Pure Wuxia: The Greatness of the Uncarved

A Martial God has emerged from the jianghu of Jiangnan.

They say his inner energy has reached perfection, its divine radiance hidden within. They say he can pluck a flower or leaf and use it to wound someone. They say one move, “Shadowless Through the Flowers,” shattered the century-old reputation of Flying Star Hall.

Sect leaders from every corner are entranced by his plainspoken words, while the daughters of prestigious families revere him as the true god of martial arts.

But only Chen Zhuo knows the truth: he cannot even locate his own dantian.

He is merely a kitchen hand who has spent ten years chopping iron birch at Sword-Washing Manor, born with a brute’s strength. All he thinks about is getting to gnaw on one more crystal pork knuckle at night and sleeping soundly on a hard plank bed.

The jianghu is nothing more than a splendid robe crawling with lice.

When the illusion of “the greatest under heaven” is exposed, the prestigious sects that once knelt and kowtowed before him instantly reveal faces more hideous than vengeful ghosts.

A bitter wind and freezing rain. A hundred men surround him for the kill.

The lofty fairy watches coldly from atop the wall, while the heroes who preach benevolence and righteousness kick him when he is down from the shadows.

As Chen Zhuo, covered in blood, looks at the poisoned hidden weapons and swords sharp enough to slice through iron, he tightens his grip on the black iron poker he uses to stir the fire.

“I never lied to anyone. You’re the ones who insisted on being blind.”

“Since you made the rules of this jianghu, then today I’ll use this mortal body to smash your rules, along with this dogforsaken jianghu, to pieces!”