I want to describe a world of cultivating immortals with a touch of melancholy. The chief disciple of a major cultivating sect was meek, cowardly, lazy, and had a good appearance in vain. But the day he became the leader, he suddenly seemed to be a different person, indifferent, quiet, and ruthless. The second disciple was cold and cold, but sincere in his treatment of others. He came to the world in black and was proud of his sword. The seventh disciple was lively and enthusiastic, extremely talented, but lacked experience. Updates are irregular, so I will post occasionally, so don't worry, I won't abandon the post.