I'm a Pile of Shit, and I'm Still Building a Harem!

Shi Zhen was an overworked corporate drone. On his seventy-third straight day of overtime, he dropped dead. When he woke up, he had no arms or legs, just a shapeless lump and an indescribable smell. He had become the only Thunder Tribulation Turd in the cultivation world, born with lightning. The bad news: everyone in the cultivation world wanted to flush him away. Su Wanyue, the top sword immortal of Qingxu Sect, wore white robes untouched by dust, but suffered from an unspeakable ailment: the cleaner she became, the faster she used herself up. So every day at five in the morning, she summoned him to stand in the wind, retching as she questioned him. In the end, she would say only, “This seat is merely treating an injury.” The elders wanted to destroy him, the Pure World Sect put him on its elimination list, and a Child of Destiny could decide his fate with a single remark: “Filth must be purged.” He had only seven days. In those seven days, he sucked the foul air out of half a mountain, purified the wells in three villages, beat a prodigy into a firework hanging from a tree, and casually founded a sect, the only place in the cultivation world that didn't ask where you came from. “I am not a turd. I am a Primordial Chaos Origin Body. Please address me as the sect documents specify.” “The water you drink is clean because of me.” Seven female cultivators came to see him one after another, each with a perfectly reasonable excuse: one wanted to stay alive, one wanted more views, and one just wanted someone who didn't think she was disgusting. Only he knew that what he feared wasn't being called smelly. It was that one day, someone might not mind the smell, but by then he would already have scattered along the way.