Pathway of the Gods

New artist's works have been signed

Newbie, new book, signed. It's still a seedling🌱 at the moment. It's okay in all aspects, but the plot transition is a bit poor. I look forward to its growth. I wish I could become a god. Of course, the most important thing is that I hope the author can write more words. The current number of words is still a bit low, so I'll keep it up first.

"Pathway to the Gods" A more passionate book, with a protagonist who likes to use his fists to reason. The introduction is as follows: Heavy snow covers the entire Hengcang Mountain, covered with snow, a vast white world. The branches are covered with crystal clear pearls. The winding forest paths are covered with thick snow. The pine trees on both sides are like teams of guards standing guard. Despite the heavy snow, they still stand in the wind and cold. At this time, there was a burst of cranes, and on the Eagle Beak Cliff, a crane swooped down from the sky. When he took a closer look, he saw an old Taoist priest riding on the crane. Just when he was about to land, the old Taoist priest flew down and flew down to the ground like fallen leaves from a tree. The snow on the ground did not leave even a footprint. It is said that this Taoist priest was wearing a white Taoist robe. The Taoist robe was embroidered with silver and black threads with pictures of the Eight Diagrams of Heaven and Earth. This man had an immortal spirit, silver hair and white beard, and a pair of piercing eyes on his thin face. The old Taoist priest took his time and played with his fists and kicks. The wind was blowing from his fists and his clothes were fluttering. After a while, someone appeared on the ground. With a Bagua pattern and a meal, the old Taoist finished a set of boxing skills and slowly pulled out a soft sword from the belt around his waist. It turned out that the dragon head on the belt was the hilt of the sword. The wind of the sword made sand and rocks fly everywhere, and the snow on the ground also flew with it. In the end, he only saw the sword and man flying into the boulder next to him. "It's you again, why do you always peek at Shishi*wu?" The white-haired old Taoist asked. "It's me, master. Don't stab me, hehe..." A voice came from behind the boulder. At this time, a young Taoist priest walked out from behind the boulder. He was about fourteen or fifteen years old. He was wearing a blue Taoist robe and had a stray piece of grass in his bun. The little Taoist priest is tall and tall, about nine feet tall, a head taller than the average person. He has thick arms and legs. He has a handsome Chinese character face and a beauty mark as big as a sesame seed between his eyebrows. "Songbai, why are you here again, peeking at your master's martial arts?" The white-haired old Taoist asked. "It's not all the disciple's fault! Why does the disciple go up the mountain to chop wood every time when the master is active? Could it be..." A proud and strange smile came from the little boy's mouth. "You evil disciple, as a punishment you are not allowed to use a stick to pick up firewood. You are only allowed to carry it with both hands flat. You are not allowed to use an ax to chop firewood. You are only allowed to chop firewood with your palms." The old white-haired Taoist said angrily. "Master, aren't you avenging a private revenge? How can you chop firewood with your hands?" The child said while holding his tongue. "Evil disciple! Give me a stick that you think is the hardest to split, and let me show you how to split it." The old white-haired Taoist said. Songbai muttered in his mouth. After removing the boulder, he raised the two bundles of pine wood he had cut today with both hands. He quickly rushed to the master. The old Taoist priest took out the thickest piece of pine wood, stood it upright on the snow, waved his right hand a few times, and chopped it down with a punch. The pine wood suddenly broke into two pieces, but it did not fall! Songbai looked at the master stupidly, at a loss. The old Taoist priest flicked his sleeves, dropped a book, fluttered his sleeves and rode on a crane and left, slowly disappearing. Songbai was still stroking his head, regretting his bad luck. He stepped on the fallen book, picked it up and took a picture of the broken parts on it.