In the dilapidated Qingya Sect, the white-haired old Daoist Lin Qingxuan takes in the mediocre youth Shen Xiaoqi, along with a palm-sized black Qilin named A Mo whose genes have degraded and who always burns the tip of its nose. Here, there are no heaven-defying golden fingers or peerless fortuitous encounters. The master, disciple, one man and one beast, chew on hard flour pancakes every day and diligently practice the imperfect Wind Control Technique, spending their days in the bamboo grove, cold pool, and cloud sea sunrise viewing platform. The path of cultivation is full of clumsiness and awkwardness, and they have stolen sips of sour wild fruit wine and caused quite a few jokes. Lin Qingxuan tells his disciple the true meaning of cultivation left by his grandmaster: the pursuit of cultivating immortality is not ascending to immortality and gaining eternal life, but rather not being lonely.