Prepaying Death to Slay the Flood Dragon

Above stretches the azure vault of heaven, where serpentine flood dragons slither through thunderous rains that lash the mortal world. Men below consume gold and swallow jade, polishing the pale moon for two thousand years—their pride unrivaled, their feasts lit by flying light, their dragons plowing smoky fields, dynasties rising and falling in endless succession. Yet Li Fuchan sees only the chill of sun and moon wearing away the span of human life. Transmigrating into this world, he awakens as the seventh disciple of Master Yusheng, dwelling in the Flying Worm Cave beneath Hidden Ridge, with dreams of cultivating the Dao and wielding a sword across the heavens. That dream shatters the day he witnesses his second senior brother, having perfected the "Purity Dharma," be swallowed whole in a single gulp. He learns the bitter truth: all so-called cultivation is nothing more than purifying one's flesh to serve as a delicacy for demons and monsters. The higher one's realm, the thinner one's humanity grows—until cultivators shed all distinctions of rank and simply style themselves as beasts. In this age of fractured kingdoms, ten states locked in strife, barbarian tribes rampant, and great adepts who hold the realm in their iron grip, demons herd humans like livestock, and the noble houses of the great powers treat common folk as expendable fuel. The august "Leaving Thunder," once the majesty of the Middle Ages, is now reduced to a plaything concubine. The mighty "Great Sun" lies caged; the mournful "Lunar Radiance" is buried in the depths of a swamp. The Great Compassionate One has been severed across three incarnations. Cultivation clans, immortal sects, monstrous beasts, and demonic lords rise and fall in ceaseless succession—eight thousand years of heroic spirit, ground down to a handful of worn stones, with countless mortal bones bleaching beneath the blue. In such a world, how does one survive? This is an age of great contention. Fortunately for Li Fuchan, he can prepay his own death—dying in advance to inherit the consciousness, cultivation, techniques, and treasures of his future selves. What does not kill him only makes him stronger. And as he puts it: "I cannot be bothered speaking with those who have no golden finger. You are not worthy to hear my words. Now die."