Once upon a time, there were many unknown places where many unknown people lived.

The sun was a huge fireball that fell far into the wilderness, emitting a blazing red flame that retracted at a slow, successive rate of decline. The newly sprouted moss after the snowmelt has spread everywhere, like a burn scar. Silence prevailed, only to be punctuated by the occasional hawk screech or the trotting of gazelles in the distance.

There were three men standing in an empty and barren wilderness, under a small tree, where they had gathered. They didn't greet each other, instead, all three of them bowed their heads in tacit agreement, as if there was something under the tree that piqued their interest and deserved to be scrutinized.

There are two ant colonies fighting around the roots of the tree, which have broken through the icy soil. Perhaps in this desolate place, it is really hard to find a perfect home like this, and the fighting is becoming more and more brutal, leaving behind the corpses of thousands of dead ants in an instant. It may sound very tragic and bloody, but in reality, all that's left is a small black dot on the ground.

It was cold, but the three of them didn't wear much, as if the cold wouldn't bother them at all. They watched intently until one of them broke the silence and whispered, "Where is the avenue in this ant worldly country?"

He was a slim, short, boyish-looking lad wearing a light blue collarless shirt and carrying an unsheathed wooden sword. His jet-black hair was carefully combed into a bun and held in place with a wooden fork, looking like it could slip out at any moment, but at the same time, it remained firmly rooted like a pine tree.

"While the chief monk was preaching, I saw countless ants flying up while bathing in the sun."

This time it was a young monk who spoke. He was dressed in a tattered cotton hat and had black, sharp stubble protruding from his scalp. This is somewhat similar to the strength and determination written on his face and conveyed through his words.

"Ants may be able to fly, but they will eventually fall. They will never touch the sky," shouted the young man with the wooden sword, shaking his head.

"If you hold this belief, then you will never be able to understand the true meaning of the Taoist heart," the young monk said, he blinked slowly, still looking down at the warring ant colony, "I heard that your hall master has recruited a new disciple surnamed Chen. Then you should understand that in a place like Chijuji, you will definitely not be the only prodigy.

The young man with the wooden sword raised his eyebrows and sneered, "I can never understand how a restrained person like you is qualified to represent the Xuankong Temple as its practitioner.

"Ants can fly, just like they will fall. However, they are better at climbing, and they are good at getting their fellow ants to climb on top of them. They are not afraid of sacrifice, and when they pile up on each other, as long as there are enough people, they will eventually pile up high enough to touch the sky," said the young monk, who ignored the defiant comments and continued to stare at the anxiously running ants below.

In the thickening twilight, an eagle screamed sharply and sounded scared. Maybe it's three strange people standing under a tree, maybe it's the imagery of a whole bunch of ants having flown into the sky, or something else entirely?

"I'm really scared."

The wooden sword boy suddenly admitted as he straightened his thin shoulders.

The young monk nodded in agreement, though his facial expression remained calm and determined.

The third young man standing under the tree was burly and wrapped in clothes that resembled animal skins. His bare legs were rock-solid, and under the rough skin, the muscles seemed to contain explosive power. He remained silent, not saying a word, yet goosebumps on his skin revealed how he really felt at the moment.

These three young men came from three of the most mysterious places in the universe and traveled through this world according to the orders of their respective sects. They are like the brightest stars in the world, but even they can't help but feel an overwhelming fear as they stand in the wilderness.

Hawks should not be afraid of ants as they are just black spots of the former. Ants should also not be afraid of eagles, because they are not even worth biting eagles. The world of ants has never seen or heard of a creature as powerful as an eagle, so the latter remains unfathomable to the former.

However, over the course of centuries and millennia, some of the most prominent ants in the crowd, for mysterious reasons, decided to peel their gaze away from the rotting leaves and just once, gaze at the crystal blue sky...... Then, the world was never the same for them.

Fear comes from seeing.

...

...

The three young men were now looking at a shallow ditch a few dozen feet away. There was only darkness in the ditch, which contrasted with the mottled surface of the wilderness.

About two hours ago, the ditch suddenly appeared, immediately stretching all the way to the horizon, as if chopped out by an unseen ghost with a huge axe the size of a mountain, or pulled out with a brush the size of a pillar used by the divine craftsman. It's completely shocking, puzzling and frightening.

"I always thought that the unchanging mountain was just a legend," said the wooden sword boy, staring at the black rhinoceros.

