Foxtail pen

Li Huowang found himself teetering on the edge of reality, ensnared in a perplexing quandary. Was he languishing in the sterile confines of a hospital room, or was he ensnared in a cultivation world where survival was a daily gamble? 
The lines between the tangible and the imagined blurred, with each realm asserting its authenticity while dismissing the other as mere figments of illusion.
Embark on an odyssey with Li Huowang as he navigates through this enigmatic existence. Delve into a universe where the arcane arts of cultivators intertwine with the unspeakable terrors that lurk in the shadows. In this world, existence itself is a precarious balance.
Original Synopsis:
The Bizarre Path to the Heavens, 'Dao', a narrative woven with the surreal tapestry of Deities and Immortals. But what is truth, and what is mere fantasy? Amidst the maelstrom of his own harrowing ailment, Li Huowang grapples with discerning the real from the unreal. Yet, it is not just the enigma of these otherworldly beings that clouds his judgment; it is the specter of his own affliction, a malady that threatens to unravel the very fabric of his being.
He is sick, very seriously ill......

Abnormal Immortal Record of Spooky Daoist

"Tap, tap, tap," the sound of the wooden fish being struck echoed, igniting the flames of anger in Li Huowang's heart.


"Li Sui, let's go! Let's see what kind of demon or ghost it is!" Li Huowang pulled out a few swords from under his pillow, and, with Li Sui, they trod across roof tiles rushing toward the source of the noise.


Li Huowang quickly found the origin of the sound. It was a group of monks—or more accurately, monks as thin as skeletons.


These monks sat at the entrance of the village, striking their wooden fish in a relentless rhythm. The refugees nearby seemed to have awoken, but they did not dare to peek, burying their heads deep in the straw, shivering uncontrollably.


The moment Li Huowang appeared, the monks all turned to look at him in unison. Some did not use their eyes but the shaved spots on their heads; some had eye stalks with eyeballs that wriggled in and out like maggots.


"Amitabha, benefactor, this poor monk offers his greetings."


Chapter 616 Compassion