Not Crossing the Tianguan Pass

Everyone in the world crosses Tianguan and goes up. There is only one way up. I prefer not. My name is Budu. Born and raised in a coffin shop, the most I have seen in my life are dead people, and the most familiar ones are carving knives and coffin boards. When I was eighteen years old, the best swordsman in the world came to my house and ordered a coffin—for me. My adoptive father drove me out of the house by carving a monument, and gave me an uncovered book, a piece of paper with strange characters on it, and a sentence: "Go to the East China Sea, go to the snowy mountains, go to Wujian. Your father is locked up on the seventh floor." I've never met my dad. But I know one thing - he left me a life in that locked coffin. Three years. I only have three years left. I couldn't find a way into Wujian within three years. Once that coffin was burned, I wouldn't know who I was for the rest of my life. On the road, I met Liu Mancang, a hawker who talked so much that people wanted to beat him up, a rich girl who stole half of the family's martial arts and ran away, and a skinny kid with three puppets who could curse. They asked me: "Where are you going?" I said, "Go down." They asked again: "What are you going down for?" I said, "Ask a question to my father. I'll come back after asking." But the way down is ten times more difficult than the way up. Those who go up—ascend to heaven, become immortals, and are admired by everyone. People going down—I was the first.