Chapter 1: Recording a Failed Tribulation

Dark clouds pressed low, a swirling black vortex formed above the city, the sky split open, lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled.

A few young people were having a get-together, chatting about everything under the sun.

"Speaking of my roommate... that guy named Evan Carter," one of the young men clicked his tongue, "he’s like he’s sick or something, never heard him say a single word."

The person next to him popped open a can of beer and agreed, "Calling him mute is a compliment—he doesn’t even have an expression. He should just go find somewhere else to live, I really don’t want to see him, damn."

A deafening clap of thunder split the air, and in the midst of the roar, torrential rain poured down.

They all turned to look out the window: "Damn, it’s really coming down."

The young man who had been complaining earlier lifted his eyelids and looked up at the sky, suddenly freezing, his eyes wide.

"This..." he hesitated in surprise, "Old Third, isn’t that deadpan guy standing on top of that building over there?"

Old Third squinted hard through his nearsightedness: "It really is. In this kind of rain, is he crazy?"

"If he’s not depressed, he must be autistic—either way, he’s not normal," the young man snickered gleefully. "Hey, Old Third, what’s he holding in his arms?"

"Crazy people have their own kind of fun—looks like a sword."

But before they could see clearly, something happened that was beyond their comprehension.

A massive purple bolt of lightning snaked across the black sky in an unimaginable radial pattern, striking straight toward the figure on the distant rooftop. The flash was so blinding that no one could see what happened.

On the street below, many people braved the rain to excitedly take photos, captioning them: "Massive thunderstorm in X City looks like the end of the world—what immortal cultivator is undergoing tribulation here?"

—That was the last time they ever saw Evan Carter.

When Evan Carter regained consciousness, he felt like he was lying down. He tried hard to move his eyes, attempting to open them.

"Little fool’s awake!" a heavily accented voice sounded in his ear.

His body immediately stiffened, his eyelids heavy as mountains, his bones rusted through, almost unable to breathe.

I’m allergic to people, seriously.

He took a few deep breaths; the air was damp and rotten, unbearably foul.

He tried to circulate his spiritual energy—his cultivation was completely gone.

"Why’s he gone quiet again?" the voice continued, belonging to a loud-mouthed middle-aged woman. She seemed to reach out a hand toward him.

Just imagining the heat of a human body approaching, Evan Carter's senses exploded, and he suddenly opened his eyes.

The woman was startled by his sudden awakening: "You little rascal!"

Evan Carter was stiff all over, gasping for breath, and finally, through his dizziness, saw his surroundings.

The woman at his bedside looked fierce, dressed in a coarse linen jacket and skirt, her hair pinned up with a thin wooden stick—not a modern look.

He was in a thatched hut, extremely dilapidated, the walls pitted and moldy. If you were filming a period drama and wanted to build a set this rundown, it would be no easy feat.

Evan Carter: "......"

A tragedy of the human world.

He just wanted to undergo his heavenly tribulation—after that, he’d be close to ascension. But he had class that night, no time to leave the city for the wilderness, so he picked the tallest building nearby, hoping not to alarm ordinary people.

The problem was with that building—of all things, it had a gigantic lightning rod. The heavenly lightning didn’t hit him at all, it was all drawn away by the rod. For cultivators, if your heart isn’t sincere and your will isn’t firm, and you try to use external objects to avoid the tribulation, you’ll be punished by the heavens—at worst, turned to ash; at best, sent back to start over, like now.

He really hadn’t expected that a lightning rod could even divert tribulation lightning.

Modern physics has done me in.

Evan Carter took a few breaths, feeling out his body.

His meridians were extremely sluggish, his spiritual roots abnormally poor—calling his aptitude mediocre would be a wild exaggeration. Trying to cultivate immortality was like a toad wanting to eat swan meat.

He was like a student caught cheating—not only did he have to retake the class, but his textbook had been torn up.

Seeing his dazed look, the woman’s anger faded, and she sighed: "Been a fool for nearly ten years, and still no better—always running off to hide in corners. This time you nearly drowned, you’d better learn your lesson."