A casual cultivator

In this world, those who seek immortality either kneel at the mountain gate and follow its rules, or they serve the dynasty and bow to its emperors. Every path leads to the same goal—the way to eternal life. But Li Xingsheng chose a gamble no one had ever dared. He staged folk dramas to stir the devotion of the common people, and from that stolen incense, he siphoned the lingering energy of the gods to temper his own sword bones. Once the tale of the Chunyang Sword Immortal was sung, the three-foot sword qi rose on its own. Standing guard at a mortal pass, he carried the hopes of a thousand households. Yet the divine is vast, and the human heart is treacherous. The power he seized eventually turned against him, and when the wick was changed, he was no longer himself. From a village boy to a border swordsman, from worldly performance to an endless river of sword light—he bowed to no god, followed no doctrine, and cultivated only his own unbridled will. When the frosty moon filled the sky at Fuyao Pass, and a single sword stretched across the divide between human and demon realms, later generations searched the Taoist canon in vain for his lineage—but found no trace of his inheritance.