The Record of Finding the Way to a Poor Family

[Mortal flow] + [No system] + [Traditional fantasy] The school is cold, the inkstone is frosty, and the cold window has been a dream for ten years. The yellow beams are ripe and the ink is not yet cool, but I see the immortal standing beside the clouds. The sleeves turn over the stars, the world is overturned, and the fingers break through the dullness of the sun and the moon. Fang feels that thousands of eons of suffering in the human world are not as sharp as those of a monk.