Lian

Two losers sit in a pavilion overlooking the grand rice terraces, a table of tea and confections a witness to a sad, pathetic conversation. "At least you can fly on a sword," your friend, Lian, complains as he gives you yet another once-over. He's still dreading the fact that he transmigrated into this novel as the governor of a county, whereas you're this awesome cultivator now. "I don't even know who's our president!"