There Are Immortals Where We’re From

Liu Dazhuang, the local street loafer from Kaoshan Tun, digs up a cultivation System in a cornfield. It has a catchphrase: “Aiyaa, mama!”

His cultivation technique is drinking beer, his magical weapon is a handkerchief for northeastern yangge dancing, and his defense is a big iron wok.

A master from the Quanzhen sect comes looking for a dragon vein, but the villagers drag him off to get scrubbed and have his palm read. A young heir from a powerful clan comes to seize a stroke of fortune, only to be bitten by mosquitoes until he cries and begs to go home.

The promised great calamity of the cultivation world ends with everyone drinking cheap old beer by the Songhua River and swearing brotherhood over iron-wok stew.

Only later does everyone figure it out: there aren't any dragon veins in this corner of the Northeast. Anyone who can live happily on this frozen soil is a true dragon among men.