The Embers of the Tao Remain Bright

It's night on the 30th day of the first lunar month of the Bingwu year. In Zhongzhou, on the top of Wuwu Mountain, the catastrophe has lasted for three days. When the last red thunder struck down, the snow on the entire mountain range vaporized in an instant, revealing the charred rock mass underneath, covered with ancient runes. The person who suffered the disaster was named "Lu Li", and he was once a failed painter in the mortal world. At this moment, his Taoist robe was in pieces, and pale golden Tao blood was gurgling from 360 large acupoints all over his body. Above his head, the natal magic weapon "Wanxiang Pen" is full of cracks, and the "Hunyuan True Flame" on the tip of the pen that has been warmed and cultivated since he formed the elixir, flickers on and off like a candle in the wind. "After all... There is still a slight difference."