Lin Pingzhi is dead.
He died in a dark prison at the bottom of the West Lake. He was blind, his limbs were disabled, and he didn't even have the strength to hate.
Then he opened his eyes and returned to the morning light of Fuzhou when he was seventeen years old. The Fuwei Escort Agency has not caught fire yet, his parents are still waiting for him to have breakfast in the front hall, and the assassins of the Qingcheng Sect are still hundreds of miles away.
He knew that Yu Canghai would bloodbath the Lin family in three days.
He knew that he would be humiliated by Mu Gaofeng, taken in by Yue Buqun, and used as a pawn to marry the woman he shouldn't marry.
He knew that the cassock was at the bottom of the box, with the seventy-two evil sword techniques, and the signature was eight characters——
If you want to practice magical skills, you will swing your sword from the palace.
In his previous life, he thought this was a dead end.
In this life, he understood: This is the way. But this time, the knife was in his own hand.
He did not burn his cassocks. Nor did he go to Huashan.
He chose to walk into that man-eating world alone, without kneeling down to his mentor, relying on beauty, or borrowing the fate of the protagonist Linghu Chong.
He wanted to protect his parents, recover his blood debt, and survive the catastrophe that no one knew about ten years later.
He wanted to make these three words Lin Pingzhi no longer look like that pitiful figure from behind.
But an unsheathed sword.
