An individual's spirit was limited. Even Zhao Li as he was now could not withstand the erosion of the nearly infinite obsessions accumulated over tens of thousands of years.
Although each one of them was an insignificant existence to Zhao Li, once their numbers accumulated to a certain extent, they would produce a qualitative change.
Under the erosion of that endless tide of obsessions, Zhao Li's soul grew unbearably heavy.
Those obsessions broke into his soul and forcibly poured their experiences into his memories, as if they meant to make Zhao Li shoulder their pasts, then carry those pasts and continue living on.
As time passed, Zhao Li no longer knew how many times and spaces he had leaped through, nor how many obsessions he had shouldered. He only felt as if his soul had been torn apart. Part of his conscious thoughts directly scattered, and his awareness gradually grew dull and hazy.
Though this feeling was painful, Zhao Li could still endure it. What truly made him suffer was the emotions within those obsessions. Their regrets and fixations contained almost no beauty whatsoever, which in turn gave rise to hatred and resentment. The erosion of such emotions made him feel like a madman.
If this continued, perhaps his soul truly would no longer belong to him.
Zhao Li no longer passively accepted it like this. An indescribable quality surged from his body, and the instant it appeared, the Flood of Obsessions rushing toward him was forced to stop dead. The obsessions already branded onto his soul were also quietly dissolved.
This was a special energy born from the evolution of the world he had opened up. He did not know what it was called either, but it had endless wondrous uses and seemed capable of transforming into any usable