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The_Abaddon

The_Abaddon

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2021-02-25 Joined Global

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Dear author, I have much thought long and hard, where to start from, so I sought to follow your example, and start from the beginning. Long after the creation of the universe, there emerged a novel, a creation that sought to etch its mark upon the vast parchment of the Dao of storytelling. This novel, much like the primordial chaos from which the myriad worlds were birthed, contained within it the seeds of immense potential. It was as if the author, in their infinite wisdom, had reached into the very heart of the cosmos, drawing forth the raw materials needed to sculpt a narrative that could stand tall among the titans of the xianxia genre. In these realms, every word uttered by the Daoist sages carries the weight of thousands of years, shaping the very essence of the worlds they inhabit. It is within this grandiose context that we must place the novel in question, understanding that each character, each plot twist, and each meticulously described setting is a reflection of the author's attempt to mirror the complexity and depth of the universe itself. Moving through the dense forests of prose, past the mountains of elaborate descriptions and over the rivers of dialogues that meander without apparent destination, one cannot help but feel a sense of awe at the ambition that drives this literary endeavor. The author, much like a cultivator seeking to break through to the next realm of mastery, has spared no effort in detailing the minutiae of their world. Every leaf that trembles in the wind, every whisper of qi coursing through the veins of our heroes, is rendered with a level of detail that could only be described as excessive. Yet, as we delve deeper into the heart of this creation, wading through the mire of adjectives and the thicket of adverbs, a realization begins to dawn. The narrative, for all its grandeur and scope, seems to drift aimlessly like a leaf caught in a tempestuous sea. The reader, eager to uncover the mysteries and battles that lie ahead, finds themselves ensnared in a web of verbosity, where the true essence of the story is obscured by an impenetrable fog of filler words. Chapters unfurl like the petals of an endless lotus, each one revealing not the promised advancement of plot but rather an additional layer of descriptive extravagance that, while beautiful in isolation, serves little purpose in driving the narrative forward. The cultivation of characters, the very soul of the xianxia narrative, becomes secondary to the author's penchant for prolixity. And so, we arrive, after a journey as long and winding as the path to immortality itself, at the core of our critique. The novel, for all its ambitious attempts to encapsulate the vastness of a xianxia universe, ultimately falls prey to its own excesses. The essence of storytelling, much like the cultivation paths depicted within its pages, requires balance and focus. In the pursuit of painting a universe in all its intricate glory, the author has overlooked the fundamental Dao of narrative economy. In a realm where the economy of spirit stones dictates the accessibility of knowledge and power, the inflation caused by needless verbosity is not just a matter of stylistic preference but a barrier that stands between the reader and the heart of the story. The lesson, it seems, is clear: in the art of storytelling, as in the practice of cultivation, excess can be as much a curse as a boon.

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