Lin Xuan figured he must have stepped in dog crap in his past life. No, the dog crap must have stepped on him.
He survived a plane crash, only to transmigrate to a world of immortal cultivation without getting so much as a golden finger. His only System was an outdated idol-training System, and its first words were: “Ding! Host talent allocation detected. Singing and dancing skills maxed out. Immortal cultivation aptitude: zero.”
Zero? Zero my ass!
“Host is advised to give up immortal cultivation and pursue an idol career.” The System’s voice was ice-cold. “This System provides an all-in-one service for chart rankings, fan support, and stage effects across all planes.”
Lin Xuan’s mouth twitched. “I’m supposed to be an idol in a world of immortal cultivation?”
“Correct. Please begin your performance.”
Lin Xuan wanted to die. The senior disciple on the neighboring mountain could cleave a waterfall in half with one sword strike. Meanwhile, Lin Xuan stood beside the waterfall with a guitar, singing “Stubborn,” while a crowd of cultivators sat below on their flying swords, munching on spirit melons and listening with delight.
Even more absurdly, he actually became a hit.
First, the teahouse owner at the foot of the mountain played his recording stone on repeat every day. Then even passing rogue cultivators started using voice transmission talismans to vote for him. Three months later, the sect leader of Qingyun Sect came to see him in person, staring at Lin Xuan so sternly that his back went cold.
“Lin Xuan,” the sect leader said gravely.
“H-here.” Lin Xuan’s legs trembled. It was over. The sect leader must have been fed up with his singing disturbing the neighbors.
But the sect leader drew a deep breath, dropped to one knee with a thump, clasped his hands, and gazed at Lin Xuan with tears in his eyes.
“Please, debut as an idol!”
Lin Xuan: “…”
“I won’t get up until you agree!”
