In this life, I am a zoysia grass. In order to see the heroic spirit between your brows, I gave up the six paths of reincarnation and became a janitor monk in this temple. But I don't know that fate is definitely not something you and I can control.
I have been growing under the mountain for 1,000 years. Because I have been imbued with immortal energy, I can become a messenger of immortal grass when I reach the 1,000th year of my cultivation.
That day, you just walked past me. From then on, I had no chance to cultivate immortality. I gave up my position as a messenger and became a janitor monk in this remote mountain temple.
(Involving religion, don't like to stray into it)