Never Let the World Down

On Mount Gu Tao, fifty thousand loyal soldiers were slaughtered.

At the head of the Guangling River, a lone figure in a blue robe stood with sword in hand.

More than thirty years passed like a single night. Someone spent every day and night in grief and vigil, all to clear the name of the wrongly accused and restore the innocence of fifty thousand souls.

The battlefield of Chu Xia was a den of ghosts. A blue-robed swordsman galloped through it, risking everything to save his homeland from ruin and pull the collapsing realm back from the brink.

Broken Leaves buried, Wudang fallen, the Guangling tide, the southern moon.

At the very end, a young man gazed at the three hundred thousand white tombstones of Western Chu and murmured softly:

“Qin Mo has much to regret in this life, but I have never failed the world, nor Western Chu!”