I Strike the Immortal Gate with Mortal Bones

Lin Cuo, the notorious deadbeat of Qingyang City, had cheated tax collectors, swindled thugs, and fleeced everyone, young and old. At an old bookstall, he spent three copper coins on half of a tattered book with no title. In this world, spiritual roots were determined by fate, and ordinary bones could never reach the profound realm. Train until you die, and all you'll ever do is carry an immortal's shoes. But that half-book said otherwise: ordinary bones can cultivate. First step: Don't listen. Second step: Keep walking as you talk. Third step: Use your own bones as your apertures. Someone had cut off the second half of the book, the edge as straight as if measured with a ruler. Lin Cuo said, "It's only half a book. Why can't I finish it myself?" Later, the seven great immortal sects discovered that the most precious thing in the world was not a spiritual root, but a man with nothing at all who could still account for every last thing.