Demonic clouds pressed down on the city, and three hundred miles of black mist gnawed at the Sword Qi Great Wall. Chen Pingan clenched the rusty sword buzzing in the sheath, and the cracks in the Changsheng Bridge were faintly hot inside his body. Beside him, Ning Yao's sword energy was cold, Ruan Xiu's sparks jumped into the brown sugar water, He Xiaoliang's marriage letter was hot, and Li Baoping's paintbrush penetrated the city wall. When the judge's pen dipped in cinnabar blood cuts through the sky, and when the nineteen-stop sword light finally ignites, what he wants to cut through is not only the demonic mist, but also the frozen past and emotional tribulation under the peach tree three hundred years ago.
