Zhang Wuji, a Shaolin martial monk, spent twenty-six years free of worldly desires. His only flaw is that ever since he met Yang Xiaozhao, he can no longer quiet his mind to chant sutras.
Yang Xiaozhao, a female Jinyiwei swordswoman, is peerless at light-footed movement and unbeatable at sharp-tongued banter. Her only virtue is that she knows how to deal with all kinds of blocks of wood, especially the one right in front of her.
On the Ming dynasty’s anti-pirate front, they’re sworn enemies who can’t stand the sight of each other. She takes a bath and he walks in. He chants sutras and she causes a scene. When she’s wounded, he carries her. When he’s shot, she cries.
Later, they fall into an ancient tomb, and he grabs her hand as they plunge into the abyss.
“Let go!” she cries.
“Three thousand warrior monks are nothing compared to one Yang Xiaozhao,” he replies.
When they wake, they’re on the Iranian battlefield in 2026.
American drones fly overhead, and an aircraft carrier battle group looms in the distance.
“Blockhead, what kind of bird is that?” she asks.
“Benefactor, do the birds where you come from look like that?” he replies.
As they flee for their lives, she calls him old-fashioned, and he calls her reckless. Then they discover that the internal energy in their bodies is starting to change.
It’s an inheritance from ancient cultivators.
From then on, the battlefield becomes a place of cultivation: she uses her light-footed skills to dodge missiles, while he uses his inner power to withstand bullets. The day she reaches the Golden Core stage, he nearly dies beneath the rubble. The day he reaches the Nascent Soul stage, she single-handedly wipes out an army.
At an emergency meeting in the Pentagon, someone asks, “Can anyone tell me where these two came from?”
Someone answers with a trembling voice, “Sir, it seems they’re... cultivating immortality.”
