He undid the leather clasp.
He opened the milky-white cover.
The thick pages rustled between his fingers, giving him an unusual sense of satisfaction. Strings of bright scarlet incantations floated from the pages, three-dimensional yet somewhat hazy.
Zheng Qing looked at those unfamiliar, obscure spell formulas. He felt as though he recognized every character in them, yet once they were strung together, every passage of incantation became utterly unfamiliar.
What surprised him even more was that he discovered he did not need to chant the incantations in the spellbook aloud as he would ordinary spells.
His gaze merely swept over them, and as the relevant reflections flashed through his mind, the corresponding incantations in the spellbook lit up one by one. Their deep crimson radiance was like the morning sun leaping over the horizon—striking and brilliant.
Then, the Forbidden Curse aura within the young wizard, which had long been on the verge of boiling over, became docile like a wild stallion fitted with a saddle and bridle. Of course, docile did not mean gone.
It was like a startled herd of wild horses. Before, they had charged about in every direction like headless flies. Many collided as they ran, while others scattered, all of it chaotic and disorderly. But now, a lead horse had appeared. Under its guidance, the herd gathered its scattered ranks, formed a proper formation, and thundered over mountain after mountain in steady rhythm.
Like a gale, like a sudden downpour, like thunder.
The young wizard's gaze raced through the spell formulas, taking in ten lines at a glance. The pages flipped beneath his fingertips one after another, then turned blank. The galloping herd grew ever larger and faster, until Zheng Qing felt that he was no longer turning through the spellbook. Instead, that surging aura had