The old Taoist has been struggling as a calamity cultivator for his whole life, but his desire to seek the Tao has not disappeared. He starts a new journey of practice with limited understanding and memory. Facing the wonderful and dangerous world of practice, he feels helpless and hesitant, but he can only be good at every moment and pursue it. The world is peeling off its mysterious veil in front of him layer by layer. Is what is displayed in front of him gorgeous or an illusion?
