The cold wind cut across his face like a blade, merciless and sharp.
Lin Fan jolted awake. Above him was the dilapidated roof of a thatched hut.
A flood of memories came rushing back: he had transmigrated into the body of a lowly menial disciple of the Yunwu Sect.
Chopping wood, hauling water, never having enough to eat. His future was as bleak as a fog-shrouded road.
Just as despair began to set in, the delicate scent of medicinal herbs quietly drifted into his nostrils.
Was it blood-staunching grass? Or a spirit-concentrating flower?
The seed of alchemy sprouted in his heart.
Could a lowly menial disciple use alchemy to defy fate and set foot on the path to immortality?
