What can make these killers hesitate is not only the rich ocean of literary spirit above the Confucian Temple, but also the two literary elders who are in charge of the Confucian Temple. For a time, Chen Shaojun felt relaxed a lot, at least in a short period of time, he had no chance of life.

Yu.

Outside the Confucian Temple, the assassins were also frightened. They all chose to give in in front of the vast ocean of literary energy, and quickly disappeared from Chen Shaojun's senses in a few flashes.

Chen Shaojun could only suppress his thoughts, picked up the book in his hand and continued reading.

Now that his strength is low, what he can do is very limited. The top priority is to reach the level of literary power as soon as possible and break through to the bloodline.

Time passed slowly, and the killers kept appearing and disappearing, seemingly unwilling to give up. However, a few days later, as if they knew that the assassination was hopeless, those few breaths disappeared completely and never appeared again.

But Chen Shaojun knew that these people had definitely not gone far.

In the blink of an eye, several days passed by.

The breeze blew slowly through the window, rolling up the scriptures in front of the young man and turning the pages in his hands.

Phew, in front of the desk, Chen Shaojun breathed a long sigh of relief and slowly covered the pages of the book in his hand.

"It is indeed difficult to advance diligently in the path of literature. After reaching the peak of eight liters, my literary qi has been unable to grow. It is difficult for me to break through nine liters, let alone a fight for literary qi."
Chapter completed!