As a cultivator who had been stuck in the middle stage of Core Formation for nearly a century, Yang Ning had an exceptionally clear idea of his future: becoming an immortal was out of the question. He'd be lucky to live out the rest of his days in peace and comfort.
So, for the past hundred years or so, he had followed the principle of "give someone a rose, and its fragrance stays on your hand," making friends and building goodwill. Whether they were mortals or cultivators, righteous practitioners or demonic cultivators, he helped whenever he could. Over time, he became known throughout Great Shang as a good man. A decent, honest fellow.
But for some reason, one beautiful-faced, wicked-tempered, sly and treacherous demonic enchantress after another kept making trouble for him. Some wanted to turn him into a Gu slave, others wanted to use him as a cultivation furnace, and still others wanted to refine him into a puppet.
Every time, a triumphant smile would appear on Yang Ning's face, and he would calmly take out some strange tools. "Honestly, don't underestimate an honest man."
