The Maknae Has to Be an Idol - Chapter 117

Xia Xiaoluo never expected that a takeout delivery would change her life forever.

As disaster was about to strike, a group of survivors transmigrated into a desolated world and were challenged to a game of survival. From terrifying acid rains, to endless natural disasters, the heavens burn while the earth scorches, radiation is rampant, and nobody is spared from the dangers of this hellscape. The only way one survives is by building a shelter and slowly upgrading it in hopes of surviving another day.

Painfully shy and conflict-averse, Yun Ruoyan is a scion to a noble house only in name, a puppet embroiled in political machinations beyond her ken. At the tender age of eighteen, poisoned and at death’s door, she finds herself thrown out into the streets. Her relatives have all been executed, betrayed by her dear husband and her cousin. With her dying breath, she curses her own weakness and swears revenge.

When Yun Ruoyan awakens once more, she is thirteen, transported five years into the past by the will of the heavens. Her death-defying experience has changed her: no longer is she the malleable creature she once was. But more questions await at every corner—what is the truth behind the birthmark that disfigures her appearance? What are the circumstances surrounding her mother’s mysterious death?

Will the phoenix rise from the ashes, or will she fall once more in thrall to fate?

The boundless universe is full of many wonders.

I, Chen Ping, only have one sword!

I can move mountains, overturn the seas upside down, suppress demons, slap the face of gods, pluck the stars, break rivers, destroy cities, and… open the heavenly abode!

***

The Midland world was full of wonders.

In the center of the world, there was a scholar who had once used a sword to slash out a waterfall of the Milky Way. This was the person he was the most proud of.

At the edge of East Sea’s cliffs, there was a nameless Daoist who was unwilling to ascend to the peak of a mountain. He only wished for a cool breeze to brush against his face.

In the Western Pure Land, there was an old monk who liked to treat people to chicken soup and tell stories.

In the southern border of the Wilderness, there was a blind painter who controlled golden-armored puppets that were as tall as mountains to move the hundred thousand mountains, creating an embroidered picture.

A impoverished youth who grew up in the north. One day, he saw tens of thousands of Sword Kinesis Immortals above him, like a swarm of locusts crossing the border.

He wanted to see for himself the scholar that the storyteller had mentioned, the surging tides of the East Sea, the vast swamps of sand in the west, and the majestic mountains of the Southern Wasteland.

Thus, one day, the youth picked up the wooden sword and began to descend south.

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