“Sir, what is cultivating immortality?”
“Nothing more than ascending to a higher state.”
“Ascension... can it bring great freedom?”
“No. Ascension means facing great terror.”
“If so, why do all living beings cultivate immortality?”
“The lowly seek to rule others, those in the middle seek to survive, and the lofty seek to sever the Dao.”
“What does it mean to sever the Dao?”
The Master gently stroked the child in blue and glanced calmly at the immortal energy swirling around them. Beyond the little boy’s sight, this world was covered in indistinct flesh and blood, steeped in murderous malice. Grotesque roars ceaselessly ravaged the soul, while through the cracks in the firmament, outer demons reached in with twisted, shapeless claws.
His mouth twitched. Fusheng, damn it, Tianzun. As he looked at the tens of thousands of indescribable immortal gods above him, especially the three most terrifying ones in the middle, he felt his head was about to explode.
My name is Zhang Qinghe. In this damned, fake cultivation world, I’m the only real cultivator. I’m carrying my own coffin...
