The Road to Swallowing the Sky Starts from Waste Wood

When I was fifteen years old, I was diagnosed with a terminal pulse. Everyone said my life was over. Only my mother was still sitting under the old locust tree in the yard, basking in the sun and waiting for me to come home for dinner. Only the girl in moon-white clothes squatted in front of the stove and left a bowl of cabbage stewed with tofu for me. "It doesn't matter if you can't practice it," she said. That night I clutched an ancestral jade pendant and tossed and turned, unable to sleep, and then I heard someone say something in my head: "The Holy Body of Chaos has been sealed for fifteen years. Boy, do you want to return those who called you useless... One by one?" I continued to pretend to be trash during the day and climbed over the wall to leave the city at night. The aura of the bamboo forest outside the city was sucked dry by me. The aura of the hillside outside the city was also sucked dry by me. Until one day, a group of people came from the Zhongtian Territory. With a list, they searched the world for the descendants of the Chaos Saint Clan. The seventh one on the list has three words written on it: Qingyun City. That night, my mother was still asleep in the next room. Su Qingyue squatted at the bottom of the hillside, the moonlight shining on her moon-white collar. "Who do you want to hit," she said, "I will accompany you."