Later, I wrote that Daoist Master Qingxuan secretly drank medicinal wine and got drunk dancing in the plaza. The Daoist Master sent me money and begged me to delete the post.
I wrote that the number one sword immortal was afraid of the dark and slept hugging a teddy bear. The sword immortal sent me sword manuals and begged me not to spread it.
Now, the bigwigs of the entire cultivation world line up to give me gifts, all just hoping that when I write about them, I will...
show some restraint.
I lounge in a rocking chair at the Historians’ Office, munching on melon seeds as I pick up my brush and write:
“Today, another thirty-seven Immortal Venerables begged me not to write about their scandals.”
“I, Shen Xiuwen, the cultivation world’s greatest historian, will finish this round and get back to slacking off.”
