Cut Myself Off Seven Times, I Am No Longer Food for Monks

Chen Yuan knelt on the ground to pick up medicine, and stepped on his hand with a boot. He didn't look up. If you raise your head, you will die. He didn't know that from today on, the entire world of cultivation would know one sentence—— After mortals die, monks cannot survive. Seventeen years old, no spiritual roots, drug shop clerk. His sister was dying, and he was kneeling all over the city, but no one wanted to take the medicine on credit. The crazy beggar said that there was a way to save her. With the first cut, he was no longer anyone's food. The second time he stabbed him, he forgot about his sister's face. The third knife, the world forgot about him. … After the seventh stab, he disappeared. But every mortal who was stepped into the mud began to dream of a hatchet and a back figure. The knife is in your hand.