Assassin boss × wooden demon; cute little fox × gentle onmyoji.
Group portrait novel/shameful temperament/dumbfounding/teenage growth history
The assassin boss is extremely skilled, travels thousands of miles to kill people in ten steps, and kills people with no eyes on them. However, he is a two-faced person who tells cold jokes in private to make people laugh;
The deer demon Lu Qimu is a romantic person with a pair of peach blossom eyes that enchants people. He kept his wife waiting for someone to gain spiritual enlightenment, but accidentally his wife was abducted;
The little vixen is full of love, romantic and cute, and falls in love with the gentle and wise Master Xiling, but is rejected by her own mother because she does not understand the art of charm;
Master Xilingxuan practices Yin Yang magic, is gentle and wise, and is the main IQ output of the whole team, but he is lost in the hands of an ignorant little cutie.
The kapok tree in the deep valley took hundreds of years to gather its spirit and take form. When she woke up, she found a man covered in blood lying at her feet, and she was made a blood pact by him. What, this mortal mortal is actually a top assassin boss? Daimu Ling was lured out of the valley by the big boss, but he was trapped in doubts about his identity, life and death dilemmas, national grievances, and even the problem of saving the common people. But it's okay. If it doesn't work, I can hug Zhujun's lap. Her little wooden head is not very easy to use anyway...
Reader comments
The story keeps happening and never stops. And many stories are often inseparable from the word love in the end. The power of these two words is often inescapable. It can break a hole in even the most inexperienced wood. But if you think that the story only cares about the mortal world, you are totally wrong. The story does not choose a time or place. It often tells you at the end where you are and where you are going. The story I want to tell today is the same. There is a deserted valley at the junction of the worlds of monsters, gods, and humans. The flowers, plants, insects and beasts in it have sought the essence of the sun and the moon and become mountain spirits and wild monsters. This mountain spirit wild monster became energetic and began to smell like the world of mortals. The various causes and conditions that occur in this seemingly simple life, without being aware of them, allow us to see what the splendor of early spring is. From them, we can vaguely see the domineering youth, which is the joy flying in the eyebrows. Joy is like a burning flower, wishing the whole world knew it, longing for the strangeness of life, blooming with light as bright as glass. Even the saddest experiences are nothing more than wandering stories. When you are hungry, you drink them with wine, and they evaporate into water vapor. But the love at that time was like a glimmer of light in life, so it was as warm as before no matter when, even if the mountains were covered by heavy snow, the smile was buried in the snow, and I was so happy that I gave up. The story I want to tell is about love, growth, wandering, and abandonment.
The story keeps happening and never stops. And many stories are often inseparable from the word love in the end. The power of these two words is often inescapable. It can break a hole in even the most inexperienced wood. But if you think that the story only cares about the mortal world, you are totally wrong. The story does not choose a time or place. It often tells you at the end where you are and where you are going. The story I want to tell today is the same. There is a deserted valley at the junction of the worlds of monsters, gods, and humans. The flowers, plants, insects and beasts in it have sought the essence of the sun and the moon and become mountain spirits and wild monsters. This mountain spirit wild monster became energetic and began to smell like the world of mortals. The various causes and conditions that occur in this seemingly simple life, without being aware of them, allow us to see what the splendor of early spring is. From them, we can vaguely see the domineering youth, which is the joy flying in the eyebrows. Joy is like a burning flower, wishing the whole world knew it, longing for the strangeness of life, blooming with light as bright as glass. Even the saddest experiences are nothing more than wandering stories. When you are hungry, you drink them with wine, and they evaporate into water vapor. But the love at that time was like a glimmer of light in life, so it was as warm as before no matter when, even if the mountains were covered by heavy snow, the smile was buried in the snow, and I was so happy that I gave up. The story I want to tell is about love, growth, wandering, and abandonment.