The style of painting is different, but it is better to be strong

The sky was blue after the rain, as if it had been washed, and the clouds floated leisurely in the sky, fat and big.

On the tables in the main hall were scattered a few white sugar papers, on which were drawn with a pen a few stick figures with zero faces.

It can be seen that the painter's drawing skills are very poor, the simplest lines are all crooked, and the villain who should be cute looks stupid, with a slash drawn from the corner of the mouth, like a stroke.

Chen Yici's departure took away the remaining hustle and bustle, and the hall returned to emptiness and silence.

An old man in a white robe came out from behind the pillar, serving brewed tea.

He casually wanted to throw away the candy wrappers on the table, glanced to the left and fiddled with one of them, staring at the painting on it seriously.

The old man stopped throwing the candy wrappers, picked up one of the candy wrappers with a smile, and studied in the sun. He wanted to praise but couldn't find a place to start, so he forced himself to boast:

"This painting style... is really special."

The old man thought of something, he happily told Zuo Zhu:

"My lord, I heard that he sang at the art festival last time, and the roof collapsed. Everyone laughed for a long time. Those who haven't heard it are curious and want to hear it. He is famous in the country."

Because of the harsh environment in the country all year round, and the bad mood of the gods, it will affect the fear and depression of the people around him. It has been a long time since such a happy thing happened, and he laughed for a long time listening to it.

The old man put away his deepening smile, followed Zuo Zhu's gaze, looked in the direction where Chen Yici left, and thought for a moment before speaking:

"For tens of thousands of years, he is the first person who is not affected by the mood of adults and can resist the abilities of adults."

In this country, almost everyone has artistic talents, such as singing and dancing, painting and calligraphy, or literature, film and television...

Everyone is born with this talent and should take it for granted.

Chen Yici was the first person whose artistic talent was negative.

The old man put away his smile completely, looked at the thick fog behind Zuo Zhu, and said with a complex expression:

"However, how long can this ability last?"

Chen Yici himself does not have any artistic talent, and is an outsider who traveled through time. He traveled to the art kingdom. He has no talent and innate conditions, which makes him incompatible with this world and is not accepted here.

But time travel is out of control, so long-term, as time goes by, if he stays here, it will cause irreversible damage to his body.

In fact, before Chen Yici, there were many traversers, but they were all swallowed up by the world because they did not blend in with this world.

Zuo Zhu played with the remaining candies in his hand, his fingertips were cold.

The old man withdrew his gaze. After a while, he looked to the left with a complicated mood, and suddenly changed the subject, as if hinting at something:

"But what I didn't expect was that the song he sang this time was actually very nice."

The old man looked at Zuo Zhu solemnly, and looked at him silently after speaking, as if waiting for his answer.

The hair on the left hangs down to cover the face, and the expression cannot be seen clearly.

After a long silence, the person who was playing with the candy paper raised his eyes lazily and got up without looking back, and immediately left with a flick of his sleeves.

The old man's eyes followed the departure of the god, and his silent eyes were stained with worry.

Chen Yici has been traveling between the two worlds for the past two days, and the progress of the competition has not been delayed in reality.

Speaking of cross-traveling, it's actually quite convenient. Every time he crosses, he brings a lot of food and seeds to this world.

At this moment, he was washing the tomatoes he brought, and when he was about to make tomato and egg soup, suddenly Lan Xiaoling rushed out like a whirlwind, and said to him:

"Son, collect your clothes!!! It's going to rain!!!"

Chen Yici hurriedly opened the window and looked out.

The sky was getting darker and darker, the sky was covered by dark clouds, and the rumbling thunder was frightening.

He immediately ran to collect his clothes and looked worriedly at the sky.

Why are you suddenly in a bad mood again?

Chen Yici was worried about Zuo Zhu in the hall, so his movements slowed down for a while.

The people in the country are already used to such unpredictable weather. His mother moved quickly, slapped the sheet and quilt away, and was just about to turn her head to urge Chen Yici to hurry up, when she suddenly froze.

Together with him in a daze were his grandfather holding a teacup, and his brother rushing back to the eaves with his drawing board.

In the pouring rain, Chen Yici stood blankly in the rain, slowly putting away his clothes, but the clothes that should have been soaked did not get a single drop of rain.

Two hours later—

The three of them surrounded Chen Yici, as if they were in a trial session, forcing him to do it honestly.

Chen Yici briefly talked about the ability he discovered, but he didn't think it was anything special:

"In short, some inconspicuous abilities, such as the flowers and plants around me will not be wet by the rain, will not be hit by hail..."

Grandfather Chen Zui sighed, paid his respects in front of the ancestral hall where the gods were worshiped, and then said:

"It can resist all the buffs of the gods. This is not an inconspicuous ability."

Looking at Chen Yici's puzzled eyes, Chen Zhizhi explained to him:

"Gods have many buffs. A bad mood will affect the weather, everyone's mood, and also affect our performance level and ability. And you can't perceive his emotions, so naturally you won't be affected by his buffs."

