao Cheng's consciousness-sense collapsed. The first sense, then the second, collapsed one after another, all the way down to the embryonic form of the ninth sense. His consciousness-sense was gone, and Zhao Cheng's perspective abruptly became incomparably narrow. Viewing the world through the Primordial Spirit alone, everything he saw carried the sense of all things flowing like liquid, with countless surging waves.
The myriad things beneath heaven seemed all to have become a kind of fluctuation.
Heaven and earth were a fluctuation, and thus could contain all things. The sun was a fluctuation, and thus could spread without end. Life, too, was a fluctuation, and thus could achieve unity of heaven and man—even reaching the state where the universe was oneself, and oneself was the universe.
From the standpoint of pure essence, life had always been part of the universe. It was neither transcendent nor independent.
Such a perspective was undoubtedly limited. It was indeed part of the world's truth, but only part of it. And precisely because it was only partial, distortion arose instead, like blind men feeling an elephant.
Yet Zhao Cheng experienced this perception for only an instant. Then, that point compressed to the ultimate