The Rakshasa Immortal of the Cultivation World

[Updated daily at 9 p.m. Add it to your collection if you like it!]

Overnight, Qing Sui transmigrated into a world of cultivation where people could fly into the heavens and burrow into the earth.

The good news: She had pure Fire and Wood dual spiritual roots, the kind of talent that made advancement as smooth as could be. She was a genius.

The bad news: Qing Sui was staring straight into the eyes of her own corpse. She was dead.

Qing Sui: Hello? Can anyone speak up for me?

Other transmigrators got a way out, met a wise old man in a ring, and lived by the motto that the tide would turn in thirty years, so no one should look down on a poor young man. Qing Sui, on the other hand, had her spiritual roots ripped out and given to her nominal younger sister. Her nominal parents were putting on a tearful show at her grave, while Qing Sui herself was being laid to rest in style... As if!

Qing Sui considered the matter for a moment, then embraced her new life.

Fine, if I'm a ghost, I'm a ghost. There's nothing wrong with being a little sinister!

*

Qing Sui also cultivated puppetry, crafting a puppet body for herself and slipping in among the young elites gathered for a secret-realm event.

A white-robed sword cultivator, born with a sword bone and dazzling talent; a young alchemist with secret arts and exceptional gifts; an unassuming talisman cultivator with miraculous skills; and a handsome, reserved Buddhist disciple, compassionate and clad in kasaya robes. The finest talents and prodigies had gathered.

And always at their side was an unknown female cultivator.

She had no sword bone, no alchemist's heart, no heavenly spiritual roots, and did not follow the Way of Heaven's Secrets.

Yet this mediocrity, Qing Sui, overcame obstacle after obstacle and made it into the secret realm's innermost chamber.

Then the secret realm changed. Ancient remains stirred, and the bones of the dead from ten thousand years ago surrounded the cultivators like a pack of trapped beasts. The spirited cultivators could not help but grow weary and despondent, even despairing.

Everyone assumed that in such a place, Qing Sui, who had only gotten into the secret realm by luck, must already have been reduced to bones.

But they saw the female cultivator step alone into a place no one dared enter, walking among the ruins and corpses.

Then the ancient skeletons suddenly trembled, struggling to bow down before her.

Toward Qing Sui.

The last thing anyone saw was Qing Sui's dark eyes and the eerie spiritual energy that surrounded her.

So that's what it was. She cultivated the Rakshasa Yellow Springs Path.

*

Later, after ten thousand years of change in the cultivation world, one person became an indelible shadow in the hearts of all cultivators.

She was capricious and uncanny, wreathed in ghostly energy. With puppet strings in one hand, she toyed with all living things; in the other, she wielded a bone-white sword, pale and terrifying.

Beasts rejected by the world cowered at her side. The Bewitching Mirror, which could ensnare the Daoist heart, acknowledged her as its master. Every strange being that appeared across those ten thousand years was connected to her.

A name quietly climbed to the top of the Taiji Ranking.

Ghost cultivator Qing Sui.

Qing Sui, who had been unremarkable yet left the entire cultivation world with psychological scars, pointed at herself. "Huh, me?"

Qing Sui looked up at the tribulation lightning in the sky.

Forget it, there's no time to worry about all that. I've spent my whole life walking on thin ice, and at last I've made it to the other side!

Time to get ready to ascend!

The path of cultivation is perilous, and the road to immortality is long.

All cultivators seek only two things: longevity and ascension to immortality.

Qing Sui came from the grave and walked where no one else could reach.

She raised her sword to probe the heavens, sought the Great Way, and pursued longevity and immortality.

The first in ten thousand years, she ascended and became a Rakshasa Immortal.

Reading tips:

1. Primarily a cultivation progression story, focused on growth.

2. There is a male lead, but his presence is like powdered ginger in a stir-fry.

3. On the path of cultivation, some people accompany you while others leave. The heroine is the first to reach the end.

***Also sharing a new story I'm preparing: a female-led progression story about a cult, The Cult Leader Is Mentally Unwell. Add it to your collection if you're interested!

[A chaotic neutral Moth-aligned heroine greedily ascends until she becomes a Hours]

"I came to this damp, cold city alone. My eyes fell upon the shadows beneath the city, another history, and the woodlands growing beyond the walls of Mansus."

When Wengbula transmigrated, all she had was a will. She had no choice but to make a living in London, a city drenched in rain all year round.

The moment she opened the will, her heart began to pound. She had received her golden finger.

A private space in her mind, with a withered green table.

Create a cult, recruit followers, and seek the secret of eternal life.

A vision so mysterious, ancient, and irresistible.

Wengbula was tempted. Wengbula accepted.

And just like that, little Wengbula's life was completely ruined...

*

A cult: a mysterious, perfect organization for seizing knowledge, studying the invisible arts, and achieving great works.

Wengbula: a cult leader engaged in a grand undertaking.

That was the plan, anyway.

It would have been even better if the authorities hadn't declared her their highest-priority criminal mastermind.

She operated in the city's hidden underbelly, concealing her identity. But everything leaves traces, and she could never escape the infamy she left behind in the streets and alleys. The hounds from the Investigation Bureau were always on her trail.

In this game, Wengbula competed with the Long, studied lost languages, met the beings who lived in Mansus, and glimpsed the gods of the seven histories.

Create a cult and seek eternal life? No, no. Becoming a Long was only the first step.

Above the Long were the Names, companions of the Hours, their most beloved and capable servants.

Wengbula's final goal was to fight her way through the competition and become one of the seven Names beneath an Hour... Just kidding.

She followed the principles of the Moth, sinking into dreams and stepping into the Wood. When a moth fluttered past and stirred Wengbula's soul, a supreme yet blasphemous yearning took shape within her. It became the creed and principle by which she lived.

Ascension was the goal. Ascension to become a Long or a Name was their goal, not Wengbula's.

The Forge indulged its appetite, the Lantern pursued its radiance...

The restless aspect of the Moth was Wengbula's instinct. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Wengbula's heart pulled her toward the light, to sacrifice herself and ascend.

She would eventually become the thirty-first god among the thirty Hours.

Reading tips:

1. The author has only played the minor and major victories for the Forge and Lantern. The story leans toward accessible, popular fiction that anyone can enjoy.

2. No CP, because killing off a lover before ascending is such a hassle. There's only room for one person on the path to ascension.

Theme: Become your own master