Fireworks Here Can Cultivate Immortality

There is no system, no golden finger, no grandpa waiting for him. His only possessions were a drafty thatched hut and a dull axe. In his previous life, he was a sorter at a courier station and died suddenly on the shelves of Double Eleven; in this life, he was an orphan, as thin as a bamboo pole, and no one in the village thought he could survive this winter. He didn't think he could survive the winter either. So he chopped firewood, planted vegetables, repaired roofs, marinated wild boar, and was busy on the stove and in the fields without even touching the ground. As for cultivating immortality? That was the matter of the Immortal Sect disciple. He was an orphan chopping firewood, so he had better think about how to make the wall thicker to survive the winter. But what he didn't know was that spiritual energy oozed from the split wood, and there was a bit more fertility in the plowed soil than it should have. His shabby thatched hut was warmer in winter and cooler than other houses in summer. He just wants to live a good life in peace, but this world doesn't seem to want him to be ordinary... Some people's immortality is not achieved through cultivation. It is struck with axe after axe. It is slowly cultivated in the smoke and smoke day after day. Fantasy and immortality writing, unsystematic. Ordinary everyday life. Novice authors are not good at controlling rhythm and writing, so if you feel it is not good, you can just write it down for fun. Thank you all.