Luan Yuan Lu: Lord of the Abyss

They said, I'm sick. The disease is called "delusion". I can hear a voice. It calls itself "Silk". It tells me that the foundation of the world is wrong. Joy is poison, pain is power, this abyss that raised me is the ulcer of a huge crazy dream. It taught me how to "read" the cracks in reality and how to "tamper with" established texts. So, I asked my pursuers to "forget" my legs while running wildly. I let the law of a prison, "temporarily" believe that it is a feather. I touch ancient books, and the reverberations of other universes flow from my fingertips—flying swords, gears, beast roars, and the never-ending theater of the absurd. They said that I was blaspheming the way of heaven and that it was "the dirt of cognition" that needed to be purified. But the more I revise, the less memories I have. The face of what I love is getting blurry, the reasons for what I hate are fading away. If even "I" is text that can be modified. So, who wrote it...? "Silk" said in my mind: Find the other four "Is" and kill the source of that crazy dream. But what if I am the one who needs to be killed?