Jing Yi Zhuan
About This Novel
The wind howled and another five thousand people were beheaded. No one knows why. "There are five tribes in the world: Mao, Po, Yu, Liao, Zhao, and Zhao. Why do you, Xia Zhaoguo, only slaughter me and Mao people?" A trace of black hair was scattered on the woman's forehead, and the blood stains on the corners of her mouth were not yet dry. The confusion in his eyes outweighed the hatred. The man picked up his glass and drank the burning liquor. This has already killed nine batches, and I don't know why that person hasn't shown up yet. "It is not my wish to kill you and impersonate others. The De Yu Kingdom and I, the Xia Zhao Kingdom, are brothers and have cooperated for decades. But you don't take me seriously." The man in a red robe was as charming as blood. Xia Zhao, the God of War, fights all year round to open up new territories for the country. A red suit is like stained with countless blood, and a long sword kills tens of millions. Now as long as he appears, all countries will be on tenterhooks.
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