His name is Li Banfeng, with the "feng" meaning "mountain peak," not "madness." The doctor said he wasn’t crazy.

To save a friend’s life, he went to Platform 96, boarded the 1160 steam train, and arrived in Prozhou, a place frozen in the steam era.

He met a soulmate in an old gramophone, a peerless beauty in a calendar, a swaying enchantress in an antique clock, and a transcendent master in a wine gourd.

Here, there are food cultivators who grow stronger the more they eat, smoke cultivators who become more powerful the more they smoke, martial cultivators who grow fiercer the more they kill, and wine cultivators who grow wilder the more they drink.

Here, there are travel cultivators who want to go everywhere, and homebody cultivators who want to go nowhere.

Among the hundred schools of the world, who dares to claim supremacy?

Among the myriad cultivators of Prozhou, who will emerge as the champion?

Banfeng put on a suit, donned a top hat, picked up a feather duster, and earnestly asked, "Tell me, who is the master of Prozhou?"