Western Hunan was mountainous, its roads winding over rises and dips. Lush vegetation crowded both sides, and grayish-white, baleful Corpse Qi drifted among the green leaves.
Gripping his sword in both hands, the boy circled the Green-Skinned Zombie, constantly attacking his vital points. Fortunately, the zombie's joints were stiff, making him less agile than an ordinary human, and the swords from Dai Family Hamlet were nothing like the thin sheets of iron used as performance swords on Earth—they could slice through a thumb-thick branch with a single upward stroke. After some effort, the boy shouted and swung hard, chopping off the zombie's head.
Watching from afar, Shi Feiyang felt that the child had potential and sent a wisp of true qi through the air to him.
The boy felt a warm current fill his whole body and could not help jumping for joy. "I leveled up! I leveled up!"
That wisp of true qi equaled at least three years of cultivation for an ordinary martial artist. He threw punches and kicks, his movements lighter and more powerful than ever.
"Lord Yama! Am I in a real world or a holographic game world? Lord Yama?"
"Don't call me Lord Yama. I'm not Yama," Shi Feiyang replied. "If you think it's real, then it's real. If you think it's false, then it's false."
People who immersed themselves exclusively in philosophical contemplation could easily go mad. One of the most important reasons was that they blurred the boundary between reality and illusion. Once they fell into that trap, philosophers would become madmen, Buddhist practitioners would descend into obstinate emptiness and crazed Zen, and Daoist cultivators would mistake the false for the true and become delusional.
Shi Feiyang told the boy to keep killing zombies. Sword in hand, the boy fought his way along