----
Winter rain in Lingnan.
The pitter patter.
Deserted villages, wild tombs, and yellow mud trails.
These ten miles of barren mountains are filled with sword graves.
Swords are forged here, swords are raised here, swords are broken here, and swords are buried here.
The mountain is dotted with swords of various colors, and people are trampling on the yellow mud path, and their straw sandals are muddy.
He randomly pulled out a broken black sword, the sword's blade was covered with mud, and with a flick of his finger, yellow mud flew into the air and the sword trembled.
The rain pattered on his broad draped hat and jet-black robe, and he seemed completely unaware of it. He was wearing a raincoat without an umbrella or a bamboo hat.
"The world has woken up from the shock, and there is only one last thing left..." The man in black robe murmured softly, his voice hoarse like a sword grinder sharpening his sword.
Just as the man in black robe finished speaking, footsteps approached not far away. The person who came was an old man wearing a raincoat, a bamboo hat, and straw sandals.
The old man was holding a bamboo staff, with a withered yellow wine gourd hanging from his waist. His old eyes were extremely deep, looking at the scattered swords that were mostly buried in the loess.
He has looked at these swords countless times, but his feelings are different every time.
"Then child, why don't you bring him back..." The old man sighed. The rain was like a curtain of water, and the figure of the man in black robes in his eyes was a little distorted.
The man in black robe did not turn around, but gently wiped the muddy water on the body of the black broken sword, and said calmly:
"He is protected by a strong person and cannot be taken away by force."
"If you force yourself, how many people in the world can stop you?" The old man slowly walked towards the man in black robes. The countless long swords on both sides of the path buzzed, as if they were about to break out of the ground.
The old man's voice became colder:
"Do you want to avenge Zhao Changyuan's sword back then, or do you have other plans for this child?"
"Senior Brother Changyuan's sword attack caused all the sword energy I had cultivated for more than ten years to dissipate..."
The man in black robe held a black broken sword in his left hand, and held it empty in his right hand. The black mist sword condensed in his hand. He turned around slowly, and his tone was extremely emotional:
"But I also found my own swordsmanship as a blessing in disguise, so I have been very grateful to him over the years..."
The man in black robe had a hoarse voice, holding his left and right hands together, holding a sword in both hands. The black broken sword slowly turned into thick black water, as if it was about to merge into the black mist sword.
The old man holding the bamboo staff narrowed his eyes. The two swords in the hands of the man in black robes had been fused into one. The broken black sword that was originally buried in the barren mountain of the sword mound with only a hilt exposed has been destroyed by the mist sword of the man in black robes. Devour.
"Really?" The old man pointed his bamboo stick at an angle and said in a cold tone:
"Pei Jingcheng, what you have done over the years has become more and more out of line."
"Rules or swords are more important?" The man in black robe named Pei Jingcheng smiled faintly and stepped out slowly in the mud.
The old man held up his bamboo hat and said coldly:
"The matter was explained by the sword master before he went into seclusion. His old man is about to leave seclusion. I hope you have figured out how to explain it to him..."
The next moment, the sword energy of the two people collided, and the mighty sword energy soared into the sky, and the sky and the rain could not invade within a radius of a hundred feet.
----
Zhao Wujiang slowly opened his eyes, and the familiar gauze curtain made his eyes tremble slightly.
Just as he was about to lift up the quilt and get up, he saw Xuanyuan Jing, dressed in bright yellow robes, lying on the edge of the bed, sleeping quietly.
The sky outside was dark and gray. I didn’t know whether it was a rainy and snowy afternoon or a clear dusk.
Zhao Wujiang stared at Xuanyuan Jing's sleeping face and did not disturb her. Instead, he smiled knowingly and gently touched her cheek with his hand.
Xuanyuan Jing's face looked tired, as if she had been working hard these days and fell into a deep sleep without realizing it.
Zhao Wujiang gently stroked Xuanyuan Jing's cheek, touched an inch or so on the temple, then gently massaged it, and slowly peeled off a piece of disguise skin as thin as a cicada's wings.
A heart-stoppingly beautiful face was exposed in the dim skylight.
Xuanyuan Jing frowned slightly, but he was still sleeping. Zhao Wujiang had just recovered from a serious illness, and now he felt guilty. He twisted his hands and feet to get up, making sure not to disturb the sleeping beauty.
After getting off the bed, he squatted quietly beside the bed, looking at it carefully with a smile on his face.
The years were quiet, and he couldn't help but move closer to his face.