"Legend has it that the unchanging mountain gave birth to 70,000 offspring, and maybe one of them happened to wander in this world."

"Legends are legends," said the young man with a wooden sword on his face, "it is said that a saint is born every thousand years, and who has seen a saint in the past few thousand years?"

"If you really don't believe it, why don't you dare to cross that black slash?"

No one dared to cross the shallow ditch, no matter how proud or powerful they were.

Ants can crawl on it, insects can jump on it, gazelles can jump over it, eagles can fly over it, but humans cannot.

They don't dare to cross it precisely because they are human.

"If that kid really exists, then... Where is he? The wooden sword boy asked, staring at the horizon.

At that time, the sun was about to set, darkness was pouring in from all directions, and the temperature in the wilderness had plummeted. A heart-wrenching feeling began to spread throughout the world.

"The night has fallen, spreading everywhere. Where can you search here?

The young man in animal skin finally broke the silence. Contrary to his age, his voice sounded low and rugged, and its vibrations resembled the sound of a raging river, or the sound of rusty blades sharpening against rocks.

After saying this, he left in a rather peculiar way.

Several flames suddenly ignited from his strong, bare legs, enveloping his lower body in a burst of crimson, and the howling wind rolled thin rocks off the ground. Then, as if grabbed by an invisible force, his body flew into the sky more than forty meters away, and then he howled and smashed to the ground, and with this impact, he immediately bounced up. In this way, the boy jumped away like a rock, seemingly casually, looking extremely clumsy, but with extraordinary strength and speed.

"His name is Don, it's just Don. I don't know his full name.

The young man with the wooden sword said thoughtfully, "At another time, in another place, between him and me, only one person will live. If a disciple is already so masterful, how powerful will his master be? ... I heard that his master has been pursuing the cultivation of 'Twenty-three Year Cicada', and I don't know if he will be burdened with a thick shell when he comes out.

Nothing but silence. No one said anything. He turned his head in confusion.

The young monk closed his eyes tightly, his eyelids trembling, as if he was seriously thinking about something really confusing, in fact, since the other young men in animal skins had spoken about the night, the young monk had retreated into this strange state.

Sensing his gaze, the monk slowly opened his eyes and grinned, revealing a sense of pity instead of the firm and calm expression he had before. Scraps of flesh, blood, and the remnants of his chewed tongue peeked out of his slightly parted lips.

The wooden sword boy frowned when he saw this.

He slowly removed the rosary from his wrist and solemnly put it back on his neck, and the little monk walked away. His steps were heavy and steady, slow, but his shadow almost disappeared into the distance for a moment.

The wooden sword boy was left alone under the tree, erasing all emotions from his face and showing absolute calm, or more so absolute indifference. He stared at the rocky bouncing shadow in the northern dust in the distance, and scoffed, "Demon.

Then gazing at the shadow of the young monk quietly walking west, he said, "Wanderer of heresy".

"Unworthy."

The ways of demons and heretics are unworthy.

After saying this, the wooden sword he was carrying roared, shook without warning, and suddenly turned into a beam of light, screamed and shot up, tearing the little tree into 53,333 parts, turning leaves, branches, and trunks into fine dust, and falling on the ecstatic ants.

"The dumb shall speak, and salt shall be sprinkled on the bread."

The young man walked east humming a song, and the small wooden sword followed silently, floating in the air a few meters behind him.

...

...

In the first year of the Tang Dynasty, the most unusual phenomenon befell the wilderness, gathering the Heavenly Realm Walkers of various sects, to no avail.

From that day on, Qin Nian, the successor of Xuankong Temple, never said a word again and began to practice meditation. Don, the successor of the Demon Cult, has become a hermit in the desert and his whereabouts are still unknown. Ye Su, the successor of Zhishou Temple, overcame his ultimate bottleneck and traveled all over the world. All three of them seem to have gotten something.

What the three of them did not know was that on the same day, night was about to fall, and on the other side of the black ditch that no one dared to cross, by a small pond not far from the capital, sat a scholar. A scholar in straw sandals and a tattered coat.

The scholar does not seem to notice the powerful and formidable nature that the black groove represents. He just sat there, holding a book in one hand and a wooden cup in the other. He reads books at every opportunity, rests when he is tired, drinks water when he is thirsty, and looks very happy and calm, although he has dusted himself completely.

。