There is a star wall above Cangming, which fell in the troubled times and shattered into a hundred blades. The sword cuts the shackles, the sword splits the sky, the ink ruler measures the mountains and rivers, and the yin and yang hang in the world. This is a river and a lake, and it is also a temple. In the past, the subjective horoscope of Tianji Pavilion wept with blood: Yinghuo guarded his heart, and all the divisions of the Seven Kingdoms were filled with blood. Then the twelve bronze men of Jixia Academy sang in unison, the scholar whose crown was soaked in frost carried bamboo slips out of the gate, and the Taoist whose robe was stained with dust rode into the world riding a green bull. The golden and iron horses trampled the Lantai classics to pieces, only to see the immortal fire rising from the ashes of the fragments - some people forged black iron into laws, and some cooked the nine tripods to forge new chapters. Yunmeng, a large country in the south, is surrounded by cliffs on three sides, leaving only a plank road paved with dead bones leading to the Central Plains. Seventeenth-generation monarchs hid their swords in the ancestral temple. On the day when the eighteenth monarch drew his sword, the sword's edge was not pointing at the enemy chieftain, but at the iron curtain hanging in the sky. When the rusty word "Li" suddenly collapsed, the shadows of the nine schools of thought emerged in the bloody dawn. Some people saw the legalists carving their punishment names on the ice blades, the military strategists tempering their strategies on the arrow clusters, the vertical and horizontal skills turned into soft threads wrapped around the fingers, and the doctors' silver needles were lifting the crumbling stars. In this gambling game based on the fate of the country, some people are betting on the seven famous swords forged with a hundred years of forbearance, and some are betting on the fate of a thousand-year-old family. Until one night, the dusty "Reform Policy" in the deepest part of the Yunmeng Ancestral Temple suddenly moved without any wind. The sound of the bamboo slips striking each other was as clear as the roar of a dragon, awakening the ancient heroic soul sleeping in the lines of the bronze.
