Qing Ping Jian Lu
by The Wind Blows In The Middle Of The Night
About This Novel
The spring water folds several times and reaches the sea with flat waves. If you don't see the geese return, the flowers will grow old. Where the green tornado rolls over the sand, the way of heaven is ruthless. How lonely has it been since ancient times? It's hard to climb a thousand-foot high platform, and the green leaves and red flowers forget the way they came. Who will return to the east?
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