Within the Spirit Realm, divine radiance shone in all directions, illuminating the ten quarters.
Mo Yan forcibly endured the grief in his heart and drew his brush across the paper, leaving a line of ink: [Sword light emerged into the world and cut Xi Shang's body.]
Mystique manifested: writing became reality.
The next instant, a wound appeared out of nowhere on Xi Shang's body, with no discernible source. Blood gushed out and struck the ground, splashing into shards of glassy light. It was extraordinarily strange.
"Boohoo~ Mo Yan, you're actually fighting back..."
Xi Shang swept her delicate hand over the wound, and her skin immediately became snowy-white and flawless again. Even her enchanted robes were restored to their original state. Yet she cried even harder, tears rolling down like pearls from a broken string:
"I... why is my life so bitter..."
She waved her hand as she cried.
The tears filling the sky turned into specks of cold light and shot toward Mo Yan like water flung from a basin.
After injuring her, however, Mo Yan's heartache grew beyond all measure. Even raising his brush subjected him to the torment of his conscience, making it almost impossible to put brush to paper.
He knew this was caused by the Mystique of the Path of Sorrow, yet he could not dispel it. The more harm someone inflicted on a cultivator of the Path of Sorrow, the greater their grief became, until they died to atone for their sin.
Left utterly helpless, he could only write himself into his book and take temporary refuge. "When did Senior Sister Xi Shang advance another step along the Path of Sorrow?"
Hidden inside the book, Mo Yan felt a headache coming on. The Mystique he could wield fell into two categories:
The first was writing