Ancient martial artist: “A forty-meter saber?!
How is that possible?
Li Haotian, how can you project your true qi?”
“Because I’m a cultivator!”
Western cultivators: “A legendary mage, a vampire duke!
Fuck!
Li Haotian, how can your cultivation be so advanced?”
“Because my cultivation has no upper limit.”
Reclusive sects: “Regrowing from a drop of blood, the yang spirit leaving the body!
Li Haotian, there’s no spiritual energy in the mortal world. How could you have recovered your cultivation in just three years?”
“Because I have a dungeon dimension!”
Outer-Domain demons: “Devouring attributes, the laws of life and death...
Li Haotian, are you human or a demon?”
“Human, of course. I just happen to have every attribute...”
Li Haotian was a sixteen-year-old boy framed by his clansmen for peeping, stripped of his cultivation, and cast out of a blessed land. In a bustling city utterly devoid of spiritual energy, he uses a mysterious waist token to forge an immortal legend known as the Demon-Suppression Bureau...
The west wind sweeps through the courtyard, where cold petals give off a faint scent; no butterflies come near.
If one day I become the Azure Emperor, I’ll see that peach blossoms bloom everywhere.
