"His brushstrokes startled wind and rain, his calligraphy moved even ghosts and gods to tears."

Fang Zhongyong heard something incredible. The words of the man in white in front of him seemed to open up a new world for him, and his young face and eyes were filled with longing.

Clenching his small fists, his expression became somewhat tense, as if he was about to witness an unbelievable scene.

Seeing his prodigy son looking so serious, Fang's father frowned repeatedly. He had never seen Zhong Yong look at anyone with such longing in his eyes.

Looking up at the boy in white, I couldn't believe that someone so young could come up with anything.

"Give me a pen."

Li Ming stretched out his hand.

A black calligraphy brush flew out of the pavilion and landed in his hand, a single action that startled Fang's father and Fang Zhongyong.

His aura was incredibly powerful, and his white feather robes fluttered slowly, making him look like an immortal descending to earth.

“Zhongyong, just watch closely. The same verses, in your hands and in mine, what’s the difference?”

Li Ming received nine years of compulsory education, and now he has reached level 46 in cultivating immortality. The combination of these two factors will definitely give him a significant advantage over Fang Zhongyong and his father.

He naturally couldn't write poetry or books, but he knew a lot of powerful and imposing lines of poetry. Even if Fang Zhongyong knew them, it wouldn't matter, because the most important thing was the special effects to intimidate.

The same lines of poetry can be expressed differently in one's own hands, which further reveals that he is a sage.

Whether or not the character of a saint can be maintained depends on whether the special effects added this time are sufficient.

If the special effects are strong enough, even a god can be fooled.

He has that confidence.

“Recite the poem you just composed,” Li Ming said expressionlessly. “I want to bring your poem to life and let you know the supreme realm of a sage.”

Fang Zhongyong was somewhat puzzled and didn't understand, but he still said, "Peach blossoms line the banks, butterflies and waves rise, and pavilions in the air are painted with mist and clouds."

Then I saw Li Ming holding a calligraphy brush. The brush was clearly empty of ink, yet it could write in the air as if ink had been splashed on it. The characters were flowing and graceful.

The pen falls.

The words slowly drifted away with the wind, and soon, a picture appeared in the air: there were peach blossoms on the riverbank, and colorful butterflies were dancing among the flowers like waves. In front of them were pavilions in the air, as if one were in a sea of ​​mist.

Fang Zhongyong swallowed hard, his small eyes filled with astonishment. Could this be the realm of a sage he had been talking about?

Fang's father was even more astonished, because Fang Zhongyong had only uttered a sentence, and Li Ming began to write it down. As soon as the pen touched the paper, the characters disappeared, and then an image was formed.

"Continue," Li Ming said, looking at Fang Zhongyong.

"There must be something wrong with your pen."

Fang's father was still unwilling to give up. He reached out and took the pen from Li Ming's hand to examine it, but he didn't see any ink. He then scribbled in the air, but nothing appeared in the air.

“The pen isn’t the most important thing; the key is the person using it,” Li Ming said, looking at him.

"I...I..." Mr. Fang stammered, then stopped speaking, his heart beginning to waver.

"Is this the realm of a sage?" Fang Zhongyong's eyes widened. The same thing, which he could only describe in terms of artistic conception, could be presented in the form of a picture in the hands of a sage.

"Far from it, the true sage is..." Li Ming said, waving his hands, his white robes fluttering, his black hair dancing, and roaring, "The waters of the great river come from the sky."

With a wave of his hands, the scene before him changed instantly; the distant waterfall flowed backward, forming a great river right in front of him.

“A true sage is…” Li Ming continued, “rocks piercing the sky, waves crashing against the shore, churning up thousands of piles of snow.”

As soon as Li Ming finished speaking, the great river in front of them could no longer remain calm. Rocks stirred the water, and gradually the waves surged and roared like wild beasts, constantly churning.

"A true saint is... a bolt from the blue, dark clouds pressing down on the city as if to destroy it, armor gleaming in the sun like golden scales."

Li Ming's voice rang out again. The once cloudless blue sky was suddenly struck by thunder as soon as he finished speaking, followed by endless dark clouds.

Dark clouds shrouded the sky and earth, and a fierce wind howled, seemingly wanting to dazzle everything. Suddenly, golden light burst forth, piercing the sky, and heavenly soldiers and generals appeared in the sky, as if guarding the gates of heaven.

"A true sage is... a roc that rises with the wind in a single day, soaring straight up ninety thousand miles."

Before Fang's father and Fang Zhongyong could recover from their shock, they saw Li Ming spread his arms, lean forward, and then a gust of wind swept in as he transformed into a Kunpeng and soared into the sky.

A huge bird, its wingspan obscuring the sky, cast a wide shadow and soared upwards, seemingly vying with the heavens for height.

But in the blink of an eye, instead of transforming into a giant roc, Li Ming stood before them like a deity, his figure becoming incredibly tall.

Like a mountain, it pressed down on Fang's father and Fang Zhongyong, making it impossible for them to breathe.

But he didn't stop.

"A true saint is... who laughs as he brandishes his sword at the heavens, his heart and soul devoted to the Kunlun Mountains, whether he stays or goes."

His words fell heavily, and Fang Zhongyong and his father immediately witnessed an astonishing scene: Li Ming's figure had grown incredibly tall, hundreds of feet high, holding a woodcutter's knife in his hand, slashing towards the sky.

Like a god, an aura of world-destroying power is constantly erupting.

"A true saint is... the one who hears a dog barking at his thatched gate, and returns home on a snowy night."

As soon as Li Ming spoke, the world changed drastically again. A cold wind blew, and snow fell. Fang Zhongyong and his father exhaled heavy white breaths, and a little frost appeared on their eyebrows.

They were shivering from the cold, constantly breathing out warm air and rubbing their hands together.

Not far away, the big black dog trembled with fear, baring its tail and snarling, perfectly embodying the phrase "a dog barks at the thatched gate."

They hadn't yet adapted to the cold when the environment suddenly changed drastically, and then they heard a voice say something.

"The true sage is... We are not creatures confined to a pond; we will transform into dragons when we encounter favorable winds and clouds."

Immediately following, a dragon's roar resounded, and Li Ming transformed into a golden dragon, its scales shimmering with dazzling luster, and soared into the sky.

dragon.

Auspicious objects are ancient totems, and they represent the highest level of faith everywhere.

Fang's father had never seen a sage, but he knew what a dragon looked like. His legs were already slightly weak when suddenly, the soaring dragon rushed directly in front of him, opening its mouth as if to swallow him whole.

He was so shocked that he fell to his knees with a thud.

But then, they discovered that there was no dragon descending upon the world, only a boy with his back to them, whose body radiated an astonishing glow.

"saint!"

Fang's father trembled all over, swallowing hard, utterly shocked. His knees gradually buckled, and he knelt on the ground, pulling at the child prodigy Fang Zhongyong who was still standing there in a daze.

Fang Zhongyong snapped out of his daze and slowly knelt down with his father.

He knelt behind Li Ming.

They kowtowed three times and spoke hesitantly.