All Bones Are Pointing to the Sky

When Wen Tian turned eighteen, he finally understood: some rules were never meant to protect the weak. His father was unjustly disappeared, his mother was sick and hospitalized, his scholarship was taken away by powerful children, the evidence was suppressed, and even his mother's hospital bed became a bargaining chip to threaten him. At the morning meeting of the whole school, he asked: "What does it mean to be wrong?" There was no answer in reality. On a rainy night, he walked into the abandoned mountain temple in Qiyun Mountain, and the blood on his palm touched the green and black stone tablet. Three questions on the stele are like thunder: What is heaven? What is Tao? What is right and wrong? When he opened his eyes again, he was already in the world of cultivating immortals. Immortal gates collect spirits, mortals are like grass; the woman in red holds a sword to her throat, but the sword marks in her palm glow quietly. He has no spiritual roots, no origins, only mortal bones. Since God doesn't answer, I use my mortal body to ask God.