I Secretly Cultivated Immortality in the World

Jingyuan thirty-seventh year, the twelfth lunar month. Lin Pingan buried his mother. The rice vat was empty, the firewood stack collapsed, and my mother didn't leave half a penny. The next day he went to the town to carry water, passed by the market, and bought a broken porcelain vase with a penny from a blind old man. That night, the handful of cold water he poured into the bottle changed. Later, this bottle of water saved the widow of the Su family, the distinguished guests of Jishi Hall, and the poor people in half the street. But it could save acute illness, but not old age and death; it could save mortals, but not Jianghu; it could save Lin Ping'an himself, but it could not catch up with Su Xiaotang's last appearance before he died. Lin Pingan lived to be 300 years old. Five hundred years old. A thousand years old. He moved forward desperately in order to go back and find someone.