Ji Wangshu was once a social beast in an office building, but a lightning strike plunged him into a world of cultivation where the jungle prevailed. After a hundred years of sharpening his sword, he went from being a handyman disciple to becoming the True Monarch of Nascent Soul. However, when he was tracing ancient ruins, he was besieged by his enemies and unexpectedly returned home in a space rift.
The world of cultivation has gone through hundreds of years of vicissitudes, but the modern city has only been around for seven years. He woke up in a ward filled with the smell of disinfectant, with a mind full of cultivation classics, spiritual stones and elixirs in the storage ring, a damaged cave medicine garden, and spiritual eyes that could peek into luck. The spiritual energy was as thin as mist, and the faces of his former relatives and friends were vague. The killing instinct of the cultivation world collided with the rules of modern society, igniting a new storm in his deep eyes.
Is it to hide one's identity and return to the ordinary, or to stir up the urban turmoil by using the foundation of cultivation? Ji Wangshu looked at the busy traffic outside the window, his fingertips quietly caressing the cracks on the storage ring - this time, he wanted to make his own way home in the soulless world.
