In a realm where immortal cultivators danced among clouds and mortals dreamed of ascending to the heavens, there lived an unusually pragmatic immortal named Wei Ling. Unlike her peers who collected magical swords and ancient talismans, Wei Ling’s most prized possession was a pair of ordinary-looking scissors that cost her three hundred years of savings.

“Three hundred years of spirit stones for a pair of scissors?” Master Chang laughed, his long white beard swaying in the mystical breeze atop Mount Celestial. “Have you lost your immortal mind?”

Wei Ling snipped at the air experimentally, producing a sound that seemed to echo through multiple dimensions. “Master, you don’t understand. These aren’t just any scissors - they’re crafted from meteorite iron by the legendary Scissors Sage of the Southern Seas.”

“And what exactly do you plan to do with them?” Master Chang asked, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Cut through the fabric of reality?”

“Actually,” Wei Ling grinned mischievously, “I plan to open a hair salon for immortals.”

The idea was so absurd that flowers in the celestial garden started laughing, their petals tinkling like wind chimes. Even the clouds gathered closer to listen to this peculiar conversation.

Over the next few months, immortals from all eight directions came to experience Wei Ling’s legendary haircuts. The scissors moved with supernatural precision, each snip releasing tiny sparks of starlight. She could cut styles that defied gravity, haircuts that changed color with the phases of the moon, and even trims that made one’s cultivation base increase by a small percentage.

“Your scissors are truly magical,” sighed the Rain Goddess as she admired her new hairstyle, which mimicked the flow of summer storms.

“Oh no,” Wei Ling replied with a straight face, “they’re just really, really expensive.”

Word of the magical salon spread until it reached the ears of the Demon King of the Ninth Hell, who had been suffering from split ends for the past millennium. He appeared one day in a swirl of dark flames, causing quite a commotion among the other customers.

“I demand a haircut!” he roared, his voice shaking the mountain.

Wei Ling merely raised an eyebrow. “You’ll have to wait in line like everyone else.”

The Demon King was so shocked by her nonchalance that he actually sat down quietly among the other patrons, reading outdated copies of “Modern Cultivation Monthly.”

When it was finally his turn, Wei Ling’s scissors danced through his flame-like hair, each snip releasing small bursts of demonic energy. The result was so spectacular that the Demon King immediately appointed her as the Official Hairstylist of the Nine Hells - a position that came with excellent benefits and holiday pay.

“See?” Wei Ling said to Master Chang months later, as they watched cultivators and demons alike waiting peacefully in line for their appointments. “Sometimes the most powerful magical artifacts aren’t swords or талисманы, but simple tools used with skill and imagination.”

Master Chang nodded sagely, running a hand through his newly permed beard. “Indeed. Though I still think three hundred years of savings was a bit much for scissors.”

“Perhaps,” Wei Ling smiled, the scissors glinting in her hand like starlight, “but can your priceless heavenly sword give someone layers that perfectly frame their face?”

And so, in a world of immortal cultivators and ancient magic, Wei Ling’s expensive scissors became legendary not for their power to destroy, but for their ability to create beauty and bring harmony between realms - one haircut at a time.