The Xuanqing Sect declared that I, Wang Xiao, had a root devoid of spiritual energy, a good-for-nothing with no chance of ever setting foot on the path to immortality. The whole village shunned me as a bringer of bad luck.
I stumbled into the Valley of Fallen Souls and Buried Corpses, where I found an ancient blade that spent all day cursing and complaining, along with a jinx who could make anything she said come true. Her good wishes always fell flat, but every offhand remark about bad luck came true.
Others sat in meditation, swallowed pills, and painstakingly cultivated their spiritual energy. They risked their lives slaying demons and overcoming tribulations to break through.
But my way was different: making fun of myself in desperate straits could boost my cultivation, and helping others let go of their obsessions and untangle their troubles did the same. As long as everyone was happy and at ease, my soul cultivation soared.
So what if I have no spiritual roots?
With a mouth that can twist fortune and misfortune, I’ll laugh my way through every challenge and leave the entire cultivation world in stitches.
Not bad, novel and beautiful