It was as if he had entered some strange routine.
The Ghost Shadow drifted behind Lin Feng and asked him, "What wish do I have?"
Lin Feng let out a long sigh.
He had no wishes.
The atmosphere in this game was terrible. "I thought this scene might at least be a little heartwarming—a pioneer meeting a junior who followed in his footsteps and wanting to give him a helping hand.
"But no, this damned game can't manage even a little warmth!
"I can't catch a single break!"
"Rejection by my seniors, the pressures of life, isolation by my peers—only here can I complain about how miserable I am."
"I'm about to shed little pearls!"
"Is this what I came into this game to see?"
"How depressing."
Lin Feng muttered a few complaints to himself.
He stood motionless, neither answering "Duke Dan of Zhou" nor responding to the figure behind him.
He could not make a wish.
When you did not understand a game's mechanics, it was best not to test your own weaknesses. Lin Feng understood this perfectly. Because of their cultivation, every Ancient Sage saw a more "complete" world than other people did.
Coming from the information age, Lin Feng's knowledge would certainly have qualified him as a Great Sage in ancient times—a Great Sage of White Horse Is Not a Horse, a master of the School of Names, a gifted sophist.
But if he were asked to wish for immortality, the immortality Lin Feng could imagine amounted to "not aging, organs never failing, and retaining a clear mind."
Human desires made people lose their objectivity.
Those who understood others were wise; those who understood themselves were enlightened.
Lin Feng knew all too well that he could never outplay something capable of casually making people "immortals," whether its