The Bodhisattva Curses Me Every Day, and My Cultivation Rises

For three hundred years, the night has been eternal. The sun is dead. The only light in the world comes from the faint red glow of Heavenlight Stones, illuminating barely three paces.

Chen Po is the last and lowliest member of a collateral branch of the Chen family. He is dumped at a ruined temple three li east of the city to watch over a clay bodhisattva with its nose broken off. His cousin Chen Dahu, a direct descendant with five meridian channels opened, gives him a slap on the shoulder, and Chen Po's knees slam into the threshold.

One night, the statue spoke.

It wasn't a miracle. It was cursing at him.

"Another good-for-nothing."

One insult after another, lazy and vicious. When it was done, the chill in Chen Po's dantian stirred. Body Tempering, First Level. Body Tempering, Second Level. Body Tempering, Third Level.

It turned out that every time the clay statue cursed him, his cultivation increased a little.

Then curse away.

From temple-guarding good-for-nothing to Meridian Opening, to Qi Condensation, to Sea Transformation, Golden Core, and Nascent Soul. He cursed the shackles in the mines, the silent Nightfolk in the Dark City, and the light cast over the city walls by the Buddhist Radiance Sect.

Until one day, Chen Po realized something.

The sun wasn't dead. It was covered up.

And the one who covered it was inside that clay statue that had cursed him for three hundred days.