Immortal World

In the autumn of the 362nd year of Jianyuan, Qingshi Village, thirty miles southwest of Tianyong City, was shrouded in heavy rain. Fifteen-year-old Ye Han huddled under the eaves of the ancestral hall, looking at the lightning twisting like a snake in the distance. The bronze cauldron on his chest was faintly hot wrapped in oilcloth. This was an ancient relic that he dug out three days ago when he was collecting herbs in the back mountain. The mottled Taotie patterns on the tripod's body seemed to come alive at this moment, with dark golden light swimming in the rain. This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.