The top of Kunlun Mountain is covered with snow all year round.
Lin Xiuyuan stood at the entrance of the sword tomb, looking at the dense sword marks in front of him, each one going deep into the mountain, as if it was going to split the entire mountain. These sword marks were left by Kunlun disciples of all generations. They were of different shades, but they all carried the fierce sword intent.
He stretched out his hand and touched a sword mark, feeling a stinging pain on his fingertips. This is the sword mark left by the master. The sword ten years ago directly split the entire rock in half. At that time, the master was already the best swordsman in the world.
"Xiuyuan."
A cold voice came from behind, Lin Xiuyuan turned around and saw a girl in white standing in the snow. Her features were picturesque, but with a bit of coldness, as if she were one with the snow. This is his junior sister, Su Qingyu.