Lan Xiaoling was thoughtful, and bowed a few times before saying:

"No wonder you don't find him scary."

Chen Yici was helpless, he didn't know how to explain the fact that he was really not scary.

His mother distributed the incense to the two, and asked the two brothers to come over and burn the incense. She said to Chen Yici with a serious face:

"Even so, you should stay away from him. The power of the gods is terrifying. You, a person who... has lost his artistic talent, can't resist it even more."

When talking about artistic talent, her mother's tone weakened, as if she was afraid that this sentence would hurt Chen Yici.

Chen Yici caught the information, and hurriedly asked after inserting the incense:

"fear?"

Chen Zhizhi burned the incense, closed his eyes and recited silently, and then explained to him:

"He used his talent and divine power to build this country, and he also used his own power to destroy the country."

"And the reason why he destroyed the country was because he was bored."

Chen Yici opened his mouth, always feeling that there was some misunderstanding, but he couldn't explain it. He lowered his head, and said in a soft tone unconsciously:

"Maybe...he's not crazy, and he's not boring."

"He's just lonely."

He looked up at the three of them and asked:

"Since this erratic weather is due to his being in a bad mood, why is he in a bad mood?"

Chen Zhizhi shook his head, looked up at the white statue on the stage:

"Rather than being in a bad mood, it's better to say—"

He puts down the tea:

"There are psychological problems."

Chen Yici's eyes widened:

"Psychological problems?"

Chen Zhizhi did not answer, and asked another question:

"Do you know how the god's ability comes from?"

The crushed petals were blown away in the wind and flew away with the wind.

At this moment, the powder suddenly turned into shards of ice, a cold wind blew up, and with a bang, the vase was blown precariously and fell to the ground.

The weather suddenly became inexplicably bad.

The old man's pupils shrank slightly, but he didn't care about the smashed vase and other things, but worriedly went to help the god sitting in the temple:

"My lord, are you all right?"

Zuo Zhu raised his head, his long hair was messed up by the wind, he waved his hand to let the old man leave.

There was a hint of redness at the end of the exquisite eyes, as if unable to bear the great pain, and the fingertips were slightly white. The god who controlled everything in the past showed a delicate fragility at this moment.

The breeze gently lifted the god's clothes, revealing the collarbone, and there was a faint red scar below the collarbone.

It didn't stop, and then, a gust of wind mixed with violent desert sand mercilessly scraped off his thin gauze shirt, exposing his back.

A terrifying, festering scar stretched across the spine, and bright red flesh turned out from inside until it submerged into the waistline.

There were many small wounds around the hideous wound, and the white and delicate skin was peeled off by horizontal wounds, full of blood and dripping.

Beads of blood continued to seep into the clothes, dyeing the white clothes deep red.

But Zuo Zhu didn't seem to notice it, allowing the rough gravel and ice and snow to scratch the opened flesh and blood.

The old man walked forward distressedly, gently took out the small bottle, and wiped the wound for the god, but it didn't work, the wound was still oozing blood, and more and more beads of sweat flowed down the jawline on Zuo Zhu's head .

With a voice of enduring pain, it sounded softly:

"How long has this world existed?"

The old man thought about it carefully, and said slowly:

"Twenty-three thousand thirty-five years."

"Twenty-three thousand thirty-five years."

There was a little loneliness in Zuo Zhu's eyes that he didn't realize.

More than 2 years ago, he was still a child.

God's childhood was too long, so long that he almost forgot that he ever had a childhood.

For that period, the only feeling that impressed him was the sense of tearing.

Every night when the moon was full, the wind would be strong, and lightning would strike him one after another.

Accompanied by loud or small thunder, his body was torn apart little by little.

First, the outermost flesh was cut open little by little, and then there was a crackling feeling when the bones were torn apart little by little.

Blood also flowed out little by little from his body.

It was a real physical, unforgettable pain.

He passed out from the pain countless times, and woke up countless times.

When I fell asleep, the ground was covered in pools of blood, and when I woke up, it was also covered in blood.

For the last time, he didn't know how long he had fainted.

When he opened his eyes again, he found that he was lying on the spot intact, and his body had been reorganized.

Then, he discovered that he had the ability to control the weather.

……

Lightning and thunder, and the night of the full moon.

Time and time again, he was literally torn and died, and again and again he was reborn, waiting for the next deeper pain.

He wants to die with all his heart, but he can only live in the cycle of constant shredding and reorganization.

Life and death are beyond his control, and while fate is tearing him apart, it also gives him some irrelevant abilities.

I don't know how many years have passed, and I don't know how many times he has been torn apart, but he really has a lot of abilities.

Later, with these abilities, he formed this country.

In other words, he used his wounds, big and small, to form this country.

He also became a powerful and invincible god in people's mouth.