Lu Chen's first thirty years were a precisely designed disaster.
The umbilical cord was knotted at birth, he drowned at the age of four, and lost his father at the age of six. His discharge placement was denied, he lost all his money in starting a business, and his girlfriend of four years stood at the door of the rental house, dragging her suitcase and asking, "Are you in trouble?"
He didn't answer. But he believed it.
Until the old fortune teller in the sandstorm opened his eyes, stars were flowing in his pupils: "It's not that your fate is bad. It's that this world doesn't want you to live."
The old man's name is Chen Tuan. Three hundred years ago, his sect was destroyed by Song Yan, the leader of Tianxuan Sect. He waited for three hundred years for the fourth generation of Fate Defying Body.
The anti-fate body, the loopholes in the heavenly system, the variables outside the rules. The heaven and earth are stable, and everything is in order, but the anti-fate entity is the gravel in the order, which knots the lines of cause and effect and causes the deduction of heaven's secrets to fail. The first three generations of life-defying beings all died. The first generation died from a thunderstorm, the second generation died from siege, and the third generation died from one's own sword.
On his first day of practice, Lu Chen saw his fate in the bronze mirror: a burnt tree that had been struck by lightning, with its trunk blackened and cracked. There is a little green light in the deepest crack. Faint, but never extinguished.
Tianxuan Sect's monitoring network has captured the fluctuations in his life force. Qin Cang, deputy head of Zhilu Hall, and Song Yan's sword are on the way. In the late Nascent Soul stage, the sword cultivator had more lives on his hands than Lu Chen had ever seen in his life.
Everyone said it was the end of his road.
He said nothing. He just inserted the broken sword into the sand, licked the taste of rust in his mouth, leaned against the trunk of the jujube tree, and closed his eyes.
