The strokes did all sorts of nonsensical things, quickly scattering apart. The words in his mind completely vanished as well, and no matter how hard Mo Ling tried to think back on the original structure of the characters, he could no longer remember it...
"Don't move around!"
Mo Ling let out a soundless cry at those strokes.
Something he had never expected happened. Those strokes seemed to have actually heard his shout. They paused where they were for a moment, but soon mocked him, giggling as they ran away, leaving Mo Ling standing there at a loss.
"They heard me?"
"Can't I make any sound? How did they hear me? Can they even understand what I'm saying?"
An even greater confusion arose in Mo Ling's heart.
Could it be that these words could communicate?
They only looked chaotic, while in reality, they were all conscious individuals?
As he pondered this, Mo Ling once again moved through the verdigris, chasing after the next word that was taking shape.
The patterns gradually solidified. The streaks in the mist began, through some chance opportunity, to weave themselves into strokes. The strokes slowly became clear, freezing amid absolute chaos and turning into a fleeting moment of order. At that instant, a word formed, its shape molded by rules. Yet after that brief instant, the order would return to chaos once more.
After countless pursuits, Mo Ling had already figured out the pattern behind the formation of these words. Seizing that moment of order, he once again sent a soundless cry toward the word about to form:
"Can you hear me!?"
The moment he shouted it, Mo Ling regretted it.
He suddenly felt that something might be wrong with his head. He was actually asking a character a question. Had this chaos already muddled his