“I am the person in this world who most wants to save you,
but I am also the one who personally pushed you toward the most complete death.”
In teahouses and taverns, the storyteller’s block strikes the table as the scholar recounts tales of a peerless genius.
Ye Yici.
The sect master’s chief disciple of the foremost sect of the Immortal Dao. He established his foundation in five years, drawing a bluebird down from the heavens; formed his Golden Core in three, bringing spring back to the snowy mountains; then reached the Nascent Soul stage in another three, slaying demons and saving souls with a requiem song.
With peerless looks and an otherworldly bearing, he cultivated at a pace that left everyone in the dust. He had vanquished countless demons, great and small, and was unquestionably the most renowned person in the world.
What a pity. How tragic. How lamentable.
They say he was infatuated with the Demon Venerable, defected to the demon realm, and became their cultivation cauldron.
They say his sect betrayed him and handed him over to the demon realm, where he self-destructed and died.
They say he was vile in character, abandoned by everyone, and exiled to the demon realm.
They say...
The scroll painting titled “Comprehending the Dao Through Yici,” once so sought after that it drove up the price of paper in Luoyang, fell to the ground. In the painting, an immortal stood with sword in hand. Though the face had been left blank, the immortal’s bearing was plain to see.
But mischievous children ran past, chasing and tussling; an old man carrying vegetables stepped on it with his cloth-shod foot; the hooves of a rich young master’s galloping horse trampled it; a peddler pushing a handcart crushed it beneath the wheels...
In the end, it was filthy beyond recognition, its original appearance lost.
And so, it seemed, a legend of an age had come to an end.
Yet when Ye Yici opened his eyes, he had returned to the year he was ten, standing before the Tianyan Sect, brimming with hope.
At the foot of the mountain, he looked up toward the Great Dao.
But someone who had died once understood: there was no Great Dao atop the summit. It was crowded with “immortals” who fed their full on the blood of others.
Cultivating immortality means fighting fate itself. So why not turn the whole world upside down?
In a cage at a massive black-market auction, a beautiful good-for-nothing with five spiritual roots was up for sale.
His pair of violet eyes were breathtaking, and his beauty was so exquisite he seemed like a work of art.
Which pair of brutal, greedy eyes would claim him?
Then an immortal casually scattered thousands of high-grade spirit stones, pulling him out of hell and into the human world.
They became master and disciple. It looked normal, but it was anything but.
Because no master and disciple in the world would tie a red string around their wrists.
Whose thoughts were surging, whose gaze was ambiguous?
Who was stirred to love and provoking the other, while keeping a straight face?
“So no matter how many times we reincarnate, no matter our circumstances, whether we are friends or allies, enemies or foes, master or disciple, we are destined to love each other.”
A weakling in the beginning, maxed-out combat prowess later, gong × a true disciple of an orthodox sect who was nearly driven mad, shou
If you happen to pass by, please add this to your collection. Let me build up a little more of a backlog, and then I can update every day!
Theme: People should have the courage to do everything they can to write the life they want.
Why is the master so evil? The male protagonist is so unlucky