On a bloody moonlit night, the fragrance corrodes the bones.
When the Demon-Slaying Sword touched the flower demon's heart, Shen Yan tasted the rust of fate.
Three hundred years ago, on a snowy night in Cangwu Mountain, the dying young swordsman was awakened by the fragrance of epiphyllum;
Three hundred years later, on the cliff of Qingyao Valley, a cold-blooded demon catcher caught a blood-stained reincarnation flower in the moonlight.
The silver bell on her wrist is locked with the forbidden spell of the fairy world, and the epiphyllum blooming on her fingertips can mend a broken heart and soul;
The cinnabar on his sword was engraved with a blood oath to exterminate the clan, but the Lihuo ignited in his palm could not burn away the frost and snow between his brows.
"Cut out the pill, or perish?"
The master's prophecy echoed on the white bones of the night owl, while the girl was using the pale golden blood to
Write a love letter on his chest full of incantations——
Every word is dying, every sentence is new.
In this life-for-life gamble,
The most deadly thing is not the flower demon's soul-eating incense.
But the cluster in the heart of the monster hunter
A gentle fire that burns when it meets the moon.
