My path to immortality is nothing like I imagined!
Other people’s masters: “This child is a once-in-a-millennium cultivation prodigy!”
My master pinches his nose: “This child... uh... could you wash your feet before getting on your flying sword?”
While my fellow disciples are fighting over divine weapons in secret realms, I’m fighting for the last spirit-beast pork knuckle in the dining hall.
While my senior brothers and sisters prepare magic treasures for their tribulations, I’m brushing crane feathers for some extra cash.
When the sect leader announces that he’s choosing a successor, I stay up all night writing “A Feasibility Report on Giving Up My Claim to the Succession.”
Why is my bonded artifact an iron wok?
Why is my spirit pet a chubby orange cat that only knows how to steal offerings?
Why do I have to write the Heavenly Dao an eight-thousand-word self-reflection every time I break through?
Don’t ask. The answer is simple:
Cultivation has rules, too!
This is a sad story. When the big guys are discussing 99+ comments, I am still fantasizing about 99+ readings🤦
Wherever you can escape, that's your life! People who have insomnia, do they just want to see how tomorrow will come?