When fate comes and goes, the life plate is tangled into a disordered mess, already beyond understanding.
Life is blown into snow, the taste of the world brewed into tea, with a broad chest, nothing remains in the heart.
The wildfire sweeps the sky, flames burning the rivers, the chess pieces on the dilapidated palace flutter like wind and rain, ready to transform into fire at any moment.
Even though Baili An has no strategy in mind, at this moment, his heart is unexpectedly light.
It has nothing to do with life or death, nothing to do with the way home, just honoring this life, this heart not betraying.
"Xiao Shuang, I have a gift for you."
With spiritual power infused into the Qiankun Bag at his waist, as light flickered, an ancient black-sheathed, silver-carved longsword was taken by Baili An and held lightly on his arm.
Yin Baishuang gasped softly, her eyes filled with surprise and joy, shaking Baili An's arm: "Mo Yang Sword?!"
