Nan Hanwen lifted his head, looked at the sunlight outside, and yawned.
Reflected in his eyes was Jiangnan of this season, the wind carried a slight chill, but not a biting cold, perhaps because too many things had happened this year.
Chen Dingye died by the sword, the Great Khan fell in battle, the Sword Madman rode a dragon, disappearing from the martial world; Emperor Ying wielded a sword, vanishing from the world.
And the last Red Emperor, with a blazing fire, painted an imperfect yet perfect ending to eight hundred years of romantic heroism.
Emperor Chen, Emperor Ying, the overlord of the grasslands, the divine shooter of the flying eagle, the monarch, the knight—all appeared one by one over the past sixty years, showcasing their talents and brilliance, drawing the attention and focus of everyone.
They seemed to be the heroic figures chosen by the heavenly mandate.
In the torrent of this era, the contending heroes faded away one after another in just one year.
