A thousand people put their hands on the spiritual stone, and a thousand people walked down in darkness.
Xu Che is the last one. Also black.
That year, the Immortal Gate was opened, and the Holy Land was suspended in the sky over the East China Sea. The monks wield swords and the mortals carry dung. There is a threshold in between that no one can cross.
He didn't want to cross. He just wants to live.
But the talented genius of the Xie family chased him into the village and kicked him down the hillside because of a quarrel eight years ago.
He's not dead.
The bones were broken in more than thirty places and they grew back on their own. The spiritual energy couldn't be retained, so it was channeled into the bones - the seams in the bones all over his body were closing inch by inch. It hurt so much that his nails were pinched and the bed board was torn. He didn't make a sound for eight years.
This road has no name, no teachers, and no books. There is no second rule in the world.
Qingpin Tianjiao has been cultivating for eight years and is still in the early stage of Yuanhai. He, a mortal who couldn't even measure his aptitude, had already punched his enemies in the Ninglan Realm to death in the barren mountains.
No one gave him magical powers, no secrets, no treasures.
The immortals are at the top, and the mortals are at the bottom. He paid for this blood debt with his bones.
